Yes, I mean You. And you. You too. (No not you, Paul Lynde…) But yes, you and darling, of course you too. Sheesh you all are so pretty! And interesting brilliant and seksi. Harajuku Seksi. But you already knew that didn’t you?
As some of you wonderful readers have noticed and brought to my attention, (Gracias DOD) LA Juice is loading hella slow, returning internal server errors and testing everyone’s patience, making all of you wonder why the faulk you even bother to come to this website anyway,
I mean really Juice, we get it, LA is sooo weird, LA is sooo sunny, LA is better than us. Geebus cripes its bad enough that we have to endure all those euphemism for “Fuck” or suffer one more post about earthquakes that don’t involve tired gimmicks like bedazzled gas masks or Sam Rubin’s Balzac, but watching this damn site load for 45 seconds or longer makes us want to gouge our eyes out and throw our smart phones and Ipads at Stephen King.
I’m paraphrasing your inner monologues.
Now. As you have likely already guessed, this sort of reaction is every blogger’s dream. Sadly, I am not just any blogger.
And so I thank every single one of you depraved, silly enablers from the bottom of my three sizes too small heart for continuing to return here and read my gibberish (‘Specially when there is a Twilight Premiere and a Kristen Stewart Shoe controversy in play this week), but to think you are still visiting when it takes SOFAKING long to load the site- Well.
I’d weep, but crying is for manipulation and getting your way, not expressing emotion.
Anyway, so. I have bothered my web host about it again and all they tell me is that allegedly it’s a “small group of websites” with the problem. They never tell me what the problem is or what needs to be done or what they did. But they often they send an email saying they fixed it, when they have not fixed it. It’s a damn joy.
Sure. So while I try to figure this shit out, missing an opportunity to show you the monster puppets I made with my niece and nephew, skipping the opportunity to share our terror in the idea that Sam Rubin is still getting mileage out of his Balzac video , or that I am being inundated by holiday catalogs, despite sending letters to these asshole retailers telling them to stop- instead I am gonna leave you with a new LA Snapped.
I tell you what: I am starting to think I really need to decorate my car with some sort of important statement using rubberized alphabet stickers from the Ace Hardware. Trouble is I can’t think of anything to say.
You’d think this would be inspiration, or at least intimidation, no? At the very least it should reveal my commitment to bringing you the very weirdest and scariest. I was hella brave to even take this photo, no? Bravery, for you.
FOR LIFE. Or at least until the transmission dies.
What should I “write” on my car? What message would you like your car to send, if you could trick it out like this? And more importantly, now that I know you too have the gift of inner monologue, who does its voice sound like?
