fun facts about the world

Sadly, this isn’t a city review a la Philadelphia, but more so a few not so fun facts about Chicago. Last night, while I was in the process of getting my Friday morning hangover popping at a bar we’ll call Jake’s Dilemma (yeah, I fucking know) I had a rather disturbing run-in with a few Chicagoians. Now Jake’s Dilemma isn’t the worst bar ever, but it certainly isn’t the best. Personally, fuck bars and people, but sometimes they’re a necessary evil, not unlike condoms and the police.

Anyway, as I’m outside smoking a cigarette and engaging in a perfectly civilized conversation with my friend, I see a bunch of stumbling drunk pieces of shit walking out of the bar, three in number. So, as I’m between drags of my p-funk c-note (we spoke about you stepping your talking game up, did we not?) I hear these people (two whores and a bitch, all cracker in race) begin speaking to the bouncer- who was black, not unlike Styles P, who is one of my favorite rappers.

Now working in an environment where you have to deal with drunk white people on a regular basis can be grating on anyone’s nerves, but these people went above and beyond the call of being pieces of shit.

Basically, the two whores (female) asked the bouncer if their bitch (male) friend could take a flick with him, under the guise of "New York bouncers are so scary." So the bouncer obliges and makes an angry face and gives the middle finger. The bitch, I guess noticing my confusion regarding his motivation stumbled through a clarification that went something like this "Dude, we’re from Chicago. and he’s a black bouncer in New York. Can you believe I just touched a black guy? eww." I’m no stenographer, but that was the gist of it.

When I asked "Do you not have any minorities in Chicago?" (which, in semi-sober retrospect, was pretty poor phrasing, but I was restraining myself from hitting the silly looking whores at this point. Yo, I’m really a sucker for the comma splice, no?)

To which the girl replied, in what I suppose would pass for a down-the-nose, haughtier-than-thou tone in Chicago, but in the infinite snobbery of NYC could only pass for an upwardly mobile middle-class tone: "Yeah, we have minorities in Chicago…But we’re not nice to them, and we don’t touch them."

I was shocked. Not that "Wow, that hurricane did a lot of damage" shock, that Uma Thurman "I thought that ron was yay" shock.

So, Chicago, go fuck yourself.

ROX ONE "The kid so high, the kid don’t lie. I got God muttering: ‘Jesus, this kid won’t die.’"

Curtis Sliwa should get shot. Here’s a list of dumbfuck moves he has made that have made it a foregone conclusion that he will get shot.

1: Back in the good old days before Roodee Jewlee fucked everything up, the mob still had numerous strongholds in the city and made plenty of money breaking the law. Curtis "Martin" Sliwa called John Gotti (the real one, not this retarded son of his) "the biggest drug dealer in America." So some of Gotti’s henchmen tried to kidnap him and did in fact shoot him.

2: He testified about it. He actually testified against John jr. in open court. Stop snitching man. That cocksuckerry is just inexcusable. Just stop it.

3: After Junior didn’t get convicted, Sliwa bitched to the judge that his life was in danger. Guardian Angel? Guard my dick.They are the real criminal in the situation. Sliwa crying after Jr. walked and then saying the judge "doesn’t have street smarts" is laughable. What the fuck street were you raised on where it was smart to use a radio show as a platform to call out the violent head of a criminal organization as a drug dealer? Harvard road? Princeton drive? Guard my dick.  I think pretty much anyone who decides to testify against another person should either go to jail or get shot. Stop snitching!

Cop trees, not pleas.

In other news, if reports from Washington are to be believed, Prez-o-dent Bush is drinking again. What a cunt!

I was all over this shit the other day, when during a press conference, a clearly disheveled Bush (manicure that shit, bitch) sat in a rumpled blue shirt looking mad confused and forgetting the name of Texas, which is in fact his home state. I’m not saying he was obviously drunk, but when people can debate if it’s alcohol or natural stupidity making you slow, it’s time to hang it up. Or hang yourself.

Here’s the Trent Lott house quote again, just in case anyone missed it the first time.

"The good news is — and it’s hard for some to see it now — that out of this chaos is going to come a fantastic Gulf Coast, like it was before. Out of the rubbles of Trent Lott’s house — he’s lost his entire house — there’s going to be a fantastic house. And I’m looking forward to sitting on the porch." (Laughter) -Bush 9/2/05

Like it was before, complete with plantations and cottonfields, you dumbfuck racist? Strom Thurman probably got a chuckle out of that quote, down in hell.

and another zinger, this one from FEMA.

