This is almost a story of the boy who cried wolf but the outcome could have been a lot more dangerous. One particularly hot summer day, Tuna decided to get in and drive a trade-in we had acquired. The trade-in was one of those odd looking Chevrolet SSR convertible trucks, it was new and innovative at the time. Tuna had taken the car around the block and then parked it back in its original spot. I went out to see if I could take it for a spin and Tuna shooed me away. I figured he was on the phone or just having a bad morning so I went back inside.

After about five minutes, I noticed that Tuna was not back in the office so I asked one of the other guys where he was. Dave replied that he had no idea but he would go check on it. He came back a minute later laughing hysterically, saying that Tuna was in the car making faces and screaming. We all figured he was on the phone with his wife or his girlfriend or for that matter both at the same time. Dave and I decided to go out there and make faces back at Tuna. After a little while, we went back inside as it looked like we were only elevating the situation and making Tuna even more upset.

Another few minutes later, we hear a loud banging noise and then glass shattering. Not knowing what it was, and not taking any chances as shootings and explosions have become common at out dealership, we decided to hunker down and lay low. It was at that exact moment that our detail guy ran in and screamed “Tuna just broke the window and is on the concrete, I dont think he is breathing.” Automatically everyone inside assumes the worst: Tuna just got shot! No one wanted to go out there to verify if he did actually get shot for fear that they would be next. As I said earlier, Tuna and I had grown extremely close and without thinking I ran to his aid. When I got to his side I didn’t notice any blood only pools of sweat soaking his shirt. I could not understand what possibly could have happened, or why Tuna was not moving. I decided it was best not to move him, and by this point the police and ambulance had arrived and told me to step back. I don’t know exactly what they did but they got him to wake up instantly. Upon waking up, he yelled the words “Dave, Lizard, I am going to kill you” and then passed right back out.

Dave and I had zero idea what he meant, but being that Tuna was a large guy with a short fuse, I think Dave and I were happy he passed back out…looking back on that, it was probably an evil thought to have. The ambulance whisked Tuna away to the hospital before any other malicious thoughts could creep into our heads! At the hospital we learned that Tuna had suffered from heat stroke and dehydration but that he was okay. When we walked into the room where he was he was sleeping, I decided to wake him up in true LV Lizard fashion…TUNA, WAKE THE **** UP BITCH! and he woke up just like that! When we asked Tuna what happened, all he could say is that when he gets out of the hospital he was going to kick our asses! After five minutes of threats, we learned that Tuna had somehow locked himself in the car. When I initially thought that he shooed me away, he was actually motioning for me to unlock the door from the outside. When he was making faces at Dave, they were faces of helplessness and his motions to Dave were misconstrued as playful instead of disastrous. Tuna’s last hope was to kick the window out with his last ounce of strength, climb out, and hope someone came to his rescue. That was not the last time that Tuna almost died, but it was definitely the closest he had come.

In true LV Lizard fashion, I made fun of him daily for a whole month! That being said, about a month later I was sitting in a Testarossa after just taking it for a drive when Tuna and Dave walked up and held both doors shut with all their strength. I was locked in for what felt like forever, and was drenched in sweat. I felt like I was being cooked inside an oven. The fact that I am a Jew should entitle me to never have to feel that way, but lo and behold here I was in a Ferrari oven. I could not get out and I knew I couldn’t break the window, so here I was stuck. All of my teasing and taunting came right back in my face and I was finally let out of the car to Tuna saying “now you know how it feels” with a huge smile on his face.

Regular plates say the county of residence on the bottom

In Florida (as in most states) car dealers get special license plates. In Florida it says DEALER on the bottom of the plate instead of the county that issues the plate.

I was rolling in South Beach in a Ferrari F430 with the top down feeling like a king.  All of a sudden, a guy runs out to the street, stops me, and says (In front of a huge crowd) “DAMMMMN BOY HOW MANY DRUGS YOU GOTTA DEAL TO GET DEALER ON YO PLATES!”  To this day everytime I am putting on a dealer plate I think of that guy and laugh.

Here’s a play-by-play of my experience trying to vote on election day: I get to the polls at around 9:00 a.m., no doubt still drunk from the night before, or at the very least with a massive hang over and back ache from sleeping on a lazy boy chair with whatever her name was. The line was long to say the least. There was no way in hell I was waiting in it, but there was also no way in hell I was going to come all the way back out to vote later. I was clearly in the wrong place and very obviously stood out like a cotton ball in a sea of color. The voters were clearly not voting for my choice and the line was way too long, so I devised a plan to skip the line.

