How many things are wrong with this photo?

Asshole car? Check. Douchebag vanity plates? Check. Laker flag? There were four of them.

I took this picture I took 15 minutes ago in a parking garage in the Greater LA area. I had to get some eye drops for the pink eye my kid and my kid’s preschool friends gave me. Now I’m seeing red.

I’m a Massachusetts kid. When looking to drop out of college when I was 19, I wanted to go someplace warm, but I never considered SoCal explicitly because of the Showtime Lakers. If you were from New England at that time, you’d understand, even if it sounds like lunacy. I hated them. I hated the shallow, vapid crowd, the way they lived up to every awful stereotype us Eastern ethnics believed of them, their perceived softness, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Assholes, even if they were a great team. And so, with that hate burned into my soul, I thought that I’d never live in such a terrible place. Fast forward a couple of decades, and now I find myself in year Four of my L.A. life. And I actually love it. For the most part. The people aren’t the shallow flakes of stereotypical legend. It’s beautiful. The boy loves it here. We have a great group of friends.

Sometimes I kick myself — I mean, I went to Texas — had I ended up at UCLA, I could have had a couple pictures under my belt, a coke habit and a lot of well-connected AA friends had I not been dissuaded by Magic Johnson. Bastard!

OK, I might have been Mickey Kaus too. So I take what I can get. Still, The Non-Pleasurable Hummer has regenerated my LA hate, even if only temporarily. Game 6 is tonight. The C’s have to end it. For justice. For karma. For that that Hummer and those four fucking Laker flags whose douchebag MTV Star owner who is living up to every stupid fucking stereotype I had of Angelenos 20 years ago.

I want to taste their salty, coked-up tears. Go Celts!