Hollywood Loney Heart DR#: 83-0549944

MadAtoms Personals

Los Angeles can be a lonely city for the lovelorn. Beat off the post-Valentine’s blues by cozying up next to this week’s sexy single!

Bachelor #1: Rafael Nicholas Mora

Rafael is a self-proclaimed “chocoholic,” and a seasoned heroin addict. A Fire sign, this hunky Sagittarius is funny, sexual, and free-spirited. Mora is also admittedly vain about his knife-handling abilities and moustache. A tattoo on Rafael’s upper left back featuring a
Calvin cartoon urinating on the phrase ‘La Migra’ illustrates this Romeo’s appreciation for satire.

Win His Love:
Be sensitive about the missing tip of his middle finger, especially on Thursdays, and give him a gift with Turquoise in it, the designated stone of the Sagittarius.


Sex: M
Descent: Hispanic
Height: 5'8
Weight: 140
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Date of Birth: Dec 6, 1955
Favorite Weapon: Knife
Activities: Drug Dealing, Karaoke Bars
Turns Offs: Negativity, Not getting drug money in a timely fashion
Wanted For: Murder
Favorite Quote: “Be the change you want to see in the world.” - Gandhi
DR#: 83-0549944

How to Be Black in the San Fernando Valley

Black People: DO NOT attempt to exit the 101 before reading this!

Black people looking to move to Los Angeles should know two things:

1) There are 415,298 African-Americans living in the Los Angeles metropolitan area; and

2) 415,296 of them live outside of the San Fernando Valley.

The other two -- my wife and I -- live in Burbank. Don't let this dissuade you from settling here, though -- we'd love the company -- but just know that there are certain steps you should take in order to make your assimilation as smooth as possible.

1) Realize that being black is so rare in the Valley that it's not always considered a bad trait. It's sort of like being a leprechaun; people are amazed to find out that you're actually real. If possible, play up the magic angle.

2) If you suddenly feel a white person's hands fondling your hair, go with the flow. They're naturally curious but harmless unless threatened. Just smile and let it happen. Shower afterwards.

3) Avoid playing basketball.

4) Realize that people will view you as a representation of your race. Don't shuffle, loaf, or do anything that could be interpreted as shucking and/or jiving.

5) Point your handgun with the sight in the correct vertical position. Holding it sideways, gangsta-style, is such a stereotype.

6) Don't stand near a U-Haul unless you want a short-term job offer. (They might think you're Mexican)

7) Know that Burbank is an incorporated city with its own police force. As such, avoid jaywalking, standing on street corners for more than 30 seconds while waiting for the light to change, shifty eye movement, and pocket bulges.

8) Thank God that you're not in Simi Valley.

Hollywood Lapdance

Lane works off the clock to make sure his boss makes it to an important meeting.

Dearest Diary,

I love my fucking job. Every day is something new, something unexpected.

Like today.

I got home from work around 11pm. My Boss decided to leave early (2pm), since it was Tuesday, and he doesn’t really do work on Tuesdays. But he wanted me to be sure that “he didn’t miss any calls.” So I stayed for another 9-ish hours. Sure, I know that I could have probably forwarded the phone, but I heard that his last PA did that. Didn’t work out too well. So I like to stick around late. For My Boss.

After I got home, and got ready for bed, I got a phone call on my “emergency line.” From My Boss.

“You need to come fucking pick me up right now.”

I grab my keys, sprint out the car, and make the 35 mile trek to Santa Monica (I live in Pasadena). Didn’t take too long, a little less than an hour. When I got there, he was sitting on a curb. He wiped some puke from his chin.

“Finally,” he slurred. I opened the car for him, and he stumbled in, completely hammered. I looked at him, “This is why you wanted me to pick you up? Because you’re drunk?”

But he kept staring at the dashboard in front, a vacant expression of privileged success. Then he turned to me: “I’m the fucking executive producer of Midget vs. Robot. Don’t fucking tell me--” and he gurgled, and puked on my lap.

“This isn’t really part of my job description.”

“Then you’re fired.”

After two blocks, he got off my lap, wiped more puke from his chin, and screamed out:

“STOP!”

I slammed on my brakes.

“We’re here.”

He stumbled towards a building with a neon-lit dancing kitty above the door.

And as I sat there in idle outside the Dancin’ Slut Strip Club, hands on the steering wheel, at 12:16am on Wednesday morning, I thought of my life, and my parents, who think following my dreams is “really admirable,” and my Boss’ puke that was gently warming my testicles.

I love my fucking job.

Submit Your Script, Grand Prize $100,000

from our counter guy correspondent at kinko's

He ordered 100 headshots. Jeremy Briggs: Actor. I helped him copy the same dead-eyed, soulless newcomer-from- Nebraska-smile that seemed to say, "I am enthusiastic to become a forgettable extra in a cancelled sitcom!"

He went with the half-crouch pose in front of anonymous brick wall. Not the piss-stained hobo-infested walls on Hollywood boulevard he would soon pass on his way to improv class, where he would join other adults in creating brief realities that allowed them to be people more interesting than aspiring actors.