As I looked around, I saw that the poll workers all had on ID badges attached to lanyards around their necks. I thought PERFECT, my CCW permit is attached to a lanyard in my car and it looks like a government ID!  For those out of the loop, a CCW is a concealed weapons permit. Yes, the lizard carries a gun! So I went to the Bentley and rifled through the mess that has resulted since I basically live out of my car as I am always at someone else’s house. I tossed the CCW around my neck and put on a straight face. I walked to the back of the line and asked a group of people how they were, if they had any questions, and if everything was ok. When they replied, I moved up another ten people and asked another group the same question. I repeated this process several times until I got hit with a question I did not know the answer to, “Am I in the right place?” True to my fashion I told them that they were in fact in the wrong location and would need to go up the road ten miles to the next polling station located on the left hand side. I am sure they are still looking for that polling station as we speak. Call me an asshole if you would like but I find that practical joke a tad funny. Anyway back to the task at hand, cutting the line! I finally made my way to the very front of the line and asked the nice man at the front of the line if he was doing okay and if he had any questions. When I heard the word “NEXT” I made my move. I presented the very ID that was on my neck, signed my form, and went into the voting booth to cast my vote. I walked out of the polling office unnoticed and got into my car with a feeling of great victory! The radio reported the average polling wait was two hours. I got out in 10 minutes.

Yes, I understand it is probably heavily illegal to impersonate a poll worker but guess what……… I DON’T CARE. I didn’t really impersonate so much as made people assume, but that’s splitting hairs. Anyway I made it out in 15 minutes! I feel like I cheated a system that always seems to cheat me and got a good laugh in the process. On top of it, I got to tell my boss that I was sitting in line for 3 hours while I was really relaxing in my bed. ELECTIONS FTW!!!!!!

For the people crying about what I did to the woman by steering her to the wrong polling station, I will say only this………. She 100% deserved for that to happen to her. Her attitude was HORRIBLE and she had an obvious chip on her shoulder towards some of the other people in line, the main person being me. Trust me when I tell you that the woman was no saint and deserved what was coming to her. When you try to gain someones attention by saying “yo white boy, yo white boy” and then follow that up with a question along the likes of “White boy I be in da right place, ain’t I?” You really are not going to get the right answer from me. Everything aside, I really feel I did no wrong. The people who actually believed that a guy who pulled up in a Bentley GTC wearing an Armani suit and Luis Vuitton shoes worked for the polls deserved to be cut in line. Come on, half of them saw the car and every single one of them saw the clothing.

The Transportation

The Suit

The Kicks

You must be thinking “Lizard are you a terrorist? Have you threatened to light your shoes on fire? Have you brought a box cutter on a plane?” NO, I have not done any of those things and I am most certainly not a terrorist (except maybe to women). I love America, in fact I don’t even think I am allowed to leave America do to some incidents in Canada and Mexico. I know that actually makes me seem even more like a terrorist, but let me clarify. I am not a terrorist, I am an alcoholic (which is what makes me so fun in my eyes). That being said, there are two things I hate in life with a passion: the dentist and flying! In order to fly, I need to have a massive amount of pills and an even greater amount of alcohol. If I am not blackout drunk before boarding the plane, there is no way I’m boarding it.

I know what you’re thinking: “Lizard you ride Lambos and Ferraris why not fly on a private jet?” Not a chance, private Jets are scarier smaller than regular planes and I have tried and failed miserably. In fact, my good friend is the president of a very large Fractional Jet ownership company and has invited me on two trips with him in some beautiful jets. The first trip ended with him saying “Don’t do that ever again, you’ll get me fired!” the second and last trip ended with “I can’t believe you did that again, you cant fly with us anymore!”

There was even a time where a client told me he would send a plane for me so we could go to the Bahamas all expenses paid and he sent a twin-engine propeller 310. I refused to go as soon as the plane touched down knowing that one of two things would happen: I would have to get so drunk that I would believe in my heart I could fly the plane and I would bring us down in a blaze of drunken glory OR I would get so drunk that mid-air I would wake up from my passed out state and freak out punching the pilot in the face, going down wondering how I could have been so stupid as to knock the pilot out. Either way the flight would have ended with me dieing and although I have walked out of some near death experiences unscathed, I don’t think the lizard would survive a plane crash.

Needless to say I tried my hardest to get to the perfect level of drunk to board the plane but it didn’t work. I got to a belligerent level and argued with the pilot, tossed my luggage down the runway and told him to fetch. I then called my client and yelled at him for trying to kill me and told him that I never wanted to speak to him again. Three days later my client came to Miami where I was at and bought a 47-foot Fountain Lighting Race boat from me and we blasted off to the Bahamas!

