The best and worst part of living in L.A. is all the beautiful women. Sure it is a city full of tantalizing women, but there in lies the problem; I fall in love every ten seconds, buts it’s never with the woman, it’s with either, lips, legs, tits, or ass…never with the woman though. My theory is that women move to L.A. they trade their personality for a tight ass, and their soul for some top shelf breast implants. They all start to blend together as the next generation of Barbie dolls. I fear that the next one I get the pants off of will have nothing but a molded plastic bump where there should be a hole.
Where am I supposed to find someone I may want to spend my life with if I can’t even find someone I want to spend ten minutes with. Come on ladies, I always thought you were supposed to be the ones looking to the future, yet I constantly find myself surrounded by a sea of artificial blondes willing to fuck for the price of two drinks at a bar.
You want to be an actress…yeah sure I’m a produce. You want to be a model…yeah sure, I’m a photographer… Nothing but a bunch of harlots hoping to be remembered by this generations twelve year olds when they’re forty as what they used to jack off to. Unfortunately most of you aren’t as hot as you think, and the ones that are seem to be looking for some fifty year old who in some way resembles their daddy.
Well I’m sorry that I don’t have a grey stripe through my hair, or drive a car that compensates for my phallic disabilities. I hope that you all find what you’re looking for; or die soon of V.D. It’s all the same to me.
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