There is cause for celebration, dear reader: the state of California has canceled its insipid State Fair. I cannot begin to describe the happiness this announcement brings me. I would drink deeply in honor of this development had I not run out of desk whiskey Saturday afternoon.  Now they simply need to ban the sale of fireworks and cancel Fourth of July celebrations and this will be one of the the best summers evar.

N.P.: “Pacific Coast Highway in the Movies” – AWOLNATION, Weezer

In other brilliant musical news, a very happy birthday to Ludwig Van Beethoven. Maestro.
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California is a derelict miasmic shithole that needs to be purged. I was born here, I live here, and I’ll likely die here, and the whole thing is an embarrassment. This state is an abject societal failure. The streets are full of homeless shit, the politicians are inept and moronic, the courts are corrupt, and most of the people are dildos. Okay…I probably shouldn’t have said that: that’s unfairly insulting to actual dildos. Each night I pray to the forces of darkness for the Big One to hit, some Old Testament earthquake that leaves the state cleaved off from all else, sinking quickly into the cleansing depths of the Pacific. That’s the best thing that could happen for all parties concerned. I was going to make a list of 49 states that are better than California, but I need to get back to work on the book.
#seeyoudowninArizonaBay

N.P.: “Hyperdrive” – Devin Townsend

This place is starting to get to me.  Had a bit of a breakdown in the wax museum this afternoon.  Trying to figure out if I should try to get a full night sleep and hope all goes well at the border on a busy Sunday morning, or raise hell for a couple more hours here on the strip, and then right at the crescendo of things, just after midnight, one suave gabacho will saunter his way up to an immigration officer, performs crude Jedi mind tricks (look ’em right in the eye and lie), try to remember where I parked the Panty Dropper on the American side, and, if it’s still there, throwing my bag in the seat and tearing ass back to Fecal Creek tonight, trying to beat the sunrise.  I’m going to have some desk tequila about this and see what happens.

N.P.: “Fortunate Son” – Creedence Clearwater Revival