} Yep. Nobody goes there any more. It's too crowded.
} The Oracle owes W. C. Fields an apology.
} Scene: Southern California beaches from Malibu to Dana Point. It's
} a hot summer day in July. More than 1.8 million people are slathering
} on sun screen, lying in the sun working on their tans. There's a little
} surfing, a little beach volleyball, some boogy boarding, and even some
} fishing. The air is filled with the cries of seagulls and lots of Beach
} Boys music. Teenaged boys ogle teenaged girls who, while pretending
} indifference, ogle right back. Ruby's at the end of the piers are
} selling their famous hamburgers and fries at a record pace.
} Then, in a phenomenon know as "the last straw", Melvin P. Irwin parks
} his 1973 VW near Electric Avenue in Seal Beach. He walks towards the
} pier, but only makes it as far as the cold showers where people are
} rinsing off sand and oil. His weight, along with the hundreds of
} thousands of others, causes a little crack between the concrete
} boardwalk and the expanse of sand, barely visible through the hoards of
} sun worshipers.
} The crack lengthens and widens, quickly separating the beaches from
} the mainland. Harried beachgoers are unable to cross it and are trapped
} in the vortex of piers, sand, beer-filled coolers, umbrellas, and, yes,
} people swirls them out to sea. After only a few minutes, quiet returns
} to the abbreviated shore while marijuana fueled amazement fills the
} heads of those few luck enough to remain.
} In a small grocery store, the vibration causes a bar of Coast bar soap
} to fall to the floor. A bikini-clad shopper slowly picks it up and
} opens the box. It is completely opaque.
} So, no, the Coast is not clear. Sorry.