Scrappy was an alley cat, who in his career had won over fifty fights with other felines. He had lost an eye in battle, along with two inches from the end of his tail. He was a noble cat, though now old, who called one particular alley in Hollywood his home.
Jon Lovitz was a troll with thinning hair, an expanding waste line and a voice forever tuned to annoying. In his career he had lost over fifty fights, never winning and declaring all but one--which he determined a draw-- total and hopeless losses on his part. And he had the scars to prove it. His problem was that he just couldn't keep his mouth shut. "Always with the talking Jon," his Mother would say. "Always with the talking, can't you cork it every once an awhile? I've got a headache from all these bills as it is. . ." So she vainly tried to shut him up by constantly feeding him, but Jon would just talk with his mouth full. It was a practice that made him fatter and fatter.
He too, called the same alley home.
These two, Scrappy the cat and Jon Lovitz the troll, shared this alley for very similar reasons. The two had come to live out the rest of their lives with careers ended, and nothing left to do but die in grace amongst all the other trash. Though Scrappy came a willing victim of time, passing over his throne with the dignity of one worthy of the name "King of The Tom Cats," Jon came a man forced out of his niche, like an annoying zit on the otherwise unblemished face of a Prom Queen. He came a defeated man, with no parade and no pride to soak up all the shame.
It started on one balmy day in June, when the Summer air lifted the hide and all of Chavez Ravine rang out with the crack of the bat and the cheers of the crowd. Drawn by America's Past Time, but more so hot dogs, Jon Lovitz decided to once again grace the people with his presence and appear at The Dodger game in his usual seats (he was a season ticket holder.) The Dodgers were starting the first game of a three game series against the dreaded Saint Louis Cardinals, after splitting a four game series with the Atlanta Braves. In the top of the first, the first three Cardinals went down one, two, three, and by the time the Dodgers came up for their turn, Jon had already consumed five dodger dogs, washing them down with more than two liters of Coca-Cola. His blue Dodger's jacked stained and flanked about the collar with remnants of pig parts, his mouth glistening under the bright lights of the big show; Jon Lovitz was whole again. He stood up to lead the charge and cheer on the Dodger Blue. He wondered why celebrities always complained about going to Dodger Stadium, about constantly being hassled by fans. He had never once been hassled at Dodger Stadium. He had no idea what they were talking about.
He assumed it was because of respect.
Respect I tell yah. He remembered his actions out on the field during the celebrity softball game. He had represented the team well. He remembered when he had belted it a heart wrenching rendition of The National Anthem before a game. He had represented America well.
They just respect me. Yeah yeah that's all. And he didn't give it any more thought, continuing his meal. He even hummed, but the more he thought about it
the more his face gave way to one of concern. As the Dodgers assumed their role on offense, this seed of doubt was already beginning to germinate. Rafael Furcal lead off the inning and promptly lined the pill to left field for a single. After stealing second base Matt Kemp got himself a double, allowing Rafael Furcal trot around third and become the games first official run.
DODGERS 1
CARDINALS 0
During Andre Either's at bat, involving a wild pitch advancing Kemp to second, and a single to left, further advancing the lead runner to third, Jon polished off a whole plate of garlic fries himself, with little regard for the prostitute he knew he planned on purchasing after the game. Next up was Manny Ramirez, the overpaid, overthehill behemoth walking out to the plate with a weapon that was no longer perceived as deadly; yet still the crowd came alive with the notion of more runs. Jon did too, but mostly because he was still reminising about the 15 hundred calories he had consumed in a matter of minutes. His squealing grew loud, and even managed to penetrate the cheers of the crowd, and the concentration of Rameriz; as instead of hitting it out of the park, Manny grounded the ball to short, for a 5-4-3 double play. Matt Kemp however scored.
DODGERS 2
CARDINALS 0
To further illustrate the sheer strength and penetrating power of Luvitz's froggy voice I've constructed a horrible diagram of the whole debacle:
John Lovitz, sitting in his pompous rich bastard VIP seats, shall be represented by a black X, black like his soul. Despite the luxurious view he's in the back of the section, his voice thusly passing over thirty or so heads, the visitors dugout, the dirt track, the grass and eventually to the batter Manny Ramirez, the blue X, and still strong enough to penetrate a ABS Hard plastic vinyl lined batting helmet, and eighty pounds of Manny's matted signature dreads dense enough to put Bob Marley to shame. Now thats annoyance power times a billion.
Jon didn't see much of the top of the second, for he had to evacuate all of the sugar water he had consumed in the prior inning. After an awkward moment at the piss troughs it was off to the vendors to get more food. As he squirted ketchup and mustard on his next half dozen dogs, he fended off a few flies with all of the annoyance of a fat child forced to share a sugary treat with an undeserving neighbor. During this time the sides had again switched, with the Cardinals managing to score a single run off a Ryan Ludwig home run.
DODGERS 2
CARDINALS 1
By the time the Dodgers came up to bat, Jon had started to lose interest in the game, instead taking notice to the few slight pangs that were poking his insides. He again wondered why he often went so unnoticed at Dodger games, despite being a celebrity. He wondered why he always had a two or three seat cushion whenever he went to games, even when they were supposedly sold out and there wasn't an empty seat left in the house. He tried to look around and make eye contact with those around him, perhaps lock eyes with someone and smile, and in doing so they would remember all that he had done for them, all the times he had made them smile; a thought that would no doubt make them remember him. . . But his eyes met no others, he would only get glances from people, and upon meeting his eyes they would quickly look away, or pretend to suddenly be interested in some spot up in the night sky. He then tried speaking to someone at the end of the row (his nearest visitor,) but they acted like they couldn't hear him, his words lost in the sounds of the game, their hands going up and cupping their ear for a better listen but straining no further than that.
