reagan

FACT: Noone should ever, ever, ever let me and Reagan cross the border into Beverly Hills again. Actually, I imagine there are cop cars posted at major roads even now to prevent it from happening again.

So last night we went to meet some peeps at a bar. The bar was described as being in WeHo. It wasn't. It was in Beverly fucking Hills. Reagan and I got out of the car, and it was like being on another planet. A planet populated entirely by idiots. (Jeebez, and here I thought this planet was bad). We take a dozen or so steps, and there is a crowd of people gathered around a writhing mass of bodies on the ground. Please God, says Reagan, Let them be having sex.. Because that's what it looks like. And there's a girl on top in a denim skirt that didn't cover her ass to start with, so we're getting the full show.

Alas and alack, however, it's just a chick fight. Friends (and by friends, I mean convienient acquaintences with Beamers) haul them apart. I can't stop myself. I feel the need to yell "YUPPIE DOWN!". Reagan picks it up, and by the time we're in the middle of the crowd we're lauging so hard there's Red Bull coming out our noses. The girl is acting like she's been hit by a car. Serious drama.

We get to the bar. Reagan stays outside to watch the carnage while I go haul our horribly out-of-place friends out to join. As we get back outside, emergency vehiocles begin arriving en masse: fire engines (like, three of them), ambulances, cops, perhaps the fucking National Gaurd. To our enormous amusement, they release the girl from the confines of her overpriced shirt and shine bright lights on her overpriced tits in their overpriced bra.

Then, out of the crowd, walk the three most anorexic girls I have ever seen. And I hang out with junkies. Like lollipops with enormous hair, they were. Reagan looks fucking butch next to them. And so, of course, we shrieked with delight and pointed as if we were kids at a zoo. Reagan might've said something about "not so much as a Saltine since 1982!". I might've suggested they were on an anorexia website or two.

And then, they wanted to fight, Keep in mind, there are now blinky lights in every color and every law enforcement member in a five-mile radius, and Reagan is screaming about peas at some movie producer's seventy-pound daughter. And its fucking hysterical. A strong wind wouldv'e killed any one of them. So we yelled at them between giggling insanely, especially when we realized they were buddies with the topless wonder on the stretcher. By now, the cops were noticing us, so we left.

But not before turning up the Miss Kitten and having our own little rave in the blinky lights. It was just the right moment for Frank Sinatra.

Then we went to Los Feliz and drank well vodka in a sports bar until we felt human.