It’s 1:01 a.m. in Hollywood.

The buzz I get from the excitement and energy of the club goers every night is more potent than any artificial stimulant could ever give; especially the GGs: The Gorgeous Girls who wear their best outfits as well as their best game faces to play the game.

Not the Game of Love, but the game of Look at ME – I Know I’m Gorgeous – Look and Stare All You Want – Can You Make ME Famous Game. There’s hardly any clothing in their outfits or hardly any rules in this game.

These types of artificial stimulants apparently need (and always get) most men’s attention too, so it’s a win-win for the GGs and the men who love them.

I don’t hate the player or the game, the seemingly endless amount of people who play in Hollywood makes my nights more interesting, even the seemingly endless nights like tonight, as a wannabee approaches me.

“Are you still charging to get in?” the girl in the silver asks.

“Yeah, it’s only one,” I say.

“Are you SERIOUS?” she asks, over-emoting each word.

Neither her feign surprise nor her bad acting are working as I smile and say, “Yeah, in a few more minutes it will be 1:05, and I’ll still be charging then, and a few minutes after that it’ll be 1:09, and I’ll still be charging then AND….”

“I get it. You’re still charging,” as she quickly turns off her high pitched voice in favor of a deeper, less energetic tone, which she switches to because of the preliminary flirting defeat she’s just been given.

Her scoring so far: Good confidence on her approach. Her floor routine was predictable. Weak dismount. I give her Silver for her effort and her outfit.

See, I don’t hate the player or the game…