Kuala Lumpur welcomed Condi with open arms, and in return, she made them cry, she made them hear, she made them feel. A lot of people have not-very-nice things to say about Condi, and they’re all true – the donkey show in Tijuana, the coke races in Colombia, the all-night slogging fest with the Minutemen (“Now I know why they’re called MINUTEMEN“, she quipped. “They only last a minute!” I was tempted to remind her of the old ‘if you have to explain it, it’s not funny’ adage, but I let it slide, cuz you don’t want to get on her bad side, and believe me, Buster, both of her sides are BAD!) – but I have to say, after the weekend getaway we shared on a little tourist-free compound near Shanghai (she can drive a rickshaw like nobody’s beeswax!), I had a new-found respect for her that I just can’t shake. I’m sorry, I tried, but I can’t. I just can’t. She’s my homegirl.

Her performance at the Asian security talks just has to go better than Colin Powell‘s Village People lampoon last year. YMCA? No thank you, I bathe alone, especially around men named “colon.” But, she was still nervous, I could feel it. “Fluffy Cotton Condi,” I said, calling her by my pet name for her, “What exactly are you worried about? Remember Colin last year?” She giggled again. “Yeah, what a fag-” she misspoke, quickly correcting herself, “-gettable purfowmance,” faking a heavy and poorly orchestrated East Coast accent.

Knock ‘em dead, Condles. Go out with a bang!

I admit it, Adam - I gave her the wrong phone number to call into your show because frankly I knew what kind of emotional land mines were ahead of her (the entertainment industry can be so cruel – believe me!), and I had just spent two hours showing her how to put on mascara correctly (Maria Shriver tried to teach her, but really … ), and I didn’t want to spend two more of my hours reapplying after you made her cry. But I guess a father bird can only keep his little chick safe for so long before they have to fly alone into the big scary world. She kept calling the number I gave her (a delicious teriyaki joint down the street – Ann needs some meat on those bones of hers) and asking for you, but they kept putting her on hold.

And I hope you feel even worse after reading this entry in Ann’s super secret diary that I took and copied when she wasn’t looking:

Thursday, July 6, 2006
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got up, took my pills, adam’s apple getting smaller. speaking of adams, i’m going to be on the radio tomorrow. can’t wait! still trying the ‘ann is a bitch’ routine – i hope people get it soon. seems like it’s not really making the splash i hoped. little nervous, but it’s adam corolla and he’s pretty cool – i’m sure he gets it. he’s also kind of hunky in that fred flintstone kinda way. or is that barney rubble? hmm … i wonder if all the cavemen were that sexy back then? well, now that my dick is gone (hooray!!!), i guess my man-on-man thoughts are officially heterosexual - take that mom! take that dad! anywhoo … today i donated some old clothes to the homeless shelter down the street next to that great teriyaki place and then volunteered to pre-chew food for the elderly at Our Lady of Old Misery for a couple hours until I bit my tongue and it wouldn’t stop bleeding – turns out i accidentally chewed mrs harrington’s blood thinner pills!!! eeek! i hope they don’t make my adams apple get bigger again! LOL brad‘s coming over and we’re going to ihop then we’re off to Buena Vista to talk about hosting a new children’s show. i hear nicole richie is up for the part too, but brad said she’s probably going into rehab again (codename: caribbean vacation) so she’ll be out of the running. good. she’s almost as pretty as me. as i. LOL what’s the grammar rule there??? anywhoozle, fingers crossed! best friends forever! you’re the only one I can trust, diary! ps – sorry so sloppy! i poked myself in the eye with the mascara pen (again!!!). must have been a man who invented it! LOL
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So bravo, Mister Adam Corolla. If your job was to make Ann cry and buy her a one-way ticket to BulemiaLand for the weekend, I can only say “job well done.” I ask you … what did she ever do to you – or to anyone else, for that matter? Good day, sir. I said good day!