Later, Alex Hoffman: writer came in to pick up his order of scripts, destined to be the subject of a half-ass reading by an unpaid intern--a film school graduate in no hurry to help a script that could increase her own competitive pool. Pages that would have the privilege of soaking up the juices of a discarded pumpkin spice latte at the bottom of a production house dumpster.

Surprise, surprise! Hoffman wears horn-rimmed glasses!

His fingertips, I imagine, were calloused by hours of typing, coupled with sporadic masturbation sessions in between scenes. Hours spent figuring out whether grandfather should suffer from Alzheimer's, or die of a Holocaust flashback during his blind granddaughter's violin recital.

I just want to say:

"Enjoy your shitty dreams printed all over this expensive tree death!"

And me? I'm okay. Happy. Yes, very.

Safe Word: Taxi

Every story about V involved her fucking someone, usually a stranger, often in an odd location. Firemen, cops, several married men, a female stripper in the middle of a club, an honest-to-God ninja.

V’s call came almost immediately after my girlfriend of four years and I broke up. I knew her casually, a friend of a friend, and she heard I was newly single.

She liked to be slapped. To have her hair pulled. To be choked when she was coming. Then she told me she had a rape fantasy.

She thought it would be hot if someone busted in, tied her up, smacked her around, and forced her at knifepoint to have sex. If I’m anything, it’s a giving lover.

She also revealed her safety word – “Taxi.” And that she’d never used it.

Later that week, I showed up at her place with the bag I’d prepared. I burst through the door, in character now and brandishing a six-inch bayonet. “Keep your mouth shut or I’ll kill you,” I hissed, fighting back laughter. I cuffed her, tied her legs together, and cut her clothing off. She fought me.

“Stop it, bitch,” I growled, and slapped her so hard her head snapped back. She smiled, then gritted her teeth and fought. We wrestled, both getting carpet burns. I bent her over the sofa and we went at it.

Despite her protestations, V quickly got off. After five minutes fighting her, I was exhausted. I went into the other room, drank some water, and tried as hard as I could not to puke into her bathtub. I freed her from the restraints, so out of breath, I didn’t care that I didn’t come.

I learned something that day. Rape is hard work. Too hard for me. All you’d have to do is put up a fight for a couple of minutes and I’d pass out. The only people who should fear being raped by me are attractive coma patients. If Keira Knightley suffers a traumatic head injury, she’d better look out. Everyone else is in the clear.

Gay Zac Efron Impersonator / Porn Star Hijacked My Blog

I tell my friends to come see me at Madatoms. They don't always understand my Ukraine accent. So they end up with Zac Candy Pants pictured here.

Click on him to get a better look.

I'm honored that he is cyber-squatting on my url.

I got something else for him to squat on.

Hollywood Loney Heart DR#: 07-0605176

MadAtoms Personals

Hollywood can be a lonely city for the lovelorn. Beat off the post-Valentine’s blues by cozying up next to today's sexy single!

Bachelorette #1: Randi Lynn Lynd

Good things come in small packages, and Randi is no exception. As a Libra, Randi is an artistic home-body, who is sensual, and idealistic. Her ideal careers include Singer, Real Estate Agent, Architect, Private Eye, Zookeeper, Submarine Operator, and Getaway Driver.

Perfect Date: Rip off some DVDs from Circuit City, eat a big sandwich, and then do crystal meth and H-J* each other in the bathroom at the dog races.

Sex: F
Descent: White
Height: 5'0
Weight: 107
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Green
Date of Birth: Oct 22, 1957
Activities: Quilting, Getaway Driving
Turn Ons: Blonde Wigs, William Shatner, Stealing
Wanted For: Burglary
Favorite Book: How to Make Friends and Influence People


*Hand job


Still hoping to feel cupid’s prick? Visit: http://www.lapdonline.org/hollywood_most_wanted

Trailer Trash: Jumper

Not based on the terrible Third Eye Blind song...


My first thought was this movie must be pretty fucking cheap. It has a Topher Grace look alike, the less anorexic chick from the O.C., the gay kid in Billy Elliot, and Sam Jackson. Turns out the Topher Grace look-alike is actually Hayden Christenson, the teenage Darth Vader (God, aren’t you glad you don’t have to see that movie again?).

Actually, this trailer is pretty cool. Teenage Darth Vader and the gay kid in Billy Elliot star as two anonymous looking white guys who can teleport. They use their superpower to rob banks and vacation in Egypt. Then Sam Jackson, in full on magical Negro mode (as opposed to Snakes on a Plane mode), goes after them with some kind of grappling hook. Much of the preview is spent showcasing the teleporting special effects: see Hayden Chistianson teleport from an icy lake to a library, or from one side of the kitchen to the other.

In the absence of large expolosions and people getting their heads blown off, this will do. Most super hero movies make me want to cry, but this one looks different, as the super heroes have no desire to save the world, nor do they sport fruity costumes. Also, that chick from the O.C. is really hot. I thought her and the nerdy guy made a cute couple. I'm willing to wait 18 years to penetrate their progeny. Male or Female.