Category Archives: Buddha’s Belly


Buddha’s Belly. The Monster likes nothing about this. Parked on level hell in the Santa Monica lot. A guy ten feet in front of The Monster does not hold the elevator so now it’s seven flights walking downstairs with the accompanying urine aroma.

It’s a menu of “pan-Asian’ tripe. Not one thing sounds authentic. Do people in “Pan-Asia” eat at restaurants called “Bland America?” That’s how The Monster feels right now.

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