[insert song title referring to california here]

I feel that I've done all I can in California, because on Friday, I learned how to Frisbee golf (or disc golf, or, as I like to call it, Frolf, which sounds sort of sounds like a hobbit). You wind through the forest and drink beer (or smoke weed if you're so inclined) and toss discs at little poles with baskets on them. Exactly the sort of things hobbits would do. It was a blast, even though it was really hot. Like really hot.

Last night was my last night in the state as a resident, though I've kinda been homeless for the past week or so. We went to some oonch oonch yuppie party at a local hotel. We had $400 in free booze. I got obliterated. The bartender had spectacular cleavage, and there was a bongo player and a fashion show. I missed the fire dancers in lieu of getting booze, but the go-go dancers were tearing it up inside. Well, one was; she really knew how to shake it. The other one was kind of bland. Thumbs down, go-go girl. Anyway, the good thing about drinking Jameson all night (and I mean all night) is that I never wake up with a hangover, though sometimes it makes me act and speak in a way that's unbecoming of an upstanding gentleman. I think I did OK last night. I looked that bartender in the eye and everything.

Thanks for seven good years, California.