Max "has no home" G.'s Profile

Are you trying to stay happy while homeless?

Then come on down to the obviously-best-free-Wifi-spot in West LA.

Wake up in your car -- the one you drove to LA with because you were sure you were going to "make it" -- and go take a shower at the gym you belong to from when you first moved here three years ago.

After sitting down for a few minutes under the shower head because you're depressed, de-wrinkle your clothes with the steam, and then get back in your car before anyone notices you didn't actually work out. Eat the pria bar and small bag of almonds you stole from your female friend's pantry, and drive over to Free Internet Heaven.

Smoke a thick bowl in the beautiful surrounding Beverly Hills residential area -- Maple Dr. has the nicest trees and fewest cops -- and then park in the Civic Center parking lot.

Once inside, check facebook to "network" for an hour, and maybe twice stop yourself from opening up porn in a public space.

At the two hour mark, go back to your car and drive out and immediately back in the parking lot. This way, you'll avoid paying the $0.25/30 minute charge after two free hours.

After all, that's lighter money.

Repeat, this time taking a nap until a screaming Persian toddler kicks you in the dick because you're sleeping in the children's section.

Seriously, it's really fast wifi.

I like pork chops. I like salt.

And I like them not to have a sweaty orgy on my plate.

I get it, Brio, you like salt too. Guess what? I'm not a horse. Even though my penis will confuse you, I promise, I don't like salt enough to just show up, whinny, and start to canter because you knocked a tube of Morton's Iodized into your marinade.

Great ambiance, lovely vibe, VERY friendly waitstaff.

But that porkchop was saltier than a pirate's thighs.

There's free wifi, which is great.

But, there are no black out curtains, even on the first floor rooms.

So, every Jolt-drinking trucker pulling in at midnight has to watch me jerking off to Redtube with one leg on the bureau when they park outside my window with their lights on.

Which is fine, because the room is cheap and that's a sacrifice I can make, but not having a hotel shuttle to RDU airport? What am I, an asshole? I have to pay $50 for a cab ride because you barely want to me to keep you in business? Just shit in my mouth next time.

When I say this was the biggest breakfast burrito I've ever had, you don't know what the fuck I'm talking about.

I got this thing on my plate and I just start laughing. My face is pointed to the ceiling with my hands on my chest, and I'm just cracking up because Le Peeps thinks their dining room is the Octagon and only me or this Hagrid-ass burrito is going to leave alive.

I start high fiving other tables and after every bite just screaming Will Smith style WOOOOO's, like I'm about to save the planet from invasion.

This burrito was so big, it only plays stadiums. Obama bailed this burrito out because it was too big to fail.

Like, there was fucking chicken in this bitch. FUCKING CHICKEN. DID YOU FUCKING READ THAT?

and WHAT is that SAUCE? as if breakfast this intimidating needs a POSSE?

The gorgeous view out of the window is the Rocky Mountains. And that shit was EENSY next to this Cloverfield-in-a-tortilla I have in front of me.

Two things will never happen again:

1) me shitting

2) me ever seeing a Mexican and not thanking him for his country's contribution on breakfast.

Lots of free tea and cookies in the lobby, which ALMOST made up for how far from closing I was with the gorgeous girl behind the reception counter.

Yeah, the place is quaint, the rooms come with a pre-snuggled teddy bear, and for Durango it's in a hip part of town.

But if you're expecting to just whip your California cock out and score because it's snowing outside and logically there is no other party besides the one in your pants, this is the wrong place.

I'm literally sitting in the cafe right now writing this.

If you like watching smoking hot UNC girls slowly eat containers of hummus with their fingers while trying to avoid idiots making inappropriate eye contact over their laptops, this is your new jam.

There's a Wendy's across the street if you want a reality check.

Trust me, it's even better than the these reviews. It's just like *your* mother used to make, assuming she cooked with Zues' ambrosia, Mana from Yawei, and made every bite taste like getting hugged by a panda on a cloud raining blowjobs.

The eggs benedict gave me wood so vicious I impregnated the entire front half of the room.

That's why they call it Mother's.

JK I don't know why they call it Mothers, but those eggs...those god damned eggs.

I love Mother's.

First of all, if you're not crazy stoned when you get to Big Fish, just chop your dick off and listen to No Jacket Required on loop, because you just don't fucking get it.

I practically lived at Big Fish between 12am and 3am at least three nights per week for four years of Emerson College.

I would get out of shows at night, and Puritan-ass, blue-law making, brick-loving Boston would be shut down everywhere except the *sketchiest* parts of Chinatown. So, after doing illegal drugs in Boston Common until it was the weed and not the cold that I couldn't feel my face, me and my idiot friends would stumble east down Essex trying to not get knifed while solving this terrible hunger problem.

Holy SHIT is the food incredible. Usually three or four of us would split a General Gau's Chicken, a Pork Fried Rice, a Chicken Lo Mein, and Teryaki Skewers. We'd then shit for the next two days and eventually make it back through the quixotic void of Boston's chinatown and start the process over again.

We would go so often, we didn't even have to order after two months -- we would just sit down as regulars and they would just bring us our four dishes. Awesome? YOU BET YOUR GRANDMA'S TITS AWESOME.

In the last couple years they've picked up new management -- the only change is now every entree comes with WTFrench fries.

True story.