PART 1: Heading West!
Greetings to all! What an interesting 2 weeks it has been. I am sitting here in a hotel room in Flagstaff, Arizona stranded until Friday. So, what better to do over a sixer of Girls Light and a pack of cloves than to take to the blogs. Let me start at the beginning. I arrived at the Dayton, Ohio Super Aids (8) motel at 9:00PM. The "fancy" Quality Inn was $70, so I scoffed at that idea like unprotected sex with a transvesite. We slid over to the promising yellow signed establishment, where I am convinced the 8 in Super 8 represented the minimal amount of cum stains on the sheets. I guess they can save money on housekeeping, since the sheets could walk themselves down to the laundry room. Upon check in, I was greeted by a fine fellow with one of Ohio's prize-winning hairstyles that made me respect the mullet and Brooklyn fade that much more. I asked the rate, he replied $54. I asked for the triple-A rate, which he replied $54. Ohio math was not my course of study, so I signed my night's stay without further questioning. The nice man also told me breakfast would be served in the morning, if I cared to join him. By breakfast, he meant stale muffins and outdated orange juice. No thanks, I would sooner urinate in a cup and choke on cigar butts. The room was standard motel issue complete with the above-described linens. Luckily, the window didn't shut totally, so the noise of wind provided me with a gentle lullaby. My next mistake was to use the hotel's hot tub. By hot tub, I mean an oversized bath tub just off the lobby that featured jets so weak that a team of asthmatics could blow harder in straws. Hey, at least the water was hot, so it would burn off any disease from entering the premises. This was one of those hotels where it was faster to use the stairs than wait for the elevator. Now, on my floor there were a fine cluster of ethnics that used the hotel for marijuana inhalation. After the climb up three flights of stairs, and through the weed festival, I was ready to turn in. I laid on the mattress and let the wind take me to bed. By mattress, I mean they went to Home Depot and got some inch thick plywood and stapled a few old egg crates. Hell, at least I saved the $16 from the other Quality Inn! We left on schedule in the morning, with 2 showers completed. This shower had a feature of 2 settings. Your water temperature was either balls cold, or mystery. I opted for mystery, since I liked the scorching hot to Alaska cold water pattern.
After making really good time, we landed in Waterford, Oklahoma for the second nights stay. We did the same pricing game of the three hotels in this city. This was the kind of city where everyone knew and performed oral sex on everyone. The first two fancy dumps charged over $70 for a nights stay. Meanwhile, the parking lots had 3 cars, so I guess the rooms were in high demand that night. We found a nice motel, the kind that are in murder movies. You know, all outdoor, and you park your car directly in front of your room. This way, after you are murdered and raped (in that order in Oklahoma) the rapists can easily use your car. This time I sent my friend in to do the bargaining, and the dot lady arrived at $55 for a nights stay. Yes, that was with triple-A discount. At least there was a Sonic 2 lots up from the hotel. I could have my last supper of tater tots and a Sonic burger. This mattress resembled a mattress just slightly over the Super 8, kind of the same way a 380 pound woman is slightly hotter than a 400 pound one. This hotel was quiet, almost too quiet. The kind of quiet where you lay and ponder shit that you never would think about under normal circumstances. I began to think about what I would do if a male rapist came in the room, or how I would handle waking up to not having my car there. Then I began to wonder about my life and the national defecit. Wow, that place got to me. Fortunately for me, the heater/AC had 2 settings. I could choose between off, or Florida in August hot. Needless to say, I woke up in a puddle of my own sweat. The sheets weren't too soaked, so I guess the cum here acted as a repellent. This shower's temperature worked, but it had the kind of shower head where spitting would provide a faster flow of water. Once again, we left Oklahomo on schedule in the morning.
