I Got Beat Up By Pauly Shore

I was in Los Angeles over the weekend for work. It's a hazy twilight, and before the sun can disappear beneath the downtown smog one of my co-workers suggests grabbing a drink. Being tourists, we decide to go to the only place we've heard of from TV and Motley Crue videos; the Sunset Strip.

Although Google Maps says the trip will take 15 minutes, we get there in an hour, which we would later learn is actually decent. I get out of the car and am quickly bombarded with the aroma of posh restaurants serving tiny plates of intricately laid out cuisine to groups of effeminate guys in sports coats and incredibly hot women in fuck me heels. I am starting to like it here.

My co-worker and I walk, and the further we walk, the more the Strip starts to change. Slowly the trendy boutiques and bistros are replaced by grimy rock clubs and leather themed clothing stores. Joe Cellphone and his sport coat are no more, as punk rock kids with pink Mohawks and socially conscious t-shirts now own the territory. The women are still incredibly hot.

Being two lawyers in ties, we glance at the surroundings, and then quickly retreat back to yuppyland. We are standing outside of a bar called the Saddle Ranch when I notice a comedy club next door. As my eyes scan the ascetics they stop on a small, mousey figure in a blue shirt leaning against the railing of the club's deck.

"Is that Pauly Shore?" I blurt out.

My co-worker gives me a look that suggests he doesn't give a shit, but I am determined to confirm my initial impression. I begin walking towards the deck and my co-worker follows me. When I get to within a couple feet the figure by the railing turns to face me.

I will never forget that look. He was definitely older, with a receding hairline and large black circles under his eyes, but he still had the same smart ass smirk. There was no longer any doubt, I was in the presence of the original Weasel himself. Soon Pauly is joined on the deck by a tall, incredibly beautiful blonde in a tight top. Call me slow, but I'm starting to see a theme in LA.

My co-worker and I stand and stare. Pauly and his gal pal finally notice us, and they don't look pleased.

"Is there something I can do for you?," Pauly says, his voice lacking the exuberant tone and syllable stretching inflection of his MTV days.

"No," I reply.

"Then why don't the two of you stop staring and turn around," Pauly says.

My co-worker starts to leave, however I stand my ground in an aggressive posture. I’m not sure whether it was the stress of adapting to a new environment or being told off by the star of Bio-Dome, but Pauly’s words leave me incensed.

"Fuck you, you no talent has been," I say, stunning myself and my co-worker, who is now about three feet behind me.

And this is when Pauly goes from mildly peeved to straight ballistic.

"Okay, now we have issues," Pauly says while hopping over the railing and running towards me. Out of the corner of my eye I can see my co-worker take off. I begin to raise my fists in a defensive posture, but I’m too slow, as Pauly leaps high in the air and brings his foot crashing down into my chest.

The force sends me straight onto my back, and I can see Pauly standing over me. Without any wasted motion he grabs my collar, lifts me up over his head, and then slams me against the brick wall of the comedy club, where he begins punching me in the face with lightning fast jabs and devastating right crosses.

I grow increasingly dazed, and blood starts entering my field of vision. Every once in a while I can see a sadistic smile on Pauly's face, or hear him ask me in profanity laced language whether I've learned my lesson, whether I've learned that the Weasel is far from a 90s novelty act.

At this point, I am no longer trying to defend myself. I am simply in survival mode. I finally fall to the ground, where Pauly's starts kicking me.

"Alright, he's had enough Pauly!" the blonde from the deck shouts.

"Shut up bitch, or you'll be next," Pauly retorts, as he continues pummeling my ribs with his size 5 Men's shoe.

“How do you like that buddy-y!?” “How do you like that!?” Pauly howls, as his words usher me to unconsciousness.

8 hours later I wake up in the hospital. The doctors tell me I've got a bruised sternum, 2 broken ribs, a concussion, and a nasty gash over my left eye. According to their medical expertise, I'm going to be released in another day or two.

The cops also pay me a visit. The Chief is the first fat guy I've come across out here, which makes me think he's from the East Coast. He asks me to tell him my story for a report. When I finish recounting to him everything I've said to you, he looks at his note pad in disgust and shakes his head.

"Pauly Shore again," he mumbles to himself before slowly heading out into the hallway.

I lie back into my morphine induced bliss and close my eyes. I love LA.

[Pauly Shore] [Sunset Strip]