You know you want to hit this

Check this out. The Oracle Apps people are planning on hosting a Lunch 2.0 shindig at the ranch on October 22. Great idea, right? That's why I'm taking over and the planning the entire event personally. I mean, come on. We can't let the Apps people frig the whole thing up. It's just too important.

I'm taking the thing up a notch. Amber Mac and Veronica Belmont have already agreed to come, but only on the condition that we give them the red carpet treatment. No problem there. I lined up a couple of their stalkers to follow them around with some special x-ray vision camcorders. And in case you're wondering, no, the stalkers aren't Kevin Rose and Alex Albrecht. But they will be here to film an episode of Diggnation. Instead of drinking beer, they'll be sampling Larry's homemade bonsai brownies. The special kind. No, I'm not kidding. It's in the contract they just signed.

So RSVP ASAP, freaks.

UPDATE: I've just been informed that Mark Zuckerberg will be attending. You know what that means, bros. Bring your rotten tomatoes. A free fake Ferrari car door handle goes to the first person to nail Zuckerberg with a cream pie.

My weekend with Schwarzenegger

And what a weekend it was, friends. On Saturday we went to the 31st Annual Muscle Building Benefit Lunch in Sacramento, and that afternoon we attended an anti-feminist rally in L.A. I didn't even know anti-feminist rallies existed, but apparently this entire movement has been around for a while now. Whatever. I bought a lifetime membership at the rally. Hugh Hefner was the keynote speaker, and the crowd went wild when he came out -- just wild. This one dude standing next to Arnold the whole time was jumping up and down and giggling like a teenage girl. At one point he even spilled beer on Arnold's suit, which didn't go over too well. And then on Sunday, Arnold and Karl and I went cruising around Woodside in the Karmann Ghia, looking for boobs and butts. We did see some nice tail. Arnold brought his paint ball gun, which he said would come in handy if we ran into any "girlie men."

Yes, I know what you're thinking. Crazy. That's what I thought, too. Anyway, the whole point of the weekend was to get Schwarzenegger to legalize pot and help me secede from the United States. Because I've actually wanted to turn my Woodside house into its own sovereign nation for a while now. Want to call it Larryland. I've already had the flag and constitution drawn up. All I need now is government approval.

But would Arnold help me? Would he throw yours truly a bone? No, he would not. He said he knew where I was coming from, but he couldn't help me. But wasn't California a great state? Especially with him as governor. I should be thankful to live in his jurisdiction.

Whatever, bonehead. Larryland is going to happen, with or without your help.

Confession: I grow bonsai marijuana plants

It's true. I've worked very closely with my gardeners to come up with a hybrid that packs twice the punch into a leaf that is a fraction of the size. And they've actually done a pretty good job. I mean, talk about a high, man. Woo boy. Completely mellow and no paranoia. I've been growing these things for a while now, saving them up for special occasions like Steve's birthday and the day Ballmer gets fired. And the best part is that you can actually shape these plants. Like, I made one into Steve's head, complete with the glasses and stubble and everything, and another looks like Safra's bust. The one for Ballmer looks like, well, an asshole. The little buggers live forever, so I'm pretty sure it'll still be alive when they pull Ballmer's card. I'll have it gift wrapped for him.

So long, Paris. Sorry it didn't work out.

Okay, so I know Paris has only worked for me about a week or so. But the girl just had to go. For one thing, she was real flakey this week. As soon as we landed in Jerusalem, she bought a bunch of potato chips and started watching Jackie Chan movies. Then she didn't want to go out and party with Yarden and Nivit and Natalie and me. She said she wasn't going out on the town with a Pendy, whatever that is. And then, as if that wasn't bad enough, she wouldn't roll me joints. When I made a stink about it, she rolled me a nice big one and we made up and were better. For a while. Until we were in the MiG, flying home, and she tried to take Minor Threat out of the MiG's CD player. She said she wanted to listen to Justin Timberlake.

That was the last straw. I had to show her to the door. You know. Like, eject her.