Finally, at 3AM NJ time Monday night (Tuesday morning), I arrived in Los Angeles, California. California might as well be a different country. I am not going to get into all the details, but it is close to NY/NJ except for the beautiful weather. Obviously LA has Hollywood and all that to it, which is huge, but it doesn't do much for me since I hate celebrities and do not follow them. LA has traffic, more traffic than I could ever imagine. There are 6-lane freeways, on top of each other, for a total of 12 lanes heading in the same direction. Any time of day, those 12 lanes are a parking lot. It took me 30 minutes to go 2 miles just in Culver City where I was staying. Now, taking mass transit is not an option, because public transportation is for old people, tree-huggers, and people at the bottom of the socioeconomic ladder. I took to Venice Beach my first full day out there. It was beautiful, just like in movies. Homeless people were there, who I gave classified ads to instead of money. There is a city-run gym on the beach itself! Now meat heads can work out, and surf in one visit! Somehow, I can imagine Greg T. living there. For being in LA, it was really well kept and clean. As you can see in my picture, people were busy surfing on a Tuesday instead of working.
Thursday was Price is Right day! Monday, February 20th will be the air date of my taping. I did not get on, but you can see me in the 3rd from the last row in the section behind contestants row. I am wearing a green shirt, so look for me! The pre-organization system of the Price is Right is about as efficient as Helen Keller giving driving exams. You obtain a "ticket" a month or so in advance. By ticket I mean a piece of paper that lets you onto CBS property. The paper says to arrive between 6AM and 8AM for a first-come, first-serve arrival pass. I stroll in at 6:30 AM and see a few people around, thinking I won one in life. Wrong, I am number 183, which means 182 scumbags have been here before me. You overhear people talking, and you hear shit about how they got there at midnight. That made me wish the bloods and/or crips had a turf war at that time, and all the stupid fucks with no life camping out on the sidewalk got caught in the crossfire. So, now the name of the game is waiting. You sit and wait until 8AM when they hand out tickets. There are 380 seats in the audience, yeah I know it looks bigger on TV. So, normal math would have you think I am safe at 183. Wrong again! Perhaps Ohio math comes back to haunt. When I was about 40 people to the front line, they said all remainders are on stand-by and we can come back at 11AM to see if they had room for us. Meanwhile, there are assholes all around with their stupid handmade Bob Barker shirts. Who gives a shit if it is your birthday, anniversary, and if Idaho loves Bob! Fuck you all, I should have made a shirt that said I am a failure at life and have not had sex in over 2 years. Then maybe I would have been moved to the head of the line. Rule of thumb here is the bigger the douchebag or stupider the shirt, the better chance you have of getting on. So, the stand-bys come back at 11, and at 11:30 they give out the rest of the numbers. I made it to the audience, at number 324 in a 380 seat stage. Then you sit more, you sit on high-school locker bleachers until 2:30 when they move you to another line! You are forced to sit here, and listen to mindless babble of fellow hopeful contestants. They all ask the same shit like "Where are you from?" and "Have you ever been on the show before?" I chose to stare at the ground, use my cell phone, and smoke cloves with the other outcast smokers just to ignore some inbread shitbag from Kansas asking me about how NJ is. Now, once 2:00 hits you begin to think if winning a fucking Chevy Cobalt or new washer-dryer worth this torment? We stuck it out, since we suffered all morning. I thought to myself, Bob Barker himself better suck my dick on national TV to make up for this hell on earth he has put me through. If I saw one more cute shirt with felt hearts around Bob's name I was going to lose my mind. My only reprive would be if the public toilets had some kind of communicable disease and wiped half these tools out before taping. Finally, 2:30 hits and we line up on the side of the building as if they were handing out food stamps. They "interview" everyone to see if they are worthy of Bob's time. There is NO randomness to the contestant selections. The producers know who is going to be selected based on your answers, looks, shirt, and doucheness. Remember the numbers you have, well you keep them on your shirt with your name tag. When they call your name to "COME ON DOWN" the camera knows where to go because they have your name and number pre-selected. They ask where you come from, and what you do. The producer makes some cute remark about your city and/or occupation which reminds me why he earns his $200,000 salary. Some other guy writes shit down, probably just drawing a huge dildo which he hopes finds its way to his ass later on. After the tough pre-screening process, you move to more bleachers. This time, you check in your cell phone and head into the studio. Once you are seated, they go over the whole show rules. The announcer goes over when to applause and when to yell shit out. Meanwhile, that theme song is playing the whole time, just in case you forgot where you were. They even make it a point to tell the audience not to ask the audience for help if you are picked as a contestant. You know, when Bob wants to know if the price of a toaster is higher or lower than $200, the assholes have to look at the audience for the answer. Then Bob comes out and suddenly you are not angry anymore. I admit it, when Bob came out, I was suddenly smiling and felt better. The show lasts a full hour, and Bob chats with the audience during the pauses for commericals. He actually lets you ask him any question, and they are not pre-approved. Some kid asked if he trained under Chuck Norris, and others asked the moronic what is your favorite game on the show. But, theoretically one could ask how many of the beauties he fucked. Ask towards the end of the break though, so they can't remove you in time. Then, that is it, the show closes and you leave. So, to sum it all up, it is definately worth doing once in your life. If you choose to do it, arrive piss early, and wear a shirt that says you are dying of AIDS and want to kiss Bob before you die a miserable death. Hell, even put a picture of that prostitute you fucked without a condom on front, and tell him to neuter and spay AIDS patients. If you do it, make sure you have a whole day to devote, and bring books!
