Call me Ahab. While trucking through the cavernous pit of vagrancy that is E16th street with me mate--one Queequeg Maloosh-- in search of a humble parking space to stow our vessel so that we may ferry our cargo gallery bound, we were snaked and hornswoggled by a sausage-fingered fuck of a greed-fed rich man, in his white BMW V3. He traveled with his sick, decrepit son-- as misshapen as he-- by his side, and parked his vessel by almost running me down, stealing the very spot where I was navigating Mr. Maloosh into port. A battle of wills pursued, where I hastily protested the capture of the hallowed parking space so rightfully ours. Being the vile, bloated, worm of a rich man he was, the driver declared his taking of said spot as "a medical emergency", pointing to his pale, sickly, butt-ugly offspring, and thus successfully appealing to the Samaritan in me. Upon his snarky delivery of such excuse, I protested that he may use the ambulette parking instead, thus being said medical emergency. He scoffed at me, and I, in turn, called him an "asshole". He replied, "Well I have the spot, and you don't", thus revealing his fallacious defense! Our duel thus intensified, with me calling him a "fat fucking piece of shit" and he me, "a cocksucker". After gazing upon his son entering the medical brig unescorted, this fat fucking piece of shit then stewed alone in his white vessel, for he either feared my wrath upon his treasured craft, or was too parsimonious to pay the Muni-Meter! Tell me, O kindred brothers and Saints above, what is the vision of such a man's soul?! What measure of louse uses his sick son as leverage in a struggle of position?! An evil vision, my friends-- as dark and desolate as his wee beady eye. From that day forward, I swore to sail these streets in search of vanity plate ABIG TOY, with the hopes of desecrating its gleaming white hull, off the clock. Let madness eclipse me! For hates sake, I shall spit my last breath at he!
Monday, March 7, 2011
The White Whale
Call me Ahab. While trucking through the cavernous pit of vagrancy that is E16th street with me mate--one Queequeg Maloosh-- in search of a humble parking space to stow our vessel so that we may ferry our cargo gallery bound, we were snaked and hornswoggled by a sausage-fingered fuck of a greed-fed rich man, in his white BMW V3. He traveled with his sick, decrepit son-- as misshapen as he-- by his side, and parked his vessel by almost running me down, stealing the very spot where I was navigating Mr. Maloosh into port. A battle of wills pursued, where I hastily protested the capture of the hallowed parking space so rightfully ours. Being the vile, bloated, worm of a rich man he was, the driver declared his taking of said spot as "a medical emergency", pointing to his pale, sickly, butt-ugly offspring, and thus successfully appealing to the Samaritan in me. Upon his snarky delivery of such excuse, I protested that he may use the ambulette parking instead, thus being said medical emergency. He scoffed at me, and I, in turn, called him an "asshole". He replied, "Well I have the spot, and you don't", thus revealing his fallacious defense! Our duel thus intensified, with me calling him a "fat fucking piece of shit" and he me, "a cocksucker". After gazing upon his son entering the medical brig unescorted, this fat fucking piece of shit then stewed alone in his white vessel, for he either feared my wrath upon his treasured craft, or was too parsimonious to pay the Muni-Meter! Tell me, O kindred brothers and Saints above, what is the vision of such a man's soul?! What measure of louse uses his sick son as leverage in a struggle of position?! An evil vision, my friends-- as dark and desolate as his wee beady eye. From that day forward, I swore to sail these streets in search of vanity plate ABIG TOY, with the hopes of desecrating its gleaming white hull, off the clock. Let madness eclipse me! For hates sake, I shall spit my last breath at he!
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