new york, new york, it's a hell of a town...

mclean avenue, yonkers, ny

okay. so maybe i AM nothing but an enormous, back-woods, sheep-shaggin' culchie, but...

...who the fuck gave unemployed heroin addicts from the east vllage the idea they can pick rags out of dust bins, sew them together with fishing wire while stoned to the gills, and then sell them as dresses at those trendy-ad-nauseam "vintage markets" in chelsea for $100? the overpriveleged little 14-year-old pseudofashionistas that BUY them, that's who. pa-leeeeeze! cut the bloody crap and go to your local gap, that's what i say....or if you really must look homeless and be surrounded by people who appreciate it, move to calcutta. okay?

...lap dogs. WHY? what the hell could a person be thinking when they pay $10,000 for a microscopic dog that's just going to get trampled to death by tourists on fifth avenue two weeks later anyhow?

...what the fuck is a veggie burger and why on god's green earth would anyone want to eat one?

...tell me again why photography students at nyu can graduate with honours just by spending four years taking pictures of gum on the bottom of their shoes, dead pigeons, and the contents of waste baskets? are there really THAT many people in this city bloody THICK enough to mistake that crap for art? (hmmm....crap as art...sounds familiar...question answered. been to the brooklyn museum lately?)

...just cos there's a sign hanging outside with an irish moniker and the words "public house" on it, that does not mean your restaurant is a real irish pub. SO STOP ADVERTISING IN THE IRISH VOICE AND MISLEADING THE HELL OUT OF US ALL, WOULD YA?

...i understand your reasoning behind using french and italian phrases in adverts and on store fronts to come off as a bit more class. hey, i do it too. but why (ohpleasegawdtellme!) can't you get a PROOF READER to look it all over before it goes into print and you make an ASS of yourself? c'mon! for the sake of all us pretentious new yorkers who can actually BACK UP our pretentions... i the only person in america who not only gets SICK from the smell of cheap incense, but also realises what a big glaring FIRE HAZARD it is?

...WHY is it again that you think i'd know your 4th cousin three times removed from the back woods of roscommon? did it ever occur to you that like yourself, i've never even BEEN to bloody roscommon?

...why the HELL, all of a sudden, do all these pretentious business-prats insist upon walking around the busiest possible streets at the busiest times possible deep in conversation with their bleedin' nokia phones? and why are they always dragging along right in front of ME as they do it, when i no doubt have someplace of the utmost importance to get to? heh, i bet half of 'em aren't even talking to anybody. they're just carrying on little fantasy conversations with no one that are supposed to translate to ud onlookers as, "HEY! LOOKIT ME! I GOT A CELL PHONE! WITH MICKEY FUCKIN' MOUSE ON IT! AIN'T I WICKED?" no. you're not. you're an asshole. now get the hell outta my way.

that's all i got to say for now, unless you count this remark on the versatility of new if you're done here i just got one thing to say to ya...ciao, babe.