Fuck This Town: A Guide To The Worst of San Diego by Vomit God
   Do you remember that old Twilight Zone episode where the guy dies, goes to heaven, and when he starts to get tired of Paradise, he finally finds out he's in hell? Well, that sure ain't science fiction, because that person is me.
    My journey into hell began five years ago, when I was happily living in Missouri. God, I miss that place. I would walk in the woods for hours. There was a creek that ran in the woods by my house. Often, there weren't very many people around to disturb my precious thoughts. The way the leaves would turn in Fall made me feel warm inside, and watching the snow fall into a perfect blanket outside my house made me think of peace, the perfect white erasing the evil in the world.
   And then, much like a baby was torn from the womb, I was brought kicking and screaming here, to San Diego, America's finest city. Well, I already have a few bones to pick with America, the land that fights wars over gasoline and gives guns to crazy rebels who slaughter villagers. Why should I trust the opinion of a country like that? I'll tell you why San Diego is America's finest city: it brings in the big bucks, especially from tourism! Fuck, what snow-hating tourist wouldn't love a place where you can escape to from the blizzard? It's an endless summer here, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. San Diego has jaded me, because it has surrounded me, and engulfed my world. San Diego is America's finest city because of one thing: economy. It's fine for tourists, but much like Snake Pliskin tried to escape from New York, I'm trying to escape from this perfumed shithole.
    I think people were meant to live in small communities, where they can work for what they earn. San Diego is full of spoiled, rich, motherfuckers who live meaningless lives in their condos, which they leave in the morning, kissing their beautiful silicone-enhanced wives, and punk-rock daughters goodbye for multi-million dollar office jobs. Their entire work day consists of drinking coffie in the lounge, and checking their e-mails. On the weekends, they head downtown where they dance to the "80z All-Starz" at Buffalo Joes.
    The "art" scene here is truly laughable. First of all, there's the hip coffiehouse crowd, where goateed, turtlenecked, thirtysomethings with thick rimmed glasses sing cutesy songs about bicycles and love to other thirtysomethings. For the college crowd, there's the Che Cafe, where the spoiled UCSD kids can forget their wealthy parent's logging business for one night and "make a difference, man." And if you hate the music and food, there's various writing in a reading room there. And those kids at the punk shows, what a smart bunch! "Let's rebel aganist mommy and daddy by doing what they did in the 60's!: Drinking and fucking! Just take an ordinary guy from your high school ASB, and throw a "hoodie" on him. You have a punker! Also, make a girlfriend for him by throwing a bondage belt on the school cheerleader.
    I am now insane from living here. Seeing so much greed, materialism, and jealousy can do that to aware people. I can only sit here and try to find another place to put a tally mark on my wall for how many days I've been here.