I am fascinated by Los Angeles sort of like some are fascinated with serial killers, genocide, or other hellish things that shouldn’t, but do exist. LA is like God’s festering taint on a sweaty summer day chaffing, stinking and covered with vestiges of shit. The air is like the air that is trapped between a fetishist’s mouth and the gapping hungry ass of an obese woman who sits upon the fetishists face. The streets are filthy, unpleasant and visually tedious. A walk down them makes you realize Sisyphus had it easy and one would gladly trade places with him so as not to look at another porn shop, strip mall, or lunatic in a Laker’s shirt screaming insipid nonsense how LA is better. Better than what, than going blind from syphilis? Barely. LA once had something to offer, but now it just takes that offering and jerks off with it sending it’s seamen into the eyes of Ohio, Illinois or anyone dumb enough enjoy cum on their faces.  I know you are saying, “Wait. Hold on. Christ! LA has some good things.” Sure, but for every positive thing I can name fifty that suck the fart out of a dying nuns ass. If someone pitched the truth of LA to LA as a TV show LA would say, “That’s bleak and depressing who would watch that?” When was the last time you were going to visit LA and someone said, “Oh you are going to LA you got to eat at….” Never because the food here is so bad even the homeless complain about the scraps they get from garbage bins.  LA is like watching two things fucking you know you should watch fucking, but can’t stop watch fucking. I can’t wait for the day they stop fucking.