"Considering the dire circumstances that we have in New Orleans, virtually a city that has been destroyed, things are going relatively well." –FEMA Director Michael Brown, Sept. 1, 2005.

Wow, I’d hate to see his idea of things going badly. No blueberry muffins left in the morning and cream instead of milk for the coffee. And you know how cream and bran makes him shit. The horrors! Oh the motherfucking horrors!

And this one is just great. I, for one, remember all the squandered Hope VI money that New Orleans wasted by tying it into the new Wal-Mart (Hey, Pres Kabacoff, guard my dick!) That money was supposed to help solve the public housing issue, but local politicians needed to suck up to big business, and it was wasted. I remember that shit, motherfucker. But who needs money when you’ve got God?

"We finally cleaned up public housing in New Orleans. We couldn’t do it, but God did." –Rep. Richard Baker (R-LA) to lobbyists, as quoted in the Wall Street Journal

————–

In happier news….Cindy Sheehan is safely in custody, and thats why we REALLY went to war in Iraq.

As hurricane Rita bears down on the Gulf of Mexico and residents from "Texas" and Louisiana are advised to evacuate, it is important to consider the words of Pat Robertson about how this was God punishing Ellen Degenerate or some such nonsense.

While I don’t believe in a vengeful God that kills people based upon their sexual preference (unlike, say, our Prez-o-dent) and think that Pat Robertson is an ass clown to the Nth degree, I do like the idea of God punishing Ellen Degenerate. Not because of her sexual orientation, but because that bitch is just straight up annoying. Although the jump from Anne Heche to the hotter chick she is dating now was clearly the move, I have wanted nothing more than to shoot this bitch before I had any clue she was a lesbian. She just looks mad hokey.

Since it’s quite obvious I don’t do any research before I write this shit and even more obvious that no one reads it, I’m just going to go out on a limb and say that a hurricane named after an apostle has never damaged the US. While I can’t name all the apostles (Mark, Luke, John, James, Tariq…etc) I’m almost positive I’m correct.

This morning while searching for a Chinese mail order bride on craigslist, I came across this package of brightly colored box-cutters being marketed under the name "Little Angel." I’m not really sure who the target audience for these is, but I can only guess Americans, as the "made in China" is clearly in English. Pretty crazy, huh? And if you think that’s nuts, you see my mail order bride.

Bitch is fly, yo!

When I was younger, my parents would always tell me not to hang out with drug addicts. Besides the practical reasons of them being bad influences who are likely to steal shit out of your medicine cabinet while vomiting in and around your toilet, they have a nasty habit of making you look bad and dying at the worst possible time.

Kate Moss (nee: the  coke skeleton) apparently didn’t have very good guidance as a youthful coke whore. Rumors swirled around places where shitheads gossip about losers, regarding her relationship with some dirty drug-addict named Pete who used to be in a band called the "Libertines."

I don’t really know much about this Pete guy and the Libertines except that they are both from England and I’m pretty sure there is a black guy in the group. At some point Pete broke into the black guys house to protest affirmative action, or some nonsense. Anyway, Pete had developmed some sort of ridiculous drug habit where he (claimed) he was spending like $10,000 a day/week on crack and heroin. I don’t really know much about the going rate of heroin, but for less than $1,000 I could cook and serve him more crack then he could smoke in a 24hr period- but I’m nice like that.

Moving, as they say, right along, this "newspaper" in England (I put newspaper in quotes because anyone who has ever been to England knows that "news" means gossip, football and page 3 girls) did some sort of undercover investigation into Kate and Pete’s relationship and recorded some pretty incriminating shit, including Kate "nosebleed" Moss snorting a couple of lines with a 5-pound note (they call their money "pounds" or "quid" and their bills "notes"). Now, ever the most careless rich drug addict I know always has at least a $20 dollar bill to roll up, to avoid those filthy smaller bills, which are more likely to be handled by poor, disease carrying people.

This same "newspaper" had apparently done a story on Kate Moss collapsing into a cocaine induced seizure in the past. Then she sued for slander and won. Vendetta, anyone?

Anyway, so Katie the Cokie had just recently been named as the face of H&M for something like $1.8 million, or as we say in America "money for nothing." After her coked out booger became international news, they dropped her ass like an empty bag of coke after realizing that she was some drugged out slag (that’s how they say "ho" across the pond).

