Before delving into today’s episode of Hate By Numbers, I want to touch upon some events of late in the Cracked House. Those who follow the blog know that Swaim’s gone to L.A. and DOB’s joining him in another week. I can hear you now: “Gladstone, who gives a crap about Swaim and DOB? We just read Cracked for you and your Hate By Numbers. It’s wonderful and you are not at all a smug douchebag.”

To you —the sexiest and wisest Cracked readers— I reply, “thank you. You’re too kind.”

But it’s true: two of our own are headed to the City of Angels, and even though I know that they will be greeted by crushed dreams, and soon devolve into 5-dollar-a-wank crackwhores, I’m still a little jealous. I mean, to be young and less funny than Gladstone in the movie capital of the world? That just sounds wonderful.

Don’t worry about me though. I’ll be fine. Sure, I heard a rumor that DOB is going to be playing the role of Goatse in Internet Party 3. And Jack told me that DOB keeps pitching a new crime fighting series starring him and Swaim called Gun & Gachete. (I know. It doesn’t even make sense. Talk about a one trick pony!)

But hey, I still have Ross and Chris! And by “have” I mean the opposite of that. Just last week, I learned —with the rest of the English-speaking world— that Chris is (gasp) Canadian! Sort of a dealbreaker. And Ross? Well, I’m glad his boss has websense so he won’t read this when I say I’m pretty sure Ross is the Zodiac Killer.

So I wash my hands of all four them. Go ahead. Leave, grow, do your thing. But if you go out that door, it’s the end. Swaim, when Carlos Mencia cancels your walk-on part as Crazy Mexican #3, don’t come cryin’ to me. And DOB, when those fancy LA trainers see you with your shirt off and say, “that’s what passes for rock hard abs in Jersey?” don’t send me any tear-stained e-mails.

Now, I’m not sure what any of this has to do with this week’s Hate By Numbers, but there’s not much I have to add to Greg Gutfeld of Red Eye crackin’ wacky jokes to some sex columnist. I mean, I’m fairly sure some folks will take the clever tact of saying that I’m a hypocrite and I’m just the jerk I say Gutfeld is and … oh, I’m sorry, I fell asleep just anticipating that.

In any event, here is the 10th installment of Hate By Numbers. I hope you enjoy it.

If you’ve been wondering why some posts on this blog have seemed thin and phoned in lately, I’ve got some answers for you–unless you’re talking about Gladstone’s posts; I don’t know what’s wrong with that guy.

But on the off chance you’ve sensed a little haste in my posts as of late, like calling a koi pond a coy pond, or referring to the Holocaust as if it didn’t happen, then you’ll be happy to know that I’m not off my game; I’ve just been hauling boxes of all my worldly possessions up three flights in order to move into my brand new Los Angeles apartment, complete with famousness guarantees and a self-service cocaine bar (currently understocked).

Why the move? Well, to be honest, a number of star-crossed romances went south and a healthy percentage of the San Diego Mormon population wanted me out. And you don’t say ‘no’ to a mob of guys with pitchforks and magic underwear.

But even though I’ve been a Hollywood celebrity for a whole 48 hours now, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m nothing more than a small-town kid lost in the Big City. So I thought it’d be worth our while to get to know Los Angeles the only way a Blogger knows how: Googling.

Join me, won’t you, for a brief walking tour of the City Of Angels? Except instead of walking we’ll be sitting on our fat asses, and instead of Meg Ryan riding a bike with her eyes closed and getting hit by a truck…actually, we’ll keep that part.

THE HEADLINE: Oh My, Mini Me

The Gist: Verne Troyer, soon to be known as Oscar Winner Verne Troyer for his stunning performance in The Love Guru, is sexually functional. Who knew? This lady, who videotaped their sex and has made the tape available through TMZ.com

What Can We Learn? That Hollywood can be as cruel as she is generous. And that Verne Troyer has a massive penis. Seriously, he’s shaped like a gavel.

Overall Impression: I’ll have to start having sex in an EMP suit when I’m famous.

How Much It Makes Me Want To Live in L.A.: A lot. Where there’s sex tapes, there’s sex, and me having it.

THE HEADLINE: A Need For Beer

The Gist: An old woman drove her car through the front window of a liquor store in Long Beach, then got out of the car, went to the coolers, and attempted to purchase a six-pack of Bud Light.

What Can We Learn? Los Angeles is a city on the move. We like our beer domestic, our store windows out of the fucking way, and our elderly incarcerated on $15,000 bail.

Overall Impression: As long as I maintain my habit of only drinking alcohol poured down the length of a Corinthian leather chaise lounge, I think I’m in the clear.

How Much It Makes Me Want To Live in L.A.: Somewhat. I don’t care for flying cars, but I love brass, and this lady’s got it in spades.

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