Where can I get some meth?

I was born in Santa Monica, California. So were four of my children. When I was little, Santa Monica was still a sleepy backwater with mom-and-pop stores, a quiet local beach that was never crowded and virtually zero crime. A place where murder or mayhem or even robbery were unthinkable.

Then, sometime in the 1990s, Santa Monica was discovered by the rest of the city as a “really nice place to live” and was targeted for destruction. In Los Angeles you are not allowed to have nice things.

Every Christmas, Ocean Avenue along the coast was lined with 13 historic, life-size scenes depicting the complete life of Jesus. These famous and beloved displays started in 1953, but in 2015 the city banned them after atheist groups complained.

In 2016, a Metro subway station opened at Ocean Avenue where it hits the Santa Monica Pier, connecting some of the worst neighborhoods in the city to one of the best. That was all it took to bring about, as many had predicted, the beginning of the end. For years people have called the town “the People’s Republic of Santa Monica,” because the leadership has been filled with far-left communists. And now, the dismantling of the city is nearly complete.

Today it is Skid Row by the beach with a sprinkling of gang violence and high-speed car chases. My husband and I no longer live around Santa Monica, but my in-laws are still there and have lived there for many years. Our wedding took place in their backyard.

On the north side, the nicest side, you can still walk your dog, on a sunny day, down Ocean Avenue toward the pier. You still see joggers, lots of walkers and even people doing impromptu yoga sessions on the grass. To the west is the shimmering Pacific; to the east the street is lined with apartment buildings filled with older people and a few senior homes, along with a couple of boutique hotels. I got engaged in this park, overlooking the ocean. My rehearsal dinner and wedding night were at a hotel on the beach here. It was an idyllic place to host out-of-town friends for a wedding weekend.

Now, as you approach the pier toward the south end, you see more and more homeless vagrants sprawled on the grass, screaming obscenities or doing drugs, oblivious of their billion-dollar ocean view. Thanks to the addition of the subway train that takes people directly from inner-city Los Angeles to Ocean Avenue, crime and gang violence have both skyrocketed. A few years ago, a man was carjacked at the valet parking area in front of the luxury Shutters on the Beach hotel. In 2020, during the “mostly peaceful” George Floyd riots, downtown Santa Monica was looted, smashed and burned. Countless storefronts were destroyed, entire stores emptied. Police stood around helplessly, watching as my hometown was trashed.

Every weekend since, hordes of youngsters from eastern parts take the subway to Santa Monica to cavort on the pier or on the open-air mall called the Third Street Promenade. I spent many an afternoon shopping and seeing movies there. No one I know goes to the promenade anymore, for obvious reasons. To help boost the flagging businesses, the wise city leaders decided to legalize open-air drinking at the mall – so you are now free to walk around holding your cocktails. This is only fair, since the local street junkies have been free to shoot meth on the sidewalks for years.

A speeding driver recently killed two pedestrians on Wilshire Boulevard, just a block away from the hospital where I gave birth to my children. He steered his Dodge Charge up onto the sidewalk, hit the gas, and aimed for a group of pedestrians. Brad Lipshy and Maura Cohen, both 61, died of blunt trauma injuries. The suspect fled on foot and is still at large. 

We got more bad news a few weeks ago. Residents of North Santa Monica were stunned to find out that one of the apartment buildings on Ocean Avenue had been secretly taken over by the county and they were about to re-open the facility as a shelter for “severely mentally ill and drug addicted” homeless people. They had not consulted a single neighbor about this – or even informed the mayor of Santa Monica. At least 50 of Santa Monica’s most psychotic lunatics were about to move into prime real estate, with perfect views of the Pacific Ocean. There would be on-site staff – and an open door, so residents could come and go as they pleased.

This building is just around the corner from my in-laws. When they went to the meeting the neighbors had organized to protest this insane plan, they found out that they’ve lived in this neighborhood longer than anyone else. Residents have since hired a law firm to take on the city and county to stop this project, which has been “temporarily paused” at the last second due to the outcry.

Why wasn’t anyone told about this plan ahead of time? Because our leaders knew residents would object strenuously – and they don’t care what the people who actually live here think. The neighborhood is filled with wealthy, mostly white and Jewish homeowners. Much like the Pacific Palisades, this is a neighborhood our overlords have targeted for destruction and forced into diversity by any means necessary. The next step in the progressive toolbox is eminent domain – seizure of the entire neighborhood to house the most important constituents in Los Angeles: the poor, the schizophrenic, and the meth heads.

I can’t afford to live in Santa Monica anymore, but I might have found a loophole. Does anyone know where I can score some meth?

This article was originally published in The Spectator’s November 10, 2025 World edition.