I HATE THE DRAKE: Punk is the new black

Kyle was in town last night and he left this afternoon so now I'm thoroughly bummed. To fill the void left by my eternal bro, here's day two of Californication. You know, like that RHCP song.

We had a rental car so basically, every night before we went to bed we'd decide what to do the next day. We caught wind of a shred park in San Clemente, about 20 minutes south of San Juan Capistrano, where we were staying with my aunt. LE'S DO IT.

My brother said, "Give me your camera". This is what he took a picture of. He said, "It's a Faggio, you know, from San Andreas". Referring to Grand Theft Auto. It was weird.

This is San Clemente skatepark. When skating blew up five years ago or whatever, California wanted to give kids a place to do it so they weren't grinding ollies all over their walls and shit. They found companies that would do it the cheapest who had no idea how to build skateparks. This park (and countless others just like it) was the result. Thrasher calls them "Certified Pieces of Suck". It was pretty fun though. There was also this total SoCal barney with high tube socks and Half Cabs getting gnarly on the tranny. His shirt said something about drinking a lot of beer.

After the skatepark, we went to the beach. Naturally.

I found at that when shoppping for beach front real estate, you only pay for the plot. My aunt said a lot of the time, people will just tear down the houses and rebuild when they buy a new plot. Oh yeah, those properties are worth around 4 million.

This is San Clemente pier. Hispanic folks fish off of it. You're really not supposed to do that because the bait attracts seagulls. They don't give a fukkk.

Surfer brahs! These guys were pussies. They'd pass on all the good waves and jump on these little shitters that didn't even break half of the time. Also, the Pacific is frigid. I can't imagine what it must be like to sit out there all day. But hey, whatever gets you laid.