“If they got a cub, they would kill the adult,” Sam tells me. Like when he’s talking about an undercover PETA operation that recorded one of the roadside-bear-attraction owners talking about his bears. And also when he says something that is dark and horribly unfunny. It starts out a big deep rumbling guffaw, which longtime Simpsons writer and producer George Meyer describes as “startling, like the squawk of a macaw,” except that it keeps on going, longer than you’d expect, “until it fades into a whoosh, like the last squeeze of a Sriracha bottle.” The laugh happens whenever Sam says something he knows is funny, which is often. Sam punctuates most of his sentences with a distinct laugh. He holds up a container of strawberry cannabis lemonade and laughs. “Mention I have a vegan pot chef,” he calls to me. She has accompanied him to all of his chemo sessions since the cancer hit, even making sure she got one day a week off to fly to Los Angeles written into her contract while she was performing in a play in New York.Īs the plane taxis down the runway, Sam opens up a briefcase full of medical-marijuana-laced snacks. Jennifer Tilly is Sam’s ex-wife and now one of his best friends. Her surgery was also paid for by our host. We will also pay a visit to Marley, another rescued female grizzly, who is recovering from the two broken legs inflicted on her as a last-minute parting gift when she was badly beaten by her previous owners. The two new mothers were among 17 bears, fated to live their lives pacing back and forth in the concrete holes of a grim roadside bear-pit attraction in rural Georgia, subsisting on white bread and soda thrown to them by tourists, until our host for this trip paid to facilitate their release. We are all headed to the 720-acre Wild Animal Sanctuary, just outside of Denver, where we’re hoping to catch a glimpse of six newly born bear cubs. Salomon” written in sparkly letters on it-and grins. She looks up from a phone-its pink case has the words “Mrs. In the seat facing mine, looking lovely in a platinum pixie-style haircut, sits Pamela Anderson, wearing no makeup, somehow managing to be dressed up and dressed down at the same time in a short but otherwise modest black dress and ankle boots with four-inch heels. The tousled-haired guy in the window seat beside her, wearing a Bruce Lee T-shirt and drawstring pajama bottoms, is her boyfriend, World Series of Poker champion Phil Laak. On one side of a polished wood table that holds a fresh-fruit basket and a backgammon board is the actress Jennifer Tilly, glamorous even in torn jeans and a pair of Converse All-Stars. There’s Tyson, a tattooed dog trainer, seated on a couch with his pit bull, with whom he communicates using nonsense syllables and telepathy. The passenger manifest sounds like the setup to a joke, or a road movie: It’s 8:30 on a Friday morning at the Van Nuys airport, in Los Angeles, as a Gulfstream IV is preparing to take off for the two-hour flight to Denver.
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