So, my main point here, is that all really skinny models and actresses are on cocaine. I will prove my point below, through a series of photos and comments that I hope you all find amusing.

Nicoke Ritchie. When the simple life premiered, I had some passing thoughts about putting a bag over her head and turning her around to hit that doggystyle. Not no mo, as she is now virtually indistiguishable from thin air.

The fat lady from the TV. Clearly not on cocaine.

I mean anyone who can even sit down to a bowl of pasta that large probably just smoked a blunt of that good shit.

Lindsey Cokehan. Once the teen-aged fantasy of many creepy old men, due to her recent weight and breast loss, she now appeals to a whole new demographic: pedophiles. Shes not gassed, but you can say that her head got real big recently.

Britney Spears. Sooooooo clearly not on cocaine, as the drug affords it’s users the illusion of sophistication. And she "just don’t know what an illusion is y’all." And I’ve heard of gaining weight during your pregnancy, but this shit is ridiculous. In a future post, I hope to discuss how Britney and That Wigger are kinda like Americas trailer park version of Posh and Becks.

So that’s me, done for the day. May your models be waif-like, your powder be shiny and your notes be large.

"Even my bible is stolen." -Thirstin Howl III

My bible, on the other hand, was given to me today by some nice looking, middle-aged white man. His speech was short simple and to the point: "Free bible. Free." So now I am the proud owner of a Gideons pocket bible, and the not so proud owner of a fierce hangover. The bible hasn’t been too helpful on that front, but perhaps my soul is on the short-list of the To Be Saved.

Why is it the older I get, the worse the hangovers are? I would think my body would be done learning how to deal with and process alcohol by now, as it has had ten (10, X) years of experience. Is it so insane to assume you can drink 2-40’s, 2-24’s and 2-12oz beers and wake up springtime fresh? I was done drinking by 1 and I even ate two egg rolls (yo, why I ever fronted on the hot sauce at Chinese food places is beyond me, that shit is hot. Collective groan. You don’t like, you don’t buy.) and when you do the math, you see that I really only drank 13 or so beers. Whats up liver and kidneys??

In completely unrelated news, this is funny.

1: go to www.google.com

2: type in "failure" with no quotes.

3: hit the "I’m feeling lucky" button.

My weekend was pretty dead, but that certainly didn’t stop me from getting drunk (read, buzzed). Yessir, I sure did drink beer this weekend.

Does anyone know about Okocim? In my mind, it rhymes with moccasin, ROX again and spotted hen (speckled hen may be the name of another beer, but I cannot recall. It has been a long life fueled by pints-o-plenty). I generally drink the Green label Okocim, with the 5.5% alcohol content, as opposed to the Malt, which boasts an alcohol content of over 7%, but tastes like it has syphilis. Plus I gave up malt liquor, with the exception of an occasional black 8-ball (holler if you hear me) or cans of Steel Reserve when the chips are down, or I’m planning on getting stupid. Crossing the street with your eyes closed stupid.

Anyway, they sell Okocim brand beer in the Getty, and that’s some tasty shit. A while back I tried, very unsuccessfully, to begin reviewing beers. Then I realized I didn’t know the difference between barley and hops and malt. And that I really don’t like Wheat beer (Hoegaarden and the like). My main comment was that a lot of the beers I sampled reminded me of Coors Light but with a Polish attitude. Plus, it was very, very difficult to stop drinking long enough to write anything substantial and my rating system was inherently flawed. My jimmy hat goes off to everyone who has ever completed one of these things and had them published. It’s not something you can do during one singular night of heavy drinking, unlike say conceiving a child.

Basically, when I’m lamping in the LIC, I spend a fair amount of my wages at the Getty. I’ve always been curious why they sold beer at gas stations, as most patrons of gas stations are drivers who are going to resume driving at any moment. It seems counter-intuitive, but then again the drive through daiquiri shops/ elementary schools in New Orleans would basically scream "free lap dance to everyone driving drunk!"

The Getty, by my best estimate, is owned by a Polish man. I made this estimate because:

a) they sell a lot of Polish beer.

AND

b) who ever heard of a woman owning a gas station?

Anyway, being the excellent customer that I am and frequently returning 3-5 times in one night in an increasing state of disrepair, I eventually came to know a couple of the employees of the Getty.

