Frickin’ L.A., man

Yesterday morning I got on a plane behind two tall, aging, Botoxed-up former model types who were complaining about how awful short people are. When I landed, I was asked for directions by a random woman whose lips were so collagen-inflated they looked like giant cuts of raw liver stapled to her face. I’ve been to L.A. many times over the past decade, but this was the first one where the stereotypes were so aggressive about confronting me.

I figure it must be because I watched The Big Lebowski right before coming here. The natives can smell the freshness of my fear.

13 thoughts on “Frickin’ L.A., man

    • Why didn’t you protect me, Tomm? I spent three hours at LAX last year and I vowed, from then on, to get Sydney to San Francisco flights. WHY DIDN’T YOU PROTECT MEEEEE

  1. When I flew San Diego to San Francisco in 1997 and passed through LAX on the way, I’m not even sure I knew that Hollywood was next to LA. I was only aware of the LA riots and gangster rap so I made some dumb joke about taking over the gangs.

      • This is a relevant issue. Randy Newman felt it was imperative he write a song about Short People, but I guess those models never understood what he was saying.

        I’ve lived in LA my entire life. Fortunately I’ve had no desire to become a model and/or get plastic surgery.

  2. the last time i was in LAX, a mexican gentleman approached me and asked if i’d heard the divine song of krishna, and if i would like some pamphlets.

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