Venice Beach = Stoneyville

Well, faithful readers, that fateful day has arrived. Suityourself and Roughty McRoughton will board their respective airplanes sometime early tomorrow morning, and embark on a spirited journey of flight. Destination: Los Angeles, California.

Luckily for them, the airport is a breezy 15-20 minute drive to my house, so they will get to avoid that notorious LA indigenous denizen and citizen: Massive Traffic.

Instead, they will be greeted by a cool, offshore breeze, a ride over the hill into Southern Marina Del Ray, and then a backdoor entrance into one of the major epicenters of “cool” in this grand country of the U.S. of A.

I present, Venice Beach, California.

If it seems that I play up Venice a bit too much, there’s a goddamn good reason for that. It’s the fucking shit. It’s the bomb diggidy 100% most badass place in the world. This weekend, me and my Old Lady were straight cruising the beach, mad relaxing. It was fucking sweet. If you come to Venice and don’t like it, or have negative things to say, then I say to you, “Go somewhere else, because this 5-square mile of heaven is mine if you don’t want it.”

Favorable destinations for those who aren’t down with Venice include: Dallas, Phoenix, Newport News, Newark and the home of the gayest baseball team in the history of the world, Boston.

The two savages arrive on Tuesday, and the schedule is clean until Friday, July 20. Sonic Youth is playing at the Greek Theatre in Griffith Park. It will be….sick. The Drawing Room is walking distance to the show. Ding Ding.

Birthday Celebration = Drawing Room + Dodgers/Mets

Then on Saturday, back to the DR for pre-gaming ahead of Roughty’s sob-fest. Roughty, fuck the Mets and Mr. Met. You are toast. Turbo recently ate my Dodgers hat, the big vagina-ed slut. Maybe one of you bitches can cough up 30$ for my new shiny blue one. We’ll see.

Of all the things I think that Suit will like the most, I have to go with the weed. If Suit is still himself, the first thing he will want is a fresh bag of the sticky. I will accommodate him and his wishes, and readily supply the goodness. Maybe he’ll want two beezies. Only time will tell.

From there, I imagine on Tuesday afternoon we will crawl the beaches, in search of cheap booze and adventure. It shouldn’t be too hard to do. Maybe Suit will strap on the rollerblades to get things moving a bit. I have a surfboard, too… You down, pussyknocker? Didn’t think so.

Suit has never been West of the Mississippi. I’ve got some serious news for you, biotch. Namely, “I don’t think we’re in Virginia Beach anymore, Ma.” No shiet.

I really don’t have anything else to say. Bring your sleeping bag. Bring your video games. Roughty, bring some tissues, or maybe a towel to wipe the tears away at the Dodgers game.

Bring my birthday presents, too, fuckers…..

It’s on, Venice Beach, 2007.



2 Responses to “Venice Beach = Stoneyville”

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