I Am a Los Angelino. Rejoice.

Los Angeles

Los Angeles.

My new Home.

Los Angeles. The City of Angels — a city full of devils.

Laugh all you want, but I’m serious. And they’re devils just as you’d picture them, too: sharp horns on a red, round head; long, pointy tails; pitchforks and hooves; menacing, fire-filled eyes. They’re all over the place: on the 101 (usually after it’s been turned into a parking lot, but not always), and they’re in parking lots that are way too full…aggressively searching for that last empty spot, and they’re hovering outside convenience stores, gas stations, banks, and the shopping malls.

Oh, the demons are everywhere!

And back home every thing’s safe and warm.

For the last three years I’ve been commuting to LA — hour by plane, six hours by car. It started with Spring Thomas. We simply couldn’t find any good black guys for her to slut around with, so we started driving out to LA, where Black Men roam free. She’d fly home after a couple days of wild, crazy sex, and I’d stick around and shoot for Blacks on Blondes or scout for the newest, filthiest gloryhole.

And it all just went downhill from there: first, a few days in LA, and the rest home…then 10 days LA, 20 days Home…then 20 days LA, 10 Home…and now, it’s almost like I have to find an excuse to go Home. Well, not really an excuse, just more of needed a break from work.

Meanwhile, Home turned into an empty dust bowl, as my cats — The Fluffy Sisters — stood watch. When I’d return home, Ginger Fluffy would meow, “Welcome Home, Stranger! How did it go making all that smut?!” and Sunshine Fluffy would just kinda scoff at me, cause she was pissed.

She still is.

I don’t like LA. I find almost nothing redeeming about this place. Sure, there’s cool things to do…if you don’t mind doing them with 10 million other people. For me, LA’s always been a place to go to for a weekend to see something; I can’t believe I now call this place home.

But the Smut Industry is here. Most of it, anyway. The internet’s really put a dent into LA’s claim to being the be-all, end-all to Porno Land, but it’s still hanging tough.

Somewhat tough.

Jobs aren’t as abundant as they were a few years ago. It seemed to me that, in 2004, every girl working the circuit made $15K a month; now, that ain’t the case. Male talent is blowing my phone up looking for work, too. Definitely a weird time to be employed in Porno Land.

My new pad is littered with 1/2 filled boxes, and there’s papers and unopened mails and all sorts of shit strewn about. Maggie likes sleeping in the front yard way more than being inside the new place, and that makes me worried.

But I’m here, and so is all my shit, and, for the most part, it all fit in to the new place, and it’s close to becoming completely functional.

Maybe I will too, someday.

Los Angeles and Satan

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