Andy Dick Gets His Ass Kicked

Lovitz and Dick have been at loggerheads since a 1997 Christmas party at [Phil] Hartman’s house, five months before his troubled wife Brynn fatally [shot] Hartman, then killing herself. “Andy was doing cocaine, and he gave Brynn some after she had been sober for 10 years. Phil was furious about it - and then five months later he’s dead,” said Lovitz. Last year, a drunken Dick strolled up to his table at Ago… and “looked at me and said, ‘I put the “Phil Hartman hex” on you - you’re the next one to die.’”

When the two ran into each other at the Laugh Factory last Wednesday, “I wanted him to say he was sorry for the ‘Phil Hartman hex,’ ” Lovitz told us. [Andy] leans in and says, ‘You know why I said it? Because you said I killed Phil Hartman.’ Which I never said. Then he asked me to be in his new movie. “I grabbed him by the shirt and leaned him over and said, ‘I don’t want to be in your movie! I don’t want to be in your life!’ I pushed him against the rail. Then I pushed him again really hard.”

Laugh Factory owner Jamie Masada, who witnessed the assault, said, “Jon picked Andy up by the head and smashed him into the bar four or five times, and blood started pouring out of his nose.” Lovitz told Page Six, “All the comedians are glad I did it because this guy is an [].”

Delicious, delicious comeuppance! Jon Lovitz is my new hero. It’s long been a dream of mine to go around like some kind of vigilante celebrity ass-kicker, bashing their botoxed faces against bars and stabbing them right in their cold black hearts. Andy Dick was already on my list — somewhere down at the bottom, but still definitely on the list. First I’d whack Paris Hilton, then Lindsay Lohan, then Britney Spears — the “trifecta,” if you will — then maybe the Pussycat Dolls, and Mariah Carey… oh, and that chick down at Luby’s that gave me the stink eye that time I paid with exact change, and, um… Madonna, Gwyneth Paltrow… Tommy Peterson, who in the third grade called me “fattyfattyboombalatty” and made me eat a cricket, those girls in middle school who told everyone I was a lesbian and stole my gym uniform, Rosie O’Donnell, and every mother who ever made me cry and gave me a wedgie and told me that Magic: the Gathering was a faggy game and put poop in my locker and whiteout in my hair. You hear me, s? I’m coming for you! Just as soon as they adjust my meds and I my conceal and carry permit gets approved. Until then, they’ll just have to suffer the metaphorical jabs of my rapist’s wit. The pen is mightier than the sword, indeed!

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