Thursday, January 29, 2009

Subway Stories 5: "I Beg Of You, Please Stop Farting On Me"

Hurrying through the tunnels of the 14th Street station on Seventh Avenue toward the L train, the man in front of me comes to an abrupt halt. I stop right behind him, barely avoiding crashing into him.

He then farts.

Not self-consciously, I might add. Not in the least. In fact, he's so pleased with himself, he farts again.

This somewhat normal-looking man in his early 60s farted on me. Twice.

What the fuck!?! I think, outraged. My anger is tempered by the belief that he has some sort of intestinal or digestive issu—PFFFFFFFFFT!!!—Jesus Christ! That motherfucker farted on me again! And why, at this point, am I still standing behind his weaponized ass? you and I both wonder. Touché.

I step out of the line of fire and walk past him, muttering, "Stop farting on me, you fucking animal." It's then I notice the gleeful smile on his face.

This was not an intestinal incident or digestive accident! No, this was a pre-meditated act of aggression, an act of ass-gression, if you will. I was targeted. But, why? Why, God, why!?!

This shall not go unpunished. I must retaliate. But, how? How, God, how!?! You fart on me, I shit on you. It's that simple. You messed with the wrong dude, old man. If only I'd had the carnitas burrito from Chipotle for lunch, I think. Consumed by revenge, I don't notice the L train pulling into the station. I look up, too late, to see the old fart(er) dart aboard while I stand frozen on the platform. The doors close and he smiles at me again, reveling in his victory.

This is not over, Farter. Far from it. You have made a powerful enemy today. One day, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday you and I will find ourselves standing on the same subway platform at the same time and I will walk up to you, no matter if the platform abounds with people, children or cops, and I will shit on your shoes. Yes, I will have my vengeance. For no one—aside from my chocolate labrador and the occasional (not so) high-class call-girl performing a "Rim Cantata" at my paid request—farts on Spanish Johnny.
'

Friday, January 23, 2009

Signs In The Windows Of Upper West Side Storefronts That Would Make Bad Band Names

'
Bert K. Futterman & Associates
Wash & Fold
Manhattan Jewish Experience
Steve Tidwell Licensed Plumber #760
Bunion Correction
Cuisine Of India
West Side Pastoral Counseling Center
Fresh Churros
Assistant Rabbi Ariel Rackovsky
Shankman's One Hour Cleaners
The Cheese Shop
Schweitzer Linen
Hummus Place
Benny's Lung Sheng Restaurant
Notary Public
Hair Weave
Perm
Ten Dollar Waxing
Ellen's Couture And Cleaners
Bernard Brachfeld, D.D.S.
Uptown Podiatry
Active Driveway
Dr. Myron Freedner Orthodontist
Hot & Crusty
The Modern Orthodox Center For Jewish Life And Learning
Weekly Buffet
Sandwiches & Imported Cheeses
The Kosher Marketplace
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Wednesday, January 21, 2009

It's A Wonderful Life, Indeed


What a perfect—and just—exit for such an enormous asshole.
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Tuesday, January 20, 2009

From The Onion: Black Guy Asks Nation For Change



Genius. Even though it was first published last March, it seems more than appropriate for this momentous day. Read the whole article here.
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Monday, January 19, 2009

Greetings From Washington, D.C.



This was truly a sight to behold. Bruce Springsteen, backed by what looked to be a 100-person gospel choir, belting out "The Rising" on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial to open Sunday's We Are One inauguration concert. Mindblowing, historical stuff. If you weren't moved by it, you will probably soon find out what you've always suspected—that you're an android or cyborg. Good luck with that.

Unfortunately, HBO has removed all complete clips of the performance from the web. How mature. (Though, I believe, you can watch the entire concert in streaming video on their web site for a limited time. Bruce is, fittingly, the first performer, about five minutes in.) In the meantime, you'll have to settle for the snippet below and trust me when I tell you the whole thing only further reaffirmed what I—and most people—already knew: Bruce Springsteen is the greatest human being this planet has ever known.

Note: Brace yourself for a fucking commercial before the clip. And yes, the commercial will most likely be longer than the clip itself. Johnny can't apologize enough. That shit makes him sick and he tries to avoid allowing stuff like that onto the site. But, like I said, those cocksuckers at HBO left me no choice. Just know that I love you and want you inside of me. Every goddamn one of you. Even the cyborgs or androids. Thank you and God bless America.


Friday, January 16, 2009

The New York Sophisticates And Elitists Have Spoken


West 90th Street, NYC 1/15/09


Note the smiley face—genius


Was Johnny the perpetrator of such eloquence? I wish!
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Tuesday, January 13, 2009

The Terrorists Have Officially Won



No wonder everyone hates America.

