Bank of America and Peanut Cock

The parking attendant at the Larchmont Branch of Bank of America his great attitude and congenial personality. I came here to cash a Cashier's Check drawn on this bank earlier this afternoon. The teller asked me if I wanted to open an account at Bank of America, and I politely declined. He then asked what institution I use for my banking needs, and I again told him that I was not interested in doing business with Bank of America. He then asked me for my index finger print and my SSN in order to fill out form 8300. He then asked what my occupation was, and I told him I was an executioner at San Quentin. All seemed to be going well until Peanut Cock, the manager came by and asked to see an additional form of identification. I offered him my California Fishing License which is a State Issued form of identification containing my name, address and birthdate. He told me I need my passport, and I was wondering if it was because we were about to go on a fucking power trip. I was correct. Without my passport, he refused to cash the check. So I went back home, brought it back, and eventually I got my money but suffered the indignity of having to deal with Peanut Cock (note: I am using the word "cock" in an avian context). Dude, I know you want to pretend like you are important because this is the Larchmont Branch, but you are merely a middle-management, check cashing and money changing jockey and a mighty confrontational one at that. I am sure you are also responsible for making customers who use your bank comfortable and happy with the services you offer. So dispense with highbrow attitude and follow your fucking job description and remember that in any retail business, the customer is always right. Hopefully, next time someone gives me a Cashier's Check, it will be drawn on a more friendly bank.

Musso and Frank's and the Stench of Hollywood Ghosts

If nostalgia means puking up gin a few hours after you leave this place along with some toast points, then you are gonna get a hefty dose of nostalgia here. If you do not drink alcohol, and frown on the food available at the Circus Circus Buffet in Reno served by waiters in red monkey suits then you will not want to drop one hundred bucks on Welsh Rarebit. With that said, Mario the bartender will expertly facilitate your drunkening with a martini (with sidecar) by which all martinis should be judged. You can close your eyes and inhale the stench of this old carpet, and you can almost picture W.C. Fields pissing on your leg in the bathroom or Gloria Swanson trying to grab your wiener at the bar.

Fuck those Shit-Stains at Roscoe's House of Chicken and Waffles

The chicken and waffles here are good, but what really sets this place apart is the fucked up service. I don't want to spend my money tipping people that clearly do not like me. Give me fried chicken, but let me keep my dignity.

California Donuts Uber-Alles

I was so stoned last night I needed some cheap sugar more than anything else in the world. And not just any sugar, but the cheap, deep fried kind that the lovely ladies here at California Donuts use to coat the god-like stuff behind the glass that lure me off 3rd St. like Hansel and Gretel. Sometimes I want cheap refined sugar instead of the natural variety. Sometimes I prefer warm pieces of donut with heavily processed apple filling for under a dollar. Sometimes I get a few of the coconut glazed or maybe an old fashioned or two. I don't get donuts very often but when I do, this is usually the place. California Donuts will surely solve your sweet food jones for a small handful of change and will help you realize the full potential of your inner Lard Ass. Fuck driving to Glendora to get some dumb ass strawberry donut when there is a place like this with real character just around the corner. Everything I have tried has been good, sweet and cheap. I just wish they had a little better coffee. It seems like everyone patronizing this place always seems so happy. The family that does insulin together stays together.

Sapp is for saps

I wanted to try this place a few more times so that I could post a more objective and informed review. While I enjoyed the Jade Noodles, and the ground chicken with basil and garlic with a fried egg on top, I have some bones to pick with this place. Firstly, the portions are miniscule. The som tom that I ordered yesterday was a nice sized amount for a ground squirrel. Seriously, it amounted to no more than a cup and a half of salad for nearly seven bucks. To add insult to injury, the spice level here was strictly amateur hour and it had way too much tamarind in the dressing. I like my papaya salad hotter than hell. H2SO4. H E double L Hockey Sticks. Hotter than Hades. Something so spicy that it would make a Korean cry. This was just plain lame. The Jade noodles were about the best thing I have tried here, but watch out for the pile of sugar contained therein. Shovel a little bit out before you mix them up. Other than the sugar, the duck, crab, pork and Chinese Broccoli are great toppings. Unfortunately once again, the spice level was fit for Romper Room. You should be ashamed to represent that as Thai hot, bow your head in shame, Chef Sapp. The ground chicken here was good but nowhere near memorable. Not a contender. When I got the check, I noticed that I was charged for two orders of Jade Noodles when I only ordered one.

Tam O'Shanter Glorified Swanson Hungry Man TV Dinners for 100 Bucks

I come here on occasion for business dinners. Without fail, the hostess will always tell us that Walt Disney used to sit here. That fucktard was inspired by the architecture here when he thought up Disneyland. The food is bland, a study of mediocrity, a glorified Swanson Hungry ManTV Dinner. Vegetables, especially the creamed spinach, are decent. The place needs a deep cleaning. It smells like the floor of the Viper Room in here.

Pink's, Pink's, You Stink

Getting food here is like being assaulted with a deli weapon. It should be codified in the California Penal Code as a felony. It is absolutely reckless, just insidious to serve this fecal matter to people. Landmark my ass. More like skidmark. Fuck Pink's Hot Dogs!