After narrowly escaping Moro bay I slipped down the throat of the coast of California only stopping to cough at gas stations and I found a Pita Pit. I found the 1 and 101 highways have a very on again off again relationship but they are mostly only together in troubled times such as Santa Barbra and or Los Angeles.
I stopped in Pismo Beach too, but only on account of extra curricular activities. I signed up for a membership, on a whim, for the Pismo Beach Rotary Club. I know the dues are annual and most of the members are big softies but what do I care, I’ll only visit in the dead of winter to host the king crab off, which is the event to end all king crab, literally. Besides the membership card for the Pismo Beach rotary is both a card, badge, bottle opener, flashlight and spinning top (not a dreidel.)
From there I ventured through Ventura, and upon receiving no recognition for such word play left soon there after.
To Los Angeles. I hate Los Angeles. Three hours in traffic to move fifty miles. I had some serious TTTTM. Time To Talk To Myself. I found out that my car idles at a max speed of twelve miles an hour. I found out I don’t like to be flipped off by strangers. And I found out about the staying power of a good cloud of smog despite the generous deposits of B vitamins from the sun. Los Angeles go to hell.
Tonight Orange County, lets look into the recent developments of the around town and if the high school still looks like a prison.
I stopped in Pismo Beach too, but only on account of extra curricular activities. I signed up for a membership, on a whim, for the Pismo Beach Rotary Club. I know the dues are annual and most of the members are big softies but what do I care, I’ll only visit in the dead of winter to host the king crab off, which is the event to end all king crab, literally. Besides the membership card for the Pismo Beach rotary is both a card, badge, bottle opener, flashlight and spinning top (not a dreidel.)
From there I ventured through Ventura, and upon receiving no recognition for such word play left soon there after.
To Los Angeles. I hate Los Angeles. Three hours in traffic to move fifty miles. I had some serious TTTTM. Time To Talk To Myself. I found out that my car idles at a max speed of twelve miles an hour. I found out I don’t like to be flipped off by strangers. And I found out about the staying power of a good cloud of smog despite the generous deposits of B vitamins from the sun. Los Angeles go to hell.
Tonight Orange County, lets look into the recent developments of the around town and if the high school still looks like a prison.