Bromance, I'm almost positive, is a real TV show—meaning someone out there is actually paying money to produce and air it. I never would've believed it had I not seen the commercial for it. "Tonight on Bromance... Lauren Conrad of The Hills tests the men's skills with women to find out whether they meet the requirements to join Brody Jenner's entourage!"

Who's watching this? And why? What has gone wrong with your life that, of all the hundreds of programs on television, you settled on this one? Seriously, what happened? Were you gang-raped? Born with fur on your face? (Medically known as Eddie Munster Syndrome, by the way, not the politically incorrect—and racially charged—Furry McFurFace Pants.)

The creators and stars of this program deserve—nay, need—to be castrated. (Now, there's a show I'd watch: Brody Jenner Gets Deballed!) Not to mention anyone who's ever used the term in the first place. Bromance. Just typing it makes me want to cut off my fingers. Who the fuck came up with that term? Hands down, the dumbest term in the English language. And yes, this is coming from the guy who coined mother of cunt. (Which is Shakespearean in comparison.)

What's wrong with you, America? Are we not better than this as a nation? Is this what we've come to? Shocking that our brand of democracy isn't exactly taking off around the world.

IRAQI (to U.S. diplomat): Who are you to tell us what's best for our country?

U.S. DIPLOMAT: Have you seen Bromance?

I think it's safe to say I no longer want my MTV. Could this channel—the same people who introduced the world to Axl Rose and Beavis and Butt-Head—be any less relevant today? (I suppose we could say the same about Axl, but fuck if he wasn't the most badass thing the world had ever seen when he first showed up in 1987.) I happened to catch ten minutes of The Real World: Brooklyn last week. Amazing how they truly captured the borough's essence, where everyone plays stickball and lives with trannies in waterfront lofts on Red Hook piers...

Great job, MTV. You somehow managed to combine my father's Brooklyn with the film, Transamerica. What's next, she-males in Ebbets Field?


Sunday, January 11, 2009

Like You've Never Pulled Your Cab Over To The Side Of The Road, Gotten Out And Peed In A 24 Oz. Poland Spring Bottle

There we were, walking along in Riverside Park. Just me and the dog. It was a beautiful, quiet night. The snow had just stopped falling and icicles were already glistening from the trees. As idyllic a setting as you're likely to come across in this city of ours.

Of course, all good things must come to an end. Soon enough, a cab pulled over not 15 feet from us on Riverside Drive. The cabdriver gets out, holding a large empty Poland Spring bottle. He walks over to a fence overlooking the Hudson—stunning view, by the way—pulls out his cabbie cock and begins pissing in the bottle. Not giving a shit that we were close enough to view the whole vile thing. He fills the entire bottle with his steaming cabbie piss, puts the cap back on and—ignoring a nearby trash can—gets back in his cab and drives off. With the bottle. What the fuck kind of world do we live in?

Even weirder, I once saw another cab driver pull over and get out at the exact same spot—holding not a Poland Spring bottle, but a prayer rug. He placed it on the sidewalk at an odd angle (toward Mecca, I suppose), knelt down and began praying. I thought it strange at the time but would gladly trade the pisser for the worshipper any day.

Inevitably, the day will come when Pisser eats a lamb kabob that doesn't agree with him. We will be walking along and see him frantically emerge from his cab with an empty gallon bottle of Poland Spring and a funnel. And we will wish we had our own prayer rug. May Allah help us...
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Thursday, January 8, 2009

Subway Stories 4: "This Subway Station Is Really Turning Me On—May I Put My Dick Inside Of You?"

It happens at least once a week. You're waiting for the train, staring down at the tracks in order to avoid making eye contact with another human being, when sure enough you spot an urban jellyfish, aka a used condom. These things of beauty are all over the city and, as any resident can tell you, they are not just subterranean. No, these satchels of jizz, these pouches o'cum (coincidentally, my nickname in high school) are in our parks and alleyways, on our sidewalks and brownstone stoops, from the Bowery to the Upper West Side. The brand I was blessed enough to see this morning at the 104th Street Station on Broadway was Rough Riders (classy) by Contempo (yet modern). I was able to identify it not because I'm a condom connoisseur, but rather because the Romeo who used it left not only the condom and wrapper, but also the box itself. The empty box, I might add. And you thought romance was dead...

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

"Mother Of Cunt!"

No, I'm not referring to Mega Superior Gold's mom, Shaniqua. Mother of cunt is an expletive that I believe I made up when I mistakenly got egg yolk into my egg whites while making my famous meringue cookies. (Secret ingredient: a dash of love.) Feel free to use it next time you stub your toe or "accidentally" run over a homeless person. "Mother of cunt! I meant to hit the shopping cart filled with your meager possessions, not you!"
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Sunday, January 4, 2009