Comedian Andy Dick Arrested for Exposing Name

omedian Andy Dick was arrested last Tuesday night while applying for a membership card in a local Blockbuster Video retail location. Dick was asked to display his driver's license during the application process, at which time the cashier, Miss Trudy Watts of North Las Vegas, read his name, fainted, and hit her head on the counter. Dick was apprehended by an off-duty police officer who was in the store at the time.

"I was there to rent Lethal Weapon 4 when I saw what happened. So I did what I thought Riggs & Murtaw would do. I went to the payphone outside and called for backup," said Vegas police officer Harold Turnbill, recounting his harrowing experience.

Luckily for the people of Las Vegas, Dick was still at the scene when crews arrived. An arrest was made, and the 137 pound Dick was stuffed into a police cruiser through an open window. Authorities are uncertain as of yet whether this was an isolated incident or rather part of a wanton crime spree, though they fear the latter.

"I remember I was scared. Scared and uncomfortable, and then painful because of the counter hitting my head," said Watts shortly after the incident.

Dick was also booked on charges of impersonating a celebrity. "He claimed to be on some kind of TV show, but I ain't never seen him on ER," stated Turnbill, visibly shaken by the experience. Dick is being held at the Las Vegas City Correctional Facility on $80,000 bail.

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You remember back when that hillbilly president was accused of poking the office help? In the end he never admitted he got his jolly roger vacuum-cleaned, but he did admit to an "inappropriate relationship" with the lady. That's classy, man. Never say the fuck word. Oops, I mean F-word. I'd like to have an inappropriate relationship with a guy like that.

Not that I haven't had my share of inappropriate relationships. I've been saying it that way ever since I heard it, because I, too, am a class act. So here's a quick list of some inappropriate relationships.

A lot of smarmy journalists and water cooler gossipers always insinuate I had some kind of inappropriate relationship with the actor who played my father on Who's Your Daddy?, Brad Van Danner. That is entirely sick, people, he was in his 40s and I was only 8 or 9 at the time. It's also grossly inaccurate as the inappropriate relationship was with Chip Fleckner, who played my brother Chip. What a dumb dildo that guy was, they had to name the character the same name so he'd respond when you talked to him! Still, I was young and impetuous and he looked and smelled like that Huckleberry Pie doll.

It's legendary among the non-famous that actresses sleep their way to the top, and then back to the bottom, but I've never lowered myself to that, I'll say on record now. I have never slept with anybody, casting director, director, producer, actor, or anybody for a job that I wasn't going to get anyway, and I've made it implicitly clear before we go to town.

Around 1993 that alternative band Flat Chest had a moderate hit with that song of theirs, "Clarissa Coleman Gone Crazy." A lot of people think I had some kind of inappropriate relationship with the lead singer Dill Warner, but I assure you, he had a girlfriend and we weren't an item, even though it's obvious his girlfriend was a big lesbian and totally giving me a look, and I tried to tell him that. It probably adds to the confusion that I had an inappropriate relationship with the drummer of that band twice before he went on stage at Woodstock '94, though I assure you I thought he was the lead guitarist.

When I was on "Teen Stars Week" of Jeopardy, rumors abounded about me and Alex Trebek. Come on, people, he's like a hundred and I was a teen-ager at the time. Plus, he doesn't actually meet any of the stars until he's on set and has thick security around his dressing room. You'd think he's the president. Ooo, I'm Alex Trebek, I'm so smart and I know everything. Everybody knows you've got the cards with the answers on them right there, Alex, you're not the king of information about imports and exports of Mexico.

There was a year I was on the Conan O'Brien show regularly as a guest. I wasn't the "sit down" variety of guest, just the "walk on and eat Corn Flakes" variety of guest, I'm not sure what was so funny about it, Conan and the guys just get a kick out of seeing me eat Corn Flakes I suppose, and the audience loved it. Without saying too much, I wouldn't have minded having an inappropriate relationship with Conan, or maybe that delicious Max Weinberg. Andy Richter was pretty sexy, too, I like funny guys. I suppose I wouldn't have totally shot down that puppet dog that smokes cigars either, I wonder what the guy who does the puppet looks like. Anyway, I had a few inappropriate relationships there, but it was mostly with guys I thought worked for the show and turned out to be big fat liars.

Like the ex-hillbilly president, I'm not proud of my inappropriate relationships. Well, some of them, especially that one with the famous CNN guy who said he'd sue if I ever mentioned his name. They're all in the past anyway. Unless Conan O'Brien or Flat Chest's Dill Warner call me up again. Yeah, I'll play hard to get—like cold sores are hard to get!

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I definitely need to hire out as a Fourth of July consultant. If you think you don't need a Fourth of July consultant, you've never experienced a Bricks Fourth of July, end of story.

It's about a month away, I know, but when you want to make it a memorable good time, you've got to plan well in advance. It's just not smart to put a houseful of fireworks and a truckload of Miller Genuine Draft together without more than a little planning. Now usually I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of guy, even if the ass of the pants rips out and you get kicked out of the kid's birthday party, but hey, it's not like I knew the kid anyway—nothing ventured, nothing gained; but when it comes to Fourth of July, Omar Bricks turns into a rocket scientist of event planning.

It's more than just explosions and drunken fight after drunken fight—shit, if I didn't have that on a daily basis I'd hang up my hat and go home already. The way I see it, Fourth of July is the world's celebration of pure, uncut freedom, and for me there's nothing better worth celebrating. Hanging out with buddies, sipping beers, and trading swimming pool-building tips is like a fart in freedom's face. Omar Bricks don't fart in anyone's face unless they personally asked for it or take out those little opera glasses in public, which is the same as the former in my book.

It takes more than a month just to save up enough money to rent the arena. Why go through the trouble and expense of renting an arena? Well, you might as well ask what's the point in having a demolition derby—you can't hold it in your backyard, don't argue with that because I've tried. And the demolition derby is the big part of the Bricks Fourth of July gathering, and in the tight-money times I haven't been able to rent an arena I find an unguarded farmer field is a fantastic substitute. If you check with your friends who fake crop circles on the weekends they can probably tell you which places are frequently unsupervised and have the best tire traction.

Then you have to select the special car, I like to nickname it the "doom buggy". The best way, I've discovered, is to hold a little private lottery the night before—if you have one hundred ping pong balls, a giant hamster ball, and a tuxedo, have a little fun with it, it's like a party in itself. Then whatever number wins that's your car, since they'll all have numbers painted on them at the derby. I would recommend keeping it something only you know. Sure, you can let everybody in on the secret, but when most people find out the car's trunk is full of fireworks the volunteers to drive it dry up real fast.

No demolition derby is complete without a lot of beer, whether you're a spectator or a driver. Still, with luck you'll get flipped over by the car with the bulldozer prod welded on the front early and can get a seat right up front in time for the first explosion to hit the doom buggy. Man, that's Fourth of July. Our founding fathers would have been proud enough to piss themselves.

That's just my favorite part, of course. Some Bricks partygoers love shaving the heads of the derby losers. Others love the swimming pool full of Thunderbird, throwing flammable things on the bonfire, or the wrestle Lil Duncan contest. I'm not complaining, I love every part of it, even the swarming of S.W.A.T. team members to close the whole thing down gets me kind of misty-eyed. Like America, there's a little something for everyone. Bricks out.

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