I might believe that spandex is a privilege, not a right, but far be it for me to insist what people wear. Besides, if it were up to me, everyone would be in gray suits except Olivia Wilde who would only be allowed to sport her wardrobe from Tron.
So wear what you want America.
Ladies, squeeze into those size 14 jeans even though you are a size 28.
Fellas, who wants to wear a shirt, right? Buff or fat, guys can go topless and I'll remain silent.
Silence does not include rolling my eyes.
And while you're at it, go ahead and bump that bass as you sit in gridlock outside my house.
I never knew the raw talent that is Soulja Boy until you folks came around at 8am on a Sunday.
Hell, let loose, it's the weekend and you don't live here anyway.
So ask me for directions to the beach that is ten feet to the west, or ask me if I live here (here being the house with the porch I am sitting on), or let your kids pee in my flowers.
But, at the end of the day, I wish our visitors from the Inland Empire (I'm stereotyping), would take their evidence with them.
By evidence, I mean the thousands of combo meal corpses laying on the sidewalk, or the 160 ounce (and empty) soda cups, and please take the chicken bones. Please.
I get it folks, we all come from a different walk of life.
I come from a place that does not watch ABC's Wipeout, or wear t-shirts with random skull designs, or think techno music is music.
But we all have one thing in common, and while I wish it were common sense, it's not.
It is the common idea that none of us want chicken bones, burger wrappers, and corn dog remnants on our porch.
So folks, as you arrive to Venice in the Escalade this weekend, surely to get your weed and knock off sunglasses, do us all here a favor and toss your garbage in a can.
Or at least eat the containers your food comes in, certainly you are still hungry.