Posts tagged ‘“brooklyn”’
I remember waking up that morning with a long tail, thick whiskers, and an insatiable appetite for subway water runoff and fermented garbage. I wrapped the tail around my leg with duct tape, shaved the whiskers off, and then drank a large cup of coffee. By lunchtime my tail had disappeared. My whiskers never grew back. I never realized then that I had an ongoing medical condition.
Nothing ever happened again until a few months later when I began smoking massive amounts of the Purple Spike. Purple Spike looked like prime California Kush. Thick, golf ball size buds covered with purple hairs and crystals, and the kind of scent that just blasted through any container it was in. But the Purple Spike didn’t smell like weed because it wasn’t weed. Purple Spike was the last original strain of Dehydrated Free Will cultivated by the now infamous Clan of
Jompa. More on that shit later, because I have to get some preliminaries out of the way. Otherwise, you are not going to understand or even be prepared mentally for what you are about to learn. There’s a good chance that your body could just shut down and cease operating.
i know some of you know this, but i’m one of michael bloomberg’s unofficial biographers. he asked me to do it unofficially a few years ago while we were eating bagels at le bagel cafe in brooklyn. it’s been a pretty cool gig so far even though i’m not getting paid anything. he throws me a bag of ridiculously salty pretzels here and there and once in a while allows me to use his bathroom at his apartment so long as he’s not around and i don’t crap in it. i was asked a few weeks ago by one of those reporters from the new york times whether i could tell her something about bloomberg that wasn’t on wikipedia. i had to think about it for a few minutes because there was a lot of shit that people didn’t know about the mayor. for example, he uses a reduced fare metrocard, will not under any circumstances shop at c-town supermarkets, loves, i mean loves barbara streisand and elizabeth taylor, and is deathly afraid of squirrels. but the one thing that really no one knows is that bloomberg was one of the founding members of run dmc.
my favorite thing about holiday shopping is the lines. i love waiting in lines, especially at the large national retail chains like target or as they say here in brooklyn, tar-zhayyyyy. there’s nothing like knowing that there will be three times as many cashiers and workers after the holidays than there will be in the days before christmas. i love getting to inspect the back of people’s heads and feeling the front of some asshole’s cart rubbing against my lower back in the only available four customer lines that each have at least eight hundred shoppers in them. i can’t find anything better to do on the day before christmas than wait three hours to get to the cashier and then when i finally do the scanner doesn’t work and there’s no one to price check my motherfucking gallon of milk. i say, ‘i’ll give you a twenty and we’ll call it even,’ because you know, i want to get out of there, but then she says in between chewing gum and twittling with her sterling plated earrings that her cash register is locked. i think maybe i could just steal the milk but then i remembered that during the holiday season there are like four security guards for every person in the store. so given the crowd, i figured there were at least two hundred and forty three thousand of them hiding behind the plastic bags or the woman’s lingerie. instead i went to the dollar store and got some expired milk and seventy eight corn husk angels for my nephews.
the apes get all the damn credit. the fact is, when pierre boulle came up with his science “fiction” masterpiece, the motherfucker was talking about us. baboons, not apes. but the thing is, even in french, the planet of the baboons doesn’t roll off the tongue in that je ne sais quoi kind of way. that’s why he was forced to change it by those agents of his. charlton heston, the good man that he was, caught whiff of this and replaced every damn ape word with baboon. but when those commie bastards out in california heard the line, ‘take your stinking hands off me you dirty baboon,’ they got all sensitive because marx was a baboon. yeah, you didn’t know that either, did you? all that shit you read about the apes rising that’s fiction because apes are idiots and even if they weren’t idiots hypothetically you know they don’t have the chutzpah to actually challenge the human “race” for supremacy. but baboons . . . you better watch yourself. we’ll eat your baby without thinking twice bitch. that’s the kind of the old world monkeys we are.
i play with rainbows and ferris wheels and cotton candy jump ropes when i’m not at school. i have a special place on top of an oak tree near prospect park where i keep all my magic stuff. i have to put it there because my brother doesn’t really share too well so i have to hide it from him. sometimes on the weekend, i go to vermont because i have a small plane that i keep there. it’s kind of hard to find but it’s only like maybe two hours from here. but i can go anywhere on the plane because it’s solar powered and wind powered too. last week i went to great adventures and the cool thing is that i don’t have to pay for the ticket i just land near the giraffes. they’re cool and all with me there so long as it’s just me.
flowing down nostrand avenue on my sailboat with a pocket full of pistachos and the new york times. underneath my hat is where i keep my secret documents. i do that because that’s the last place they would look. you see, they’ll search my bag and then rifle through my jacket and my pockets. and when they don’t find nothing, they’ll probably get up real close to my face and ask me in no uncertain terms that they could search my apartment if they wanted to. in those situations, you just have to relax and don’t maintain eye contact for too long. just look at the ground and think about how many steps it would take to get to sheepshead bay. no use getting angry or taking out the master blaster over a bunch of suits with badges. i’ve got better things to waste my lasers on.
a search of my mind reveals a dream i kept in a green plastic box underneath my bed. i didn’t think anyone would find it there. but you know how technology is now. nothing is really safe, not even your thoughts apparently. maybe if i go into the forest when it’s raining, and download my thoughts into a rainbow, the leprechauns would safeguard it until i get back.
there is a magic show that i keep in a box at home underneath my bed inside of a secret plastic bag that’s folded between two envelopes that i remember buying the first time i went to paris and saw the beautiful lights. i really miss those days because those were the days you could fly literally with these carpets that you could get anywhere for a pittance. all you really needed was a place to fly and there was plenty of that in the countryside. my father owned a farm there with all these chickens and i remember they use to come in at dinner and ask us to sing songs and we did because that’s the kind of family we were.
a little bit of dis. a little bit of dat.
imagine a world where everyday is the first day.
e v e r y d a y aperture 