With all this said, I had a wonderful time. I really like Southern California, and hope to return soon. Hell, if I don't get a job in NJ for September, I might spend a year or so earning money and experience in LA. I do not think I could live there, I still love NJ.
Originally Posted: 15 February 2006
After making really good time, we landed in Waterford, Oklahoma for the second nights stay. We did the same pricing game of the three hotels in this city. This was the kind of city where everyone knew and performed oral sex on everyone. The first two fancy dumps charged over $70 for a nights stay. Meanwhile, the parking lots had 3 cars, so I guess the rooms were in high demand that night. We found a nice motel, the kind that are in murder movies. You know, all outdoor, and you park your car directly in front of your room. This way, after you are murdered and raped (in that order in Oklahoma) the rapists can easily use your car. This time I sent my friend in to do the bargaining, and the dot lady arrived at $55 for a nights stay. Yes, that was with triple-A discount. At least there was a Sonic 2 lots up from the hotel. I could have my last supper of tater tots and a Sonic burger. This mattress resembled a mattress just slightly over the Super 8, kind of the same way a 380 pound woman is slightly hotter than a 400 pound one. This hotel was quiet, almost too quiet. The kind of quiet where you lay and ponder shit that you never would think about under normal circumstances. I began to think about what I would do if a male rapist came in the room, or how I would handle waking up to not having my car there. Then I began to wonder about my life and the national defecit. Wow, that place got to me. Fortunately for me, the heater/AC had 2 settings. I could choose between off, or Florida in August hot. Needless to say, I woke up in a puddle of my own sweat. The sheets weren't too soaked, so I guess the cum here acted as a repellent. This shower's temperature worked, but it had the kind of shower head where spitting would provide a faster flow of water. Once again, we left Oklahomo on schedule in the morning.
Finally, at 3AM NJ time Monday night (Tuesday morning), I arrived in Los Angeles, California. California might as well be a different country. I am not going to get into all the details, but it is close to NY/NJ except for the beautiful weather. Obviously LA has Hollywood and all that to it, which is huge, but it doesn't do much for me since I hate celebrities and do not follow them. LA has traffic, more traffic than I could ever imagine. There are 6-lane freeways, on top of each other, for a total of 12 lanes heading in the same direction. Any time of day, those 12 lanes are a parking lot. It took me 30 minutes to go 2 miles just in Culver City where I was staying. Now, taking mass transit is not an option, because public transportation is for old people, tree-huggers, and people at the bottom of the socioeconomic ladder. I took to Venice Beach my first full day out there. It was beautiful, just like in movies. Homeless people were there, who I gave classified ads to instead of money. There is a city-run gym on the beach itself! Now meat heads can work out, and surf in one visit! Somehow, I can imagine Greg T. living there. For being in LA, it was really well kept and clean. As you can see in my picture, people were busy surfing on a Tuesday instead of working.
