According to an article I just read, vending machines kill more people each year than sharks. And you fools all thought it was robots that were going to take over the earth.
San Fran was a gay ol’ time, although the girlfriend was heartbroken when she discovered that the Sanrio store at Union Square was shut down. One of these days I’ve got to do a Hello Kitty intervention. In real life, if she saw a beady-eyed cat with an abnormally large, deformed head waving at her, the first thing my girlfriend would do is probably grab a spear gun and put the thing out of its misery. But slap that cat head on a pink tissue box cozy, and she’s happily forking over the cash.
Me, I was just stoked that I didn’t have to drive anywhere. Just hopped on at the new BART station at SFO, and then used taxis, cable cars, and piggyback rides from winos for the rest of the trip.
Carrying out an age-old San Francisco hotel tradition, the bellhop kicks me really hard in the stomach.
Boulevard’s been on top of the Bay Area Zagat list for six years in a row, and here’s why it’s so popular: the walls of the men’s room are lined with vintage porn. The chick on the upper right especially caught my attention b/c her boobs are unnaturally perky, and yet the photo was taken decades before implant surgery. I took this pic to show it to my girlfriend, and then wondered what kind of sick fuck takes pictures inside a public restroom.
Here I am in front of the Museum of Modern Art, shortly before Barry Bonds captured and devoured a boatload of wandering Greek warriors.
And here I am inside the museum, as two frumpy lesbians have a heated discussion about crepes. The painting is titled “Excuse Me Ladies, You’re Standing On My Penis.”