Now that I went off on a total tangent, let me get back to why I was banned from JetBlue. It was 2005 and I wasn’t even 21 yet. I was traveling to LA with two of my friends who were very large, tattooed, muscle bound, young, and wealthy clients of mine. The flight was spur of the moment, and the only flight we could get on was coach three in a row JetBlue. I was smashed between these guys who towered over me. One of the guys I was with who we will call Scott,  is a very wealthy young client of mine whose family started a very prominent business and also owns over 30 clubs and restaurants around the US. Scott loves Jack Daniels so we sat in the airport parking lot downing Jack and stuffing Xanax into our mouths. I did it to calm myself down for the flight at hand, Scott and Mike did it because they were fucking crazy.

Anyway I was finally drunk enough to try and board the flight and got a wonderful Idea, (as you know by now all my wonderful ideas when drunk end in disaster). Scott and Mike were both 6′4″, 300LBs of muscle with tattoos head to toe. I am 5′8″ and Skinny. I decided from the time we boarded the plane to start complaining that I had to sit in between these “giant assholes” and demand to be moved to first class. I yelled, I screamed, I may have even let out a few fake tears.

In my drunken state I felt that no one was listening to me, so in order to be heard I started throwing food. I then poured the mini liquor bottles all over myself, Scott, and Mike and yelled out “look these big mother fuckers are making me spill my drink!” I demanded more mini bottles and the flight attendant said that I was not allowed to have any more liquor. Telling the lizard he cant have alcohol is like poking the incredible hulk with a stick, you just shouldn’t do it.  It sent me into a drunk range during which I started a full-on food fight. Peanuts, Chips, and Pretzels were flying everywhere. It got to the point where Scott and Mike were not having fun anymore and they tried to tie me up with my seat belt. I decided that there wasn’t enough of a mess all around us, so I took all of the leftover food, tossed it at my feet, and started jumping up and down stomping it into bits and pieces

I have a flight to Cali and need to be at the airport by 5:30

I am flying to LA just for a friend’s birthday (that’s how The Lizard rolls) I always wanted to fly somewhere and then buy my clothes after I land. So what the fuck, why not do it in LA?

Here is how the Lizard Rolls:

• LIMITED LUIS VUITTON DUFFEL
• FERRARI F430
• SOME PERKS (Prescribed for my terrible back)
• ADDY (Prescribed for my terrible ADD)
• ICED OUT JACOB
• ICED OUT CHAIN
• ICED OUT CUSTOM SKULL

Lizards & Lizard Food

Lizards, Lizard Food, & Bling

We all know that The Lizard will NEVER be able to wake up at 5:30 AM, so I’m headed to the strip club, going to drink drink drink, and then catch my flight!

WISH ME LUCK!

P.S. I may fly a random stripper with me to LA…that sounds like a great drunk Lizard Idea!

I will keep y’all updated through TWITTER and of course LVLIZARD.COM

First I got Some Supplies From My Supply Closet...

Then I Took Out Some Tools...

Followed By A Few More Tools...

Going To Work With Tool #1

Making Some Final Adjustments With Tool #2

Inspecting My Handiwork

Don’t forget to comment and show me some love on Valentine’s Day!

The Finished Product

John tried to defend his choice of transmission by saying that it was “for his wife”. I then told him to go fuck himself because I wasn’t going to participate in his homo erotic fantasies of beating little Jews up, driving in tiptronic Porsches, and carrying around a man-bag. Instead, I told him that he should learn to drive stick like a real man. He hung up on me and fifteen minutes later he walked through the dealership doors, picked up my computer monitor, slammed it on the floor, and said next time it’s your face, now get me a fucking Porsche and walked out.

I called John an hour later and said we should make a compromise. If he wants to get a tiptronic and be a woman he should even it out by buying a turbo. He agreed and told me to find the car and find it fucking fast. I already have it John, I said, I drove it over to the dealership feeling like half a woman but then I realized I didn’t have a man bag so I am only a quarter woman. FUCK YOU JEW he yelled, bring it to me I’m at a strip club that we will call “Gold Platinum Titties”. So I drop the Porsche outside of Gold Platinum Titties because that’s what he told me to do, “put it in the parking lot and go back to your Jew dealership!” OKAY FAG, the car is in the parking lot, enjoy it.

Three hours later after the dealership was already closed, John called me demanding that I “open up the fucking doors or I will murder your children!” I don’t have children but that’s they way he is, FREEKING NUTS. A few minutes later, John comes flying into the garage, gets out of the car, and falls over PISS DRUNK with white powder covering the entire black leather interior. I’d like to take the high road and say that it was flour or powdered sugar, but unfortunately I know all to well that John doesn’t bake any cakes while driving his exotic cars.

