Thursday, January 24, 2008

wow, bury your (my) head in the sand for a couple days and clipperville turns into Falcon’s Crest. The Hatfields and McCoys seemingly momentarily possessed the bodies of Don Sterling & Mike Dunleavy, and hilarity (the melancholy sobbing type) ensued. If you’re not up on the up & up, peep the LA Times Clips page and dive in (especially make sure you read the two TJ Simers columns which lit and then poured gas on the proverbial match). Seems like it’s all settled for now, but any time an employee calls out the boss man like what went down here (and yeah, DST instigated it, but, well) then you’re gonna get some friction, apparent even more so in the odd back & forth exchange chronicled by the ever on-it Jon Abrams of Dunleavy saying he spoke to Sterling the night before the Sacto romp and then when DST’s response was “he said what?” and shaking his head and leaving it at that, Dunleavy admitting he spoke to the boss’s wife after trying to catch jefe tres tiempos and got the word they were on the “same page” from some upper echelon underling, well, then, uh, Mike, just shut up & coach big guy, just shut up & coach, as long as they’ll let ya. I do think it’ll blow over though, as much as DST is dropping major coin this year, he’s still the salty old miser that would sooner sell an apartment complex in Van Nuys for half what he bought it for than leave $17 million dollars on Mike Dunleavy’s koa wood dining room table, and THAT my brothers in arms (and sisters) you can take to the bank, for what it’s worth (prolly about 82 cents.) gratzi in advance, arrears, you know the drill, and if you don’t sit tight, certified instructors are on their way.


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