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We thought we'd seen it all in this city where the auto is king, but we saw something we'd never seen before during our drive home last night.
We were heading east on Wilshire Blvd, near Wilton, when we spotted a Toyota SUV pull up onto the sidewalk so that the driver could deposit a letter into the corner mailbox. It was pretty late so there was nothing to prevent the driver from just pulling over and parking, like a normal person, and jumping out to deposit his letter.
Our favorite quotes so far
1. This is it...the last straw. There have been other last straws, too many to count in fact, but this is really really it. I have spent 2 years in this godforsaken metropolis testing my tolerance for the intolerable and I have finally given up- I hate you I hate you I hate you.
--FUCK YOU traffic on the 405 at 4am. When I'm driving home at 4am, I'm either drunk, horney, or crying (the only reason one is driving at 4am), so I need you to be clear. I spend my whole day at your mercy, doing runs, burning high-priced watered-down gas, and basing my entire social life on your whims, but at 4 fucking am, I need you to NOT CLOSE DOWN TO ONE FUCKING LANE. I hate you.
--FUCK YOU cum-dumpster that took off my side-view mirror going 55mph and KEPT DRIVING WHILE I WAS SITTING IN MY CAR.
--And finally, FUCK YOU Los Angeles Craigslist community. I moved to this city a wide-eyed, impressionable recent college graduate [read:poor]. I was in need of many things: a job, a roommate, a love life, a toaster, etc. I turned to you. You came highly recommended from friends back east and so I jumped blindly, expecting to be caught by your soft, fuzzy, missed connections arms. So far, I have found:
- A roommate embroiled in a lawsuit with a "major studio", shooting porn for pocket-money and selling postcards on the off-ramp of a "major freeway" for fun
- A run in with a "pseudo-nudist". Newsflash, buddy. If you watch re-runs of Golden Girls with your schlong out, there is no "pseudo" about it.
- A crap-tastic desk that has a door that won't stay shut so that at the most inopportune moment, like say when my tiny little sister is visiting, it flies open, revealing my resin stained bowl and a bag of weed that would make Pablo Escobar proud. Awesome.
- A job selling custom closets in Compton. you don't need a closet. You need to move. No, I'm not kidding