There was a woman in his car absolutely butt naked with no clothes anywhere in site! When I asked where her clothes were, John gave me one of the oddest stories ever. Apparently John and this naked woman (a stripper from the club) were engaging in some “in-car activities”. Sex, drinking, coke…anyway John hit a few parked cars and then claims that the police were chasing him so he tossed the strippers clothes out the window to distract the police. He even claimed that her big ass high heels dented the shit out of a cop car. So now here I am sitting there with John, a naked Stripper, enough cocaine to make Escobar blush, and a brand new screwed up Porsche that was supposedly purchased as a gift for his wife. To make matters worse, John was now transferring all his stuff from the Porsche to a red Ferrari 360 Modena we had sitting there. He demanded the keys and I did as I was told, gave him the fucking keys. He took a stack of cash ($10,000) from his man-bag tossed it in my face and said “fix my fucking Porsche and change the license plates, keep the change little asshole.”

He rode off into the sunset with his naked friend and I came out unscathed with some cash in my pocket. I called him a few hours later and asked how his wife liked the Ferrari and the naked stripper. As usual he threatened to kill me, my family, my friends and my dog, but he invited me out to dinner over the weekend because I did such a good job selling him two cars in one day.

I knew something far more odd or life altering would happen at dinner, but I just didn’t quite know what it would be. That was the fun of John, you always knew something bad was going to happen but never knew exactly what…either way you can catch that story at the beginning of next week, because I’ve got a special story in store for Valentine’s Day.

That being said, I was de-virginized on the same day I got my car. Kind of Ironic since now at 23 I’m using Bentleys, Ferraris, and Lambos to get laid! Anyway, the story of me losing my virginity is yet another extremely funny and odd tale but I will save that for another day. This story pertains to road head! I was with this wonderful girl named Caroline. She was almost 5′ tall, had a nice set of tits, and an amazingly large ass. To this day she still has an amazing ass and an even better set of fake DD tits with a nipple ring to boot! She was basically my main girl for a while; she loved other girls so it worked out perfectly.

One day she asked if I had ever heard of road head; at that point in my life I had not heard of it, but I heard the word “head” and was very intrigued. When I was told what it entailed I decided that it was a theoretically perfect idea that I probably shouldn’t execute. At that point of my life I had already wrecked two cars that I personally owned and flipped a rented Range Rover end over end trying to go off-roading (yet another wonderful tale I will tell later). Given the circumstances, I figured it would be wise not to get behind the wheel with my cock out and Caroline between my legs trying to get every last ounce of her favorite man juice out of what we at the time called “BOB” (today we call it the JewC).

Depressed that I couldn’t partake in this new concept of Road Head, a light bulb went off in my head, something I recognize today as being a sign of a horrible Idea. I thought what if I could PRACTICE road head. I called Caroline and told her about my concept, she was happy to oblige. I grabbed two kitchen chairs and put them in front of my television. I had Caroline sit on the right chair with me on the left,  took my pants off, and ran to the PlayStation console. I turned it on, put in Gran Turismo 2 or 3 (I cant remember which, but it doesn’t really matter), and picked up the controller. As I was about to start my first race I said “Suck” and she did exactly that. Turn by turn, stretch by stretch, I was driving like a pro. I had to lift the remote a few times but I was getting the hang of it.

The road course got a little more intense just as Caroline began going up and down with her mouth and hand simultaneously. Oh wow that was great, what a rush. Just then, I felt an even greater rush and all at once I came, crashed into a wall, AND dropped the play station remote right on Caroline’s head causing the loudest and strangest sound on earth. It was a combination of complete carnage to the PlayStation car, and the dick muffled OUCH of Caroline as the remote smacked her on the back of her head.

That day I decided road head was not a good idea to try in real life and Caroline went home with an ice pack on her head. That wasn’t the first time she and I tried some crazy Ideas, and it definitely wasn’t the last time she got hurt in the process.

He was a big big Italian fellow who happened to carry a LV or Gucci man-bag around. In the bag was always a huge wad of cash and a gun. Well, I was the only person brave or stupid enough to constantly make fun of him about his man-bag. I made fun of him so much that he grew to like me and ultimately decided to his buy cars from me instead of the other sales guy.

Well, let me just tell you how hard (let’s call him John) John was to deal with. If he wanted a car, you had better be sure you had it, and if you didn’t, you better get it before he shows up or a scream-fest would follow suit. I recall sitting in my office chair and getting a call from John:

John: Do you have my lime green Lamborghini yet?
Lizard: No John
John: Look down at your chest

I looked down and there was a red dot on my chest.

John: I’m across the street pointing a rifle at your chest, get me my fucking lime green Lambo

…then he slammed the phone down

That was just the many times I had a gun pointed at me by John who had more guns than the US military and I am not even coming close to exaggerating.