Yesterday, me and Linus did something that is the most Robbin & Linus thing to do in the whole world. We got off at LAX and decided to take the cheap route to Choachella. That included: Bus C to a transit center, bus 40 to downtown LA, bus 60 to the Greyhound stop and then the Greyhound to Indio, CA. We arrived at 9.10 and the bus for Indio was set to leave at 14.00. We never made it. Why? In downtown LA, between the 40 and 60 bus, we found a place that had arcade games. So we missed the 14.00 bus and had to wait for the next one, leaving at 18.30. So, what was there to do in the terminal, while waiting? Well, there were arcade games so we subsequently spent 20 dollars on completing one of the games. We are now ranked #4 among everyone who have ever played the Jungle-shooting game at the Greyhound terminal in Los Angeles. It's really not as cool as it sounds, I guess.

Being in the shallow and superficial Los Angeles(So I've heard) made me think of Vogue. Not so much the magazine itself, but people who kill themselves because of it. You have to be pretty fucking stupid to look into Vogue and think that there are people who actually look like that in real life. I'd say Vogue is about as realistic as Batman, Power rangers or the Bible. The only difference between Vogue and the former three is that people read Batman, Power rangers & the Bible and then they go out and kill other people, not themselves. That's alot less self-destructive.

There are way too many people who need to stop reading that magazine in awe of the girls that are in it. Agyness Deyn's real name is "Laura Hollins", Tyra Banks probably couldn't beat Flipper in a game of chess and Heidi Klum's husband looks like Leatherface from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre(granted, he can sing). Also, you should keep in mind that all of these people have gone hungry for a decade. I'd say magazines like Vogue exist, not to make us feel bad, but to take our minds off of the fact that we are assholes towards the rest of the world. So if you absolutely feel the need to read something that confirms your pathetic status in this world, read the National Geographic.