I don’t think I could survive if I was forced to live in the
state of California.
For full effect, download “Highway Five” by American Music
Club and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.
Might I also add if your name is Brett Schwartz, stop
reading this blogpsot immediately and do something else that is boring in your
married life. Don’t tell me when I can and cannot blog. Go back to your
drug-induced nap coma and shut your face.
When I say I don’t think I could survive in California, it’s
not that I have an inner-sissy lodged inside that quivers at the idea of living
in places that have more than one stoplight. I say I don’t think I could
survive because soon enough the ignorant behavior you all exhibit would trigger
my rage face and I would ultimately be carted off to the nearest asylum.
I don’t get you California people. And I only say “you”
California people because I know there are probably a handful of people who
read this blog who probably want to punch me in the temple for me mocking their
home territory.
Yes Mike and Mazie, I’m referring to you. I don’t need to
receive a text message telling me to have an open mind.
You Californians are a unique batch of people. You’re so
liberal, you’re so free-spirited. You create restaurants like True Food Kitchen
where the marquee meal is a tofu steak garnished with shredded wood chippings.
You pass laws that allow children to enter a bathroom not based off the
physical characteristics they were genetically engineered to have, but based
off whether or not they like the team they are playing for.
And you wonder why the rest of the world makes fun of the
Kardashians.
California sure is a tough environment to stomach I’m not
going to lie. A place where none of you have been taught the concept of the fast
lane on freeways. A place where if you voice your opinion on gun laws or
planned parenthood you will be shot on sight. A place where the Terminator is
your most hallowed public politician.
Yeah, this place is nuts.
0 comments:
Post a Comment