Just one of the amazing things about living in Los Angeles — aside from sniffing cantaloupes next to Rodney Bingenheimer at the grocery store, having to nicely ask Ashley Olsen if she might please take her Marlboro red elsewhere as her smoke was billowing directly into our window and choking my friend, Billy, and I out of our hotel room at the Chateau Marmont (she apologized sweetly and quickly relocated her skeletal self to across the courtyard), and savagely screaming, “WE LOVE YOU SALLY STRUTHERS!” at ol’ Sally as she came teetering precariously out of Fatburger on six inch platform shoes — is that there are always numerous cameras rolling somewhere in the city at any given moment — and what that means is:
AWESOME EARTHQUAKE FOOTAGE
As I was watching this, I found myself absolutely riveted and unable to take my eyes off that hilarious robot face — and all I kept thinking to myself was that underneath all that cardboard, tinfoil, and duct tape that person was probably thinking to himself:
“Motherfucker. I have spent my whole life being a kind and true and dignified person — and now this building is coming down on top of me and when they dig my fucking body out of the rubble three weeks from now, I AM GOING TO BE WEARING THIS CHEESY GODDAMNED ROBOT SUIT. This is not how I wish to be remembered.”
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