All three Dodgers in the inning struck out. No runs scored.
All of the third Jon thought and thought. He ate and thought, mostly because eating helped him think. He found himself to be a profound thinker. By his fourth hot dog he stared down at its half eaten carcass with different eyes, for somewhere behind them, an idea was brewing. He had decided by the end of the inning that he would pretend to choke, and upon doing so he would attract the attention of all those around him. . . A near death later he and the EMT who 'saved' him would both be on the news that night, and once again the name of Jon Luvitz would grace the beautiful lips of Californians.
A silly and desperate idea, yes, but Jon Lovitz is a silly and desperate man, you see.
DODGERS 2
CARDINALS 1
By the fourth inning the last of the stragglers have usually all trickled in, and all of those looking to beat traffic have already allowed the thought of leaving early to enter their minds. The time was now, and Jon knew it. He stood from his seat and proceeded to down hot dogs, eating them as disgustingly as he could, his mouth swallowing as much masticated food as it let slip out. In seconds hot dogs slipped down his gullet, and in between breaths he'd produce squeals like a pig. Those around him still ignored him, so his efforts doubled, animal parts spilling from the sides of his mouth like a great waterfall of swine.
"AHKEM!" His throat produced the sound but everyone cheered, for Manny Ramirez had just scored.
DODGERS 3
CARDINALS 1
"AHKEM!" He feigned choking once more, but again everyone cheered, for this time Ronnie Belliard had just scored.
DODGERS 4
CARDINALS 1
His eyes bulged, for in his feigning he had actually begun to choke. The piece lodged itself in his throat, his throat contracting in attempts to draw in air as the panic came over Jon's face. He kicked the man in front of him in his struggle, and even knocked over a beer as he made his way down the aisle, his face becoming more and more the color of Dodger Blue
. As all hope escaped his body, along with his last breath, a foul ball came soaring back into the crowd, arching high over the heads of several fans, hitting Jon square in the abdomen. The blow took the air right out of him, and with it it expelled the half chewed hot dog out onto the field. The ball bounced around and fans all around him fought over it, some going as far as to trample him as he gasped for air. He caught his breath and rose slowly to his feet, dejected and morose. He had been forgotten in the celebration of a well fought for foul ball, even the man he had kicked had forgotten about the slight pain in the back of his head.
Taking his seat, he sat more lonely than he had ever been before. He felt as if he were sitting in that stadium completely alone. Even as The Dodgers continued to rack up runs and those around him cheered he remained still as a statue, his head drooping, his eyes fixed on the uneaten remains of his fourth inning snack.
As the game went through its motions and the crowd eventually bored and took to batting around beach balls and participating in the wave Jon sat a sad lonely man. He even let all of his hot dogs get cold, his soda diluted from all the melted ice. This had never happened before. And just as Jon was about to get up to leave and succumb to all of the horrible feelings that were now washing over him, a hand touched him on the shoulder:
"Excuse me. . ."
"Wh-What?" Jon had his face in his hands. He was more shocked than anything.
"Mr. Lovitz?"
"You. . . you recognize me?" He smiled, looking up, but his eyes met no fan, they met those of a security guard. Instantly Jon was annoyed. "What. . . what do you want?"
"I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to leave. . ."
Jon protested, and security explained that Mr. Lovitz owed the stadium a great deal of money, and that he was ordered to remove him from the premises. He grabbed Jon by the arm, but Jon pulled away, an action which the security guard later describe as a 'furtive motion.' After all the pepper spray and Jon finally stopped sprawling in the aisle, it took five security guards to escort Mr. Lovitz out of the stadium, where he was plopped out in the parking lot, and left to his shame. . .
The game ended, a blowout:
DODGERS 12
CARDINALS 4
As all the fans left the stadium, one man remained propped up against a light pole - its succeeding light spotlighting his failure. He sat dejectedly, like a fan who's team had just lost. . . for he was now indeed a man without a town; a fan with no team but his own to cheer for.
And now Jon has sunk so low he lives in an alley in Hollywood, having fights with an alley cat with one eye and an unusually short tail over rotten food and spoiled cans of cat food -- and often Jon loses.
The relationship between Jon Lovitz and The Los Angeles Dodgers soured quickly, as he once opened a game singing the National Anthem (imagine that horrid scene for a moment if you will,) played numerous celebrity softball games on the field for charity, and was after all, a Los Angeles Native. Yet after a dispute over a rather hefty ticket package involving three season seats in one of the many VIP 'dugout' sections at Dodger Stadium, for three seasons (2008 to 2010,) the team is suing the fat little man 100,000 dollars for tickets unpaid. But thats how life is I guess, when you're annoying: when you have money, you are tolerable, but as it dries up so do your friends.
It is true that he's a 'celebrity,' and as such receives some leniency, for some retarded reason, but Jon is a small enough fish its better not to have his ugly mug around. Certainly not when it can easily be replaced by a much prettier one, with a well manicured face and a pair of tits below that aren't just stored body fat.
He's not even a big star: not one big enough to attract more people to a Dodger game. Besides, its common decency to pay for what you use, especially if you're a 'V.I.P.' In fact Jon Lovitz is so unnoticeable that he served three years on the show
News Radio, and was so anonymous he played three different characters without anyone notice, or perhaps more importantly, anyone giving a shit.
Best known as that noisy obtuse extra from Saturday Night Live, Jon has had a career dotted with mild flirts with success, and voice work for cartoon characters fatter and more disgusting as he. These days, he's opened his own comedy house called The Jon Lovitz Comedy Club, and rivals Pauly Shore's The Comedy House as the worst shit house in the landscape of attempted humor.
There's no saving this one.
As such, iR declares Jon Lovitz: hopelessly retarded.
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