Now I know where the lower strata of Los Angeles society congregate, for I have seen it with my own eyes. It's a place in a strip mall called "Target," which some try to make upscale by pronouncing it "tarjé."

Truly, Target attracts the crowd of people who have been told "you are not welcome on these beaches." I saw it all. From mu-mu-wearers to women with moustaches to five hundred pound men looking longingly at the industrial-size Twinkie boxes on sale, I was witness to a slice of society not normally associated with the firm bodies and gorgeous looks of Southern California.

Not only that, but on my way out of the store, I was accosted by both the Girl Scouts and the Scientologists and the Hare Krishnas, all pitching their wares and brochures. I'm not making this up. Why should I? My life is already weird enough, I don't need to make anything up.

Where am I off to now? The next ring of Hell -- IKEA.