Driving in a car with a Sex-cat and a Hepcat, somewhere in Hollywood, near the (evil) Scientology building on Sunset. We'd been in a bar, the three of us, where the Monday Night Football sounds were sooooo loud, that we couldn't even talk to one of the Partridge family (sorry, europeans ... american TV) who was standing next to us. The bouncers were padding down any locals who wore a Raiders t-shirt, who might be carrying a piece. Peace. Then driving, and we talked about who we would vote for. It seems the esteemed position of California Governor is in chaos. Moo. We all seemed to think that Hustler Magazine icon Larry Flynt would be a fine choice ...

-Todd