We’ll focus on my man Habib. Habib is this fairly large African guy (from Africa) who speaks about 5 different languages and has the strongest looking hands I’ve ever seen (no homo). He seems to be deeply religious and somehow manages to work 6 12-hr shifts a week doing what could best be described as a "shit job." Habib never seems upset to be working, although it is entirely possible that whatever situation he was in before he was working in the Getty was much worse, and I’d imagine that the idea of working inside with access to a phone and a television is some unheard of shit in Africa. Shit, I would have trouble leaving work if I could find a way to incorporate alcohol and a couch into my present "fast Internet and cigarette breaks" situation.

Some updates on my life of amazing wonder.

-I’ve been watching Rome on HBO, which is about Caesar and whatnot. I could have swore that Shakespeare made all that shit up, but apparently it really happened. It’s a pretty great show, and since I have direct tv, and get HBOW and HBO2W (which just replay the same shit that was on American, east coast, HBO 3 hours later) I get to cap my 12 hours of football watching with some good historical drama.

-my Fantasy Baseball team, The Kansas City Krills, are currently playing for the championship against my brothers friend from Cali. I can’t see myself losing anything to someone from Cali. I’m just saying.

-I bought a camouflage hat. That will teach me to drink in the afternoon.

-I took part in the musical herbing of a frail young child whose bizarre infatuation with fellating emo bands is amusing and sickening at the same time.

BadmintonStamps feat. Chronikill - "Central Village Idiot" 

I, for the record, wanted to find said frail young child and put the beats on him (no homo) in front of his idols. Instead, we recorded a tongue in cheek diss track and I posted these angry comments on his blog. You may say I have too much time on my hands. I would say "gag on my cock."

—-

hey,

I just wanted to say that you are a herb, and that this whole "writing" shitty little paragraphs about emo bands no one cares about isn’t going to get you laid and very well may cause someone to break a bottle over your head.

The Learning Annex has a variety of classes that can help improve your writing skills, however they can do very little to prevent you from getting vicked. You are from Vicksburg, no?

I would advise you to quit altogether, or consider changing your blogs name to "thoughts from a fellatio machine," as if to more accurately describe the contents found within.

Oh, and emotions are gay.

Just saying.

—-

"growing up" doesn’t mean moving here for college, playgirl.

no, I cannot possibly believe that any NYC-native, no matter how misguided or molested as a child they were, could engage in such complete cocksuckerry of non-consequential acts. If he was really raised here, he should kill himself and try again.

Ain’t no excuse for someone born here to openly encourage the bullshit circus of assclowns that get slurped on here.

His writing skills are on par with that of your average product of the NYC public school system- I will give you that- but I’m sure that the word "public" is nowhere to found on his resume.

enjoy CMJ and keep hoping they maintain the police state in the city, for the sake of faces unblemished by razors.

hey, on the upside, if no one is hating no one is noticing… or whatever it is you tell yourself that lets you sleep at night.

–

"it’s not a game, no it’s not a game/ You only run faster as you scream ‘they snatched my chain’/"

So, I’m feeling all "under the weather" and shit this morning, due to drinking last night until the wee hours and not getting nearly enough sleep.

So I’m at work, trying not to throw up on the computer, and pretending to be busy while I search menu pages, as if to pretend I will actually eat something instead of starting to drink by myself, hopefully with some tree, because that shit makes you high, son. What?

Huh?

Anyway, so as I’m looking at the menu for this place Cabanna (excuse my spelling, our Gov won’t let me learn about Cuba), which has locations in the South Street Seaport (they also have a Sharper Image and a Pizzeria Uno, which has excellent happy hour specials and a view of, I don’t know, Staten Island. Pizzeria Uno that is. The Sharper Image has no happy hour special, however they do sell Breathalyzers and chairs that give blowjobs. Oh to be paid!) Forest Hills (my old hood. we had so much fucking fun just drinking 40’s in the garbage alley in the freezing cold that it should have been illegal. The amount of fun we were having that is, our underage drinking was, in fact, illegal) and also on 61st street, which is really close to where I work, just in case you had plans of finding me and killing me.

Anyway, now that I’ve made a short story long, as I was searching the menu to see if I could ascertain (that’s what smart people do, stupid people "figure out") how much the ropa vieja cost (that’s skirt steak, for all of my non-latin readers) and if they were open for lunch, I came across this "review" posted by "Yankees fan in NJ." I’m no cartographer, but I would be hard pressed to understand captain douche bags mental map of NYC.

