Sometimes in our lives we all have pain, we all have sorrow. But if we are wise, we know that there’s always Randy Newman to comfort us. Or at least that’s what I thought because he told me he’s my friend in that song. But after getting my ass busted by his security team, I learned that he’s a fucking liar.
After my LA landlord raised my rent from $1,300 to $25,000 per month, I needed to find a place to crash while I looked for a new apartment. Unfortunately, all of my friends also got kicked out of their homes. With nowhere else to go, I suddenly remembered the words of my supposed good pal Randy Newman. But apparently Randy Newman isn’t willing to share a nice warm bed with a friend in need because he called security once he found me sleeping in his guest room.
Apparently he likes to use his guest room for scrimshawing, so he was hella confused when he found me and my suitcases inside. I woke up to a testicles-swaying-wildly-in-his-bathrobe Randy yelling at me in his classically tired yet goofy voice, telling me to get out. I told him, ‘But Randy, I thought I had a friend in you?’, to which he replied, ‘I don’t even know who you are!’, which was really rude because hey, I bothered to learn his name.
I told him that he was acting like Woody did towards Buzz in the beginning of the first Toy Story movie, but apparently he learned nothing because his security guys also pushed me out the window.
That’s when I learned that Randy Newman really does hate short people because he told me to get my 5-foot-nothing ass off of his property. I was reduced to 5 foot though because he pushed a piano out of the window after me and it folded my spine like a cartoon accordion.
I guess he wasn’t lying when he said it’s a jungle out there because if you can’t even trust Randy Newman to support you, then what else is there? God, I fucking hate L.A.
