You don’t speak any English? Like, what the fuck?

So you’re from Haiti. That’s got all that voodoo shit, yeah? Well that kinda explains that, umm, thing, uh, on your , err, face, there.

You have sister? Is she cute? Is she here?

Okay you can come up, but only for an hour, okay? I’m not paying for no twin share.

Whoa, what was that? Was that you? No, wait. That was me.

Shit. It’s not working. Oh, hang on. It’s inside out.

I’m done. Your turn.

No, I’m too sleepy.

I gave you twenty bucks for a taxi. I don’t have more just for you.

Who took my fucking passport?

Today Paul got on a bus in Santa Monica and headed towards Hollywood.

Unfortunately, he got off at the wrong stop and felt rather lost and bored and tired.

Fortunately, he found a shopping centre that had a bathroom and a place to sit and relax.

Unfortunately, the centre also had an Apple store, and temptation overcame him.

Fortunately, he remembered that a trip to Montreal would be sacrificed if he went all consumer-bang-bang here in LA, and he did NOT buy an iPad.

Unfortunately, he saw an iPod Nano, and thought of his daughter. And consumer-bang-bang turned into faux-parent-moral-consumer-bang-bang.

Okay, so I’m like so in LA right now, and soaking up it’s awesomeness. I got photos on Facebook. There was one sight I could not bear to photograph, Muscle beach. Picture this: (a) open air gym; (b) only one guy in the gym; (c) said guy has more muscle in his ear than I have in my entire body; (d) said guy wearing less clothing on his body than I’m wearing on my head; (e) said clothing used to carry his iPod.

If ever I could accused of approximating a mid-life crisis, I can now say that crisis is successfully averted. I’ve seen LA and I embrace my lack of coolness.