Thursday was Price is Right day! Monday, February 20th will be the air date of my taping. I did not get on, but you can see me in the 3rd from the last row in the section behind contestants row. I am wearing a green shirt, so look for me! The pre-organization system of the Price is Right is about as efficient as Helen Keller giving driving exams. You obtain a "ticket" a month or so in advance. By ticket I mean a piece of paper that lets you onto CBS property. The paper says to arrive between 6AM and 8AM for a first-come, first-serve arrival pass. I stroll in at 6:30 AM and see a few people around, thinking I won one in life. Wrong, I am number 183, which means 182 scumbags have been here before me. You overhear people talking, and you hear shit about how they got there at midnight. That made me wish the bloods and/or crips had a turf war at that time, and all the stupid fucks with no life camping out on the sidewalk got caught in the crossfire. So, now the name of the game is waiting. You sit and wait until 8AM when they hand out tickets. There are 380 seats in the audience, yeah I know it looks bigger on TV. So, normal math would have you think I am safe at 183. Wrong again! Perhaps Ohio math comes back to haunt. When I was about 40 people to the front line, they said all remainders are on stand-by and we can come back at 11AM to see if they had room for us. Meanwhile, there are assholes all around with their stupid handmade Bob Barker shirts. Who gives a shit if it is your birthday, anniversary, and if Idaho loves Bob! Fuck you all, I should have made a shirt that said I am a failure at life and have not had sex in over 2 years. Then maybe I would have been moved to the head of the line. Rule of thumb here is the bigger the douchebag or stupider the shirt, the better chance you have of getting on. So, the stand-bys come back at 11, and at 11:30 they give out the rest of the numbers. I made it to the audience, at number 324 in a 380 seat stage. Then you sit more, you sit on high-school locker bleachers until 2:30 when they move you to another line! You are forced to sit here, and listen to mindless babble of fellow hopeful contestants. They all ask the same shit like "Where are you from?" and "Have you ever been on the show before?" I chose to stare at the ground, use my cell phone, and smoke cloves with the other outcast smokers just to ignore some inbread shitbag from Kansas asking me about how NJ is. Now, once 2:00 hits you begin to think if winning a fucking Chevy Cobalt or new washer-dryer worth this torment? We stuck it out, since we suffered all morning. I thought to myself, Bob Barker himself better suck my dick on national TV to make up for this hell on earth he has put me through. If I saw one more cute shirt with felt hearts around Bob's name I was going to lose my mind. My only reprive would be if the public toilets had some kind of communicable disease and wiped half these tools out before taping. Finally, 2:30 hits and we line up on the side of the building as if they were handing out food stamps. They "interview" everyone to see if they are worthy of Bob's time. There is NO randomness to the contestant selections. The producers know who is going to be selected based on your answers, looks, shirt, and doucheness. Remember the numbers you have, well you keep them on your shirt with your name tag. When they call your name to "COME ON DOWN" the camera knows where to go because they have your name and number pre-selected. They ask where you come from, and what you do. The producer makes some cute remark about your city and/or occupation which reminds me why he earns his $200,000 salary. Some other guy writes shit down, probably just drawing a huge dildo which he hopes finds its way to his ass later on. After the tough pre-screening process, you move to more bleachers. This time, you check in your cell phone and head into the studio. Once you are seated, they go over the whole show rules. The announcer goes over when to applause and when to yell shit out. Meanwhile, that theme song is playing the whole time, just in case you forgot where you were. They even make it a point to tell the audience not to ask the audience for help if you are picked as a contestant. You know, when Bob wants to know if the price of a toaster is higher or lower than $200, the assholes have to look at the audience for the answer. Then Bob comes out and suddenly you are not angry anymore. I admit it, when Bob came out, I was suddenly smiling and felt better. The show lasts a full hour, and Bob chats with the audience during the pauses for commericals. He actually lets you ask him any question, and they are not pre-approved. Some kid asked if he trained under Chuck Norris, and others asked the moronic what is your favorite game on the show. But, theoretically one could ask how many of the beauties he fucked. Ask towards the end of the break though, so they can't remove you in time. Then, that is it, the show closes and you leave. So, to sum it all up, it is definately worth doing once in your life. If you choose to do it, arrive piss early, and wear a shirt that says you are dying of AIDS and want to kiss Bob before you die a miserable death. Hell, even put a picture of that prostitute you fucked without a condom on front, and tell him to neuter and spay AIDS patients. If you do it, make sure you have a whole day to devote, and bring books!
With all this said, I had a wonderful time. I really like Southern California, and hope to return soon. Hell, if I don't get a job in NJ for September, I might spend a year or so earning money and experience in LA. I do not think I could live there, I still love NJ.
Originally Posted: 15 February 2006
posted by Dave Lansing at
6:05 PM
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