Hollywood: the definitive review (7/10)

Last time I went to LA we didn’t end up going to Hollywood, meaning I can legally review it now without it being a cheap cop-out. Or something. Leave me be, I missed like six blogs on this trip. Stupid world. Though it was more down to me simply not bothering, rather than not being able to.

Anyway, we went to HollyWEIRD ha ha ha that’s a funny thing to call it. It was warm, and we had just had a Lincoln Town Car driver who wouldn’t stop saying “young lady” about everything. Young lady in the car? Young lady. Man? Young lady. Diseased cacti? Young lady. Hammock fire? Young lady. You get the picture. Well, maybe you don’t because that’s a bit nonsensical.

It was warm, that much is entirely true, which is sometimes a good thing even by my outside-hating standards. It made my arms go a bit brown, so it can’t be all bad. Unless I end up with skin cancer.

Then we found our first street performers – a breakdancing troupe from around the world, via LA. They were alright, nothing worth writing a blog about except for the opening gambit from the lead guy. When asking for donations from the crowd he pointed out this was for two reasons: “One, it keeps me out of the court house, and two, it keeps me out of your house.”

I’d like to see him try and find my house. NO DOLLARS FOR YOU, FUCKER.

Anyway, we ended up in Hooters, naturally, and I think I blacked out for a bit. Then we used the cheap Metro and didn’t get shot. Well done HollyWEIRD HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.

Oh, I saw the Marx Brothers footprints thingy and it made me go squiffy inside. I’m such a celebrity whore.

This review is shit.



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