God Smiles on Me (and spits on you)
It was another crazy, exciting weekend in NST land. By which I mean I got drunk and went to the racetrack and also got drunk and went other places. We do a lot of drinking here in NST land.
Anyway, so after my amazing rap group of the finest local international superstars rehearsed on Friday morning, it was off to the track for the last weekend of summer racing. On our way to the track (my friend and frequent co-defendant Charlie "Carlos in the Kitchen" Cypher was persuaded to join me after he laundered his rags and consumer some beer) it was hard not to notice the 15-20 men dressed in camouflage carrying machine guns in the Jamaica LIRR station (which, for the record, does not have beautiful beaches, scantily clad lovelies, island music or cheap tree). It was also somewhat confusing that in the Woodside station, there wasn’t even a rent-a-cop to give the illusion of safety. The main thing the soldiers seemed to be doing, other than making everyone really nervous, was flirting with girls. One of the soldiers was comically fat and happened to be Puerto Rican, it was like Big Pun came back to life in the army, sans machine gun delivery and Bronx wit.
Anyway, when we finally get on our connecting train, we crack open the tall boys and start drinking as we speed towards Belmont. I didn’t see any other police or army officials for the rest of my commute, although it was reassuring (from a 1984-esque perspective) that they kept flashing the news that we would be subject to random searches of our bags. Awesome!
I would change the name and focus of this blog to "How NYC gets Assfucked by the Feds Through the Distribution of Homeland Security Money and Other, Less Obvious, Ways", but then I would deprive my readers of rants and raves about shit like how Star Jones is a pig and someone should kick Britney Spears in the stomach (because she is pregnant) .
You would never hear me say that Katie Holmes may look like the girl next door…if you grew up in a fucking trailer park.
You may have remained unaware that, after the war, all I really wanted to do was write folk songs about my cock and play acoustic guitar.
Anyway, while I was at the track placing my bets, as if to get rich, some idiot in front of me forgot to take his ticket, so I had a free $10 on the 5 horse to win in the 5th.. The horse was 3 lengths out with 1 furlong to go, and closed strong to win at the wire. My man came in at 6-1 and paid $70 on a $10 bet.
Next time take your ticket stupid.
