I sneaked out the other day and I was driving around California in my Porsche, and, like, it wasn't too bad. Like, in New Orleans, you couldn't even drive anywhere because your car would fall into a pot hole, but in California they put the holes in grassy fields and mark them with flags on poles so you know where they are.
But then, right? This California Monkey comes up and starts talking to me, and he's all, like, "nice car, kitty. Wanna take me for a ride?"
California monkeys are especially scary because they're all, you know, suffering under delusions of hipness. Like, that shirt is not EVEN in style, because, like, it was NEVER in style.
EVER.
So don't EVEN touch my car, California Monkey.
I'm not taking you ANYWHERE.
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