My PR people are spinning the story as I write this. I'm not quite sure what they're saying, but you can probably guess, right? "Paris Hilton, the blonde bimbo millionaire socialite skank, was wigging out after forgetting to take her medication for unknown mental illnesses. In a terrible and horrific accident, she pulled the eject lever and parachuted safely into Yugoslavia. Larry Ellison said he deeply regretted the incident." It would all be true, except the part about me regretting the incident. Thank god I won't always have Paris, eh? Anyway, I'm back safe and sound in San Jose now.

Paris Hilton, worst MiG passenger ever

So I tell her before we get in the cockpit that she needs to wear one of the little diapers I gave her. You know, because we're flying non-stop and refueling in the air. But does she listen to me? No, she does not. She says she can hold it. Right. Like hey, I'm Paris Hilton the millionaire princess skank who can hold it in for like 18 hours. Then she blames me when she tinkles in her seat. I'm like, say whatever you want Paris, but you're paying to have that cleaned up. And then she rolls me a joint with really shitty weed that's laced with something. I could feel myself wigging out a little, and honestly, I knew something was really wrong when I tried to land on that aircraft carrier. But that worked out alright. And I'll spare you the details of her puking while I was flying upside down over Jerusalem. Hey, we're here, right? We made it. "Shabot Shalom," as they say in Hebrew. Means happy Saturday.

OMG Paris drunk dialed me last night

She calls me at 2:28 AM and she's so fucking wasted. She's like, hello? Hello? Larry? And I know it's her right away. I'd recognize that high-pitched whiny valley-girl voice anywhere. And I say, yeah Paris? And she says, do I have the job? And I'm like, well, you did pretty well in the MiG simulator according to the guy in HR, and everybody gave the thumbs up, so I guess it's a go. And she's like, YAAAAAAAAAAAAY LARRY!!! And then she starts laughing or crying, or both. And then I'm thinking, wait a sec. I could have some fun with this. So I say, Paris, you're going to stick to me like white on rice, right? And she's like, uhhhh huh. And then I say, and you'll roll me joints anywhere, right? Even in your parents house or the men's room or the Oval Office? And she's like, uhhhh huh. And then I say, is there anything you won't do? And she's like, uhhhh huh. And then I say, okay, like what? And she's like, uhhhh huh. That's when I hung up.

I think I've found my new administrative assistant

Remember that ad I told you we were placing? Well, we've had a bite. Paris calls this morning and says she can roll joints with the best of them. Says she's worried her granddaddy might still pull her inheritance, so she's looking for a nice stable career where she can stay out of the public eye. And it's like so amazing to talk to Larry Ellison. She's heard like so much about me and when she saw the ad in High Times it was like, hello? She just had to call. And I say, sure, come on in and apply like everybody else. We'll get you in the MiG simulator as soon as possible. And she says, oh, she almost forgot to tell me that she's learned a thing or two in jail, which might come in handy. And she thinks that she's a really good fit for the position.

Um, yeah. I'm not too sure about the good fit part, but we'll see.

Folks, I know what you're thinking. But listen, I really think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.

We're calling it a "Career Opportunity"

Goes a little like this. I'm getting a little older and for some reason my fingers are too fat to roll joints these days. So my HR people are looking for a new administrative assistant. You know, just somebody to go wherever I go and roll the you-know-whats whenever I want them. Because here's the thing. Even if I could roll them these days, I wouldn't want to. Much as I love weed, I'm tired of tasting, touching, seeing, and smelling the stuff. I just want to smoke it.

Shouldn't be too hard to find somebody, right? That what's we thought, too. But just try giving somebody a dime bag and telling them to roll a joint in the MiG-29 simulator when it's flying upside down and pulling like -18Gs. Nobody can do it. A couple people passed the yacht simulator test where you have to roll one in the crow's nest with rain and gale-force winds. But come on. Anybody can do that, even me.

So we're placing an ad in the High Times next month. And if that doesn't work, we'll place one in the Air Force Academy newspaper or whatever. I know for a fact that those boys fly stoned. I mean, what else are you going to do when you're Iraq-bound in one of those C-130s?