"My buddies and I drove to Yankee Stadium, parked our car and took the #4 train uptown to 59th Street. We ate at Cabana’s, great meal, great service, got back on the train back down to Yankee stadium in time for the first pitch. This beats by far a hot dog and beer at the game! What a great way to start the ballgame. And the Yanks won!"

^ I hope you get hit by a car. Your children will not be allowed to play with my children.

Howdy motherfuckers!

Fall. This is the season that the theoretical leaves change color, NFL football begins and the kids (and young adults who have been left back repeatedly) go back to school. Some people call it "autumn", but they probably also eat brunch, drink pomegranate juice and suck copious amounts of proverbial dick.

I’m sorry, there is so much to be irate about I wandered down Tangent Road before I even got to the corner of Point Street.

Fall is also the season when the city of New York allows a bunch of Italian people to take over Mulberry street for the feast of San Gennaro, the patron saint of Naples. Personally, having been in Naples for less than 2 hours before a group of youthful Italian thugs tried, unsuccessfully, to separate me from my Euros, I would say that San Gennaro could try a little harder to save the urchins who reside in his/her streets.

Naples did have an entirely different group of youth urchins who played soccer with me and did not attempt to separate me from my North Face backpack, even though at times it was out of my sight. They also had one of the more crazed open air markets I’ve ever seen. But that’s Italy, and this is Naz… I mean New York City.

Before Jewliani (i write his name like this to express disdain) killed all the homeless people, declared war on the mob and anyone who had any trace of ethnicity was forced to question their place in the city, San Gennaro and a host of other street fairs were important cultural events in a city that celebrated diversity. Y’all remember diversity, right?

New York used to be home to the type of diversity that one could not buy at Starbucks, Rite-Aid, Subway or a host of other chain stores, whose development was held in check by rules which Jewliani waved, perhaps in an attempt to drive "mom and pop" stores into oblivion so that corporate cats could cake up crazy (alliterations for all you illiterate children out there), or maybe just because he really likes the sterile nature of these places, its anyones guess.

Basically, in between ruining the city and assassinating minorities, Jewlie also decided that people should no longer be able to drink alcoholic beverages at these street fairs. (yet, somehow the drinking at the 2000 P.R. Day parade went on unchecked, even though there were no vendors even licensed to sell the alcoholic fruit of Our Lord. This was probably some strategic plan to crack down on "wild youth gangs" not unlike the whole big lie that was the Central Park Jogger case, which happened so long ago it may as well have been a dream. Who’s old? We’re old!

I would imagine that it is only a matter of time (there has been a notable change of attitude at San Gennaro in the last 8 years, and anyone who has been to the P.R. Day Parade post-2000 knows it is not the orgy of hot Puerto Rican mamis, Heineken and haze it once was. I haven’t seen a phat ass shaking in a thong hanging out the window of a whip bumping Big Pun in way too long) until the vendors selling their wares and the sausage and peppers guy are replaced by booths where you can donate to the GOP, sign up for the army, or waive your right to privacy.

Yeah, so catch me at San Gennaro, holding on to what is, remembering what was, and dreading what will be.

I have no original thoughts anymore. Judy Blume never got enough credit. Want to make out??

Fuck the following people/places/things

1: Jamba Juice (ok, buddy)

2: The NY Jets (Curtis Martin owned slaves)

3: People who talk on cellphones in foreign languages in public

4: Robert Morenthau

5: Grape artificial flavoring

6: People who take more time dressing their pets than themselves

7: The stupid whores on Hot 97 with their screaming and yelling

8: The end of summer

9: The wild-card race instead of a magic number for AL East

10: Blood tests

11: Non-yellow cabs

12: Kanye West (what a herb!)

13: Deers in headlights (aka most chicks)

14: Myself

15: Bathroom Attendants

16: Applying for jobs, while employed

17: People who have cars in the city for no reason

18: Most of Manhattan

19: Most of everywhere else

20: www.centralvillage.blogs.com (okay buddy)

21: Bushitler

22: Barb Bushitler

23: Republicans (but not publicans)

24: Everyone that isn’t at work right now.

25: "female" "reporters" at football games.

That’s all I have right now, and quite frankly unless I find some way to drink at work, or update my blog from home, this is as good as it is going to get. If you see something, say something. Ok, buddy?