California Post is winging into the City of Angels

Winging into City of Angels

California, here we come — right back where sex started from. Covered wagons. Uncovered women. IQ rated by a tape measure. Hollywood. Fire hydrants spout seltzer. Bathtubs leave 14-karat rings. And Monday begins The California Post.

Big time? Classy? Rich? Please. Their minks have sable coats. Wallets? Classified as carry-on luggage. One high school’s Our Lady of the Dow Jones Average.

Agriculture? Please. It cultivated flowers like Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, Hedy Lamarr, Rita Hayworth, Sophia Loren, Audrey Hepburn, Lana Turner, Grace Kelly. Very few were born in a California manger. Those stalls are for Aston Martins.

Ava Gardner? Her birth was in — ready? — Grabtown, N.C., which she quickly traded for a chauffeured Rolls plus a satisfying Sinatra who — boy, did he not have to be told which way to go.

So: Why might California love the New York Post? Because — like an old boyfriend — it knows just what to do. Big stories. Big cars. Big bras. It fills those. It knows how to satisfy. And where. And how often. And how much.

Plus it discovered gold. And not just in teeth or contracts. Diggers schlepped out to Sutter’s Mill in 1849 armed with pans just to grab nuggets. Waste of time. With less exertion the females could’ve just married that cash register who owns Amazon.

California? GREAT! It’s big, beautiful, sunny, warm, important, rich, famous, it’s Hollywood, LA, Sacramento, San Francisco, San Diego, San Fernando, San Bernardino, San Jose, San Simeon, San everything, big trees, big careers, big asses, big homes, some of which are paid for. It raises apricots, almonds, peaches, nectarines, a few oranges, boobs, oy vice presidents. Treasurers need money? They just call a neighbor. Need brilliantine for an aging scalp? No problem. Buy Beverly Hills.

And why would our God-bless-us NY Post want to schlep westward ho!? Because Californians have money to burn. It’s cheaper than gas.

Ask how come Pelosi entered the state with nothing and turned up a millionaire. Me, just asking.

Everyone loved the California idea. Me, when the subject first came up, I voted instead for Montana. I heard rumors that people from Butte can actually read. You just had to enlarge the print a little. Born there — Gary Cooper, Michelle Williams, Dana Carvey, some eventually moved to California. And although it doesn’t come up often, Bo Diddley’s birth name is Otha Bates.

California. It has Rolls-Royce tricycles, Gucci Christmas trees. It’s got trees, sun, pools, divorce lawyers, actors with names that start with Rock, Kirk, Clark. A Mergetroyd Junior it doesn’t have.

It’s ‘Ha Ha’ Land

Newbie to LA: “My house has 50 rooms. I even got an 18-hole golf course.” Friend: “Inside the house?”

Stunned by all the beautiful women in Hollywood, this brand-new resident — fresh from his big old country house — said: “I feel badly. I just cheated on my wife.” His friend asked: “How many times?” He growled: “How should I know. I’m an editor not an accountant.”

Two amateur hunters — new to the California scenery — were driving deep into the wooded countryside. Suddenly they saw a sign that said: “Bear Left.” So they went home.

SO, to my buddies: Welcome to California, kids, where the rents are as high as an elephant’s eye — and so are the skirts — and do not make the mistake of asking a local: “What wine goes best with Alpo.”

Only in LA, kids, only in LA.