I’d Rather Not Play Chicken With The NYPD [Friday Thoughts With TeeCoZee]
Good Gravy. What is it? Campbells? Oh, it’s Hunts. Hunts makes gravy? That’s what’s up. It’s Friday, October 24, Two Thousand and Fourteen. The weather in Brooklyn is 54˚ & partly cloudy and somewhere, somebody has discovered that his Primestar Dish has the ability to intercept closed-circuit TV. Now he can spend the rest of his life watching bank lobbies, horse racing, Keno and some bald guy in prison staring at a wall. But not me, Primestar is too rich for my blood. I also have a few things on my mind.
– As pedestrian as it is, the Brooklyn Bridge is a goddamned death trap. During the warm season, it’s swarming with
locusts tourists that hog both lanes. In these times, bicycles should be banned as they’re guaranteed to hit people. This is no fault of the bikers, but we can’t blame the tourists for being complete twats for walking at a half step, holding hands in a line that spans the width of the bridge, taking pictures in the bike lane, making out in the bike lane, CitiBiking in the walk lane, et cetera. When I get near each end of the bridge, I keep my eyes closed and hope a bicycle doesn’t ram into me. Now that it’s somewhat colder and walking bridges is passé, I thought I could finally reclaim my territory. Now there’s a new epidemic: The NYPD. They ride around in those retarded golf cart-Popemobile hybrids and do absolutely nothing except get in the way. And they don’t choose good locations to park. Instead of hiding out in the widened promenades, they take up the entire pedestrian lane of a narrow portion and expect everybody to step into the bike lane to go around. Of course I almost got hit by a bike. I’m a bike magnet. Bikes fuckin love me. I even exaggerated and dodged out of the way. The cop wouldn’t even acknowledge me. What he was doing was much more important than my safety and well-being that he’s putting in jeopardy. Later on, I saw a kruiser speeding up an incline in the bike lane. This means the oncoming traffic was going downhill and had to react very quickly to prevent being killed. A bike had to jump out of the cops way, tourist had to jump out of the bike’s way and I wanted to jump to get off this godforsaken structure of death. Get your shit together, NYPD. Arresting the elderly and stop & frisk is one thing, but this bullshit directly affects me! MEEEEE!
– In speaking of vehicular manslaughter, the new electric cabs are starting to freak me out. THEY MAKE NO NOISE AT ALL! THEY WILL SILENTLY KILL ALL OF US! You could be enjoying your fall day, hearing nothing but birds and rats and BLAMMO! DEAD!
– I just heard gunshots outside. Or some guy was beating a rug. Everything sounds like gunshots.
– I just looked at a picture of a guy with Ebola. THAT MEANS I HAVE EBOLA!
– I’ve been trying really hard to convince myself that I’m not going to die. Then I think that I’m going to die and it cancels itself out.
– I’ve been trying really hard to convince myself that I’m not obsessed with my job. Then I have a day off and realize that I’m obsessed with my job. But for the first time in months, I have 2 consecutive days off. Here’s a list of things I plan on doing:
* Go to the race track
* Go to the movies
* Buy everyone a round
* Make out with a horse
* Make a spreadsheet of how many drinks I’ve bought compared to how many horses I made out with
* Play Caesers Palace on Sega Genesis while thinking about strategic locations to stock yogurt
* Learn how to sew
* Call work just to see what’s up
* Read a book
* Call work again and ask for a sales update
* Visit places I’ve never been to before and take a dump in their port-o-johns
* Make plans to open my own grocery store, only to close it down before Sunday so I can go back to work.
* Hack into the work security camera so I can watch people working while I’m not working
* Lay in a hammock
* Eat hummus
* Lose my shit
* Go to work
– I realize that if I don’t start talking to girls, I’m going to die alone. But fuck that, they should be talking to me. Give them the upper hand for once in their lives. Here I am trying to be progressive and yet I’m labeled a loser instead! Sheesh. Women. Can’t live with them, can’t figure out how to, amirite fellas?
– Of all the things you can find in the city, it’s impossible to find Combination Pizza Rolls.
– When you’re watching a sporting event, do you ever think about the person in the front row? Good, because they’re not thinking about you. Fuckin narcissists.
– An update on the package that I didn’t receive and don’t care about: After scheduling for a redelivery, my package left Brooklyn to go to Jersey City. After a brief stay there, it travelled to wonderful Cincinnati where it took in all the local scenes and smells, ate Skyline Chili and rode a boat. After his luxurious 2-day stay, he went back east to spend some time in Pittsburgh. I hear it’s beautiful this time of year. All jokes aside though, considering the locations that it’s traveling to and its lack of protection, direction or accountability, it’s very obvious what’s going on here. My package plays for the Baltimore Ravens.
– This weeks edition of Ad Nauseous is brought to you by A to Z, this fall on NBC!
What do we have here? Looks like a sitcom about a manic pixie dream girl and some regular attractive Joe. They meet by sudden chance, while learning how to write the alphabet. They get a cup of coffee, play with their phones and lay around in precarious positions while wearing trendy clothes and a little kid [who happens to be the roommate] draws around them in crayon. Through the crayon drawings, he tells the story of their relationship. Oh wait, no, the show is about the kid roommate and his adventures in learning the alphabet, while this adult couple keeps interrupting him with their incessant yuppie-isms. But no, it’s about destiny. The destiny behind the two people finding each other. It was destiny that they didn’t know the alphabet and like having kid roommates that draw on the floor/wall/whatever the fuck they’re laying on. It’s a sci-fi mystery trying to explain what brought these 2 generic people together. I’ve got nothing. What is this show actually about?
Andrew and Zelda date for eight months, three weeks, five days, and one hour. This television program is the comprehensive account of their relationship.
Zelda?!? Her fucking name is Zelda?!? That’s why it’s called A to Z? Because her fucking name is Zelda? What’s the matter? Was Zoey taken? This show needs to get bent, ASAP.
Try this trick over the weekend: Go to a public space with a megaphone and a container of warm water. Put your hand in the water and prove to the world that it doesn’t make you wet the bed. Or does it?
Have a moist weekend, everyone!