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Breaking a sweat, busting a gut with Richard Simmons in B-Hills
My kind of town, Beverly Hills. It's vectored in such a way as to guarantee you get lost, involving a circuitry of duplicate names — Santa Monica, Little Santa Monica, Mondo Santa Monica. Everybody you meet sounds like Borat, and none of them knows anything, the dimmest people ever. You can stop a man on Rodeo and ask him where Rodeo is, and he will not know.
March 16, 2013