Archive for NYC

Good Night, Sweet Prince – Part 2

Posted in Deep Thoughts, Music, True Stories with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 9, 2015 by dissectingthefetalpig

GNSP15 I found this sweet prince on the same corner as the last prince.  It’s the corner of Calle Tanca and Fortaleza.  Not only is there a dive bar across the street, but next to the dive bar is a pizza spot that also happens to carry fancy beers.  I can’t say the pizza was the greatest, but it was nice to be able to grab a fine crafted beer from time to time as opposed to the usual; Medalla Light.  On this particular evening, I had met up with some drinking buddies before we decided to go on a tear.  I couldn’t tell you what day it was.  It seemed like everyday was Friday while I lived there.  There was no need or special reason to go out and get ratty, it’s just what you did.  I guess that’s the local way of dealing with island fever.  I did say that those people know how to party, didn’t I? I had recognized this guy from around.  He’s always trying to hustle up some scratch to get loaded.  There’s a lot of that on the island.  It gets a little depressing at times.  I felt bad for this guy and left him a bottle of something a little fancier than his usual fare. I figured it was a nice thing to do to.  We all need a little kindness from time to time.

GNSP16There is a casino in Viejo San Juan that I frequented more often than I’d care to admit.  I always felt like it was a goddamned trap as I always had to walk by it and almost always felt drawn to give it a go.  This sleeping beauty was passed out by the post office which is right across the street from the El San Juan Hotel and Casino.  I was on my way to post office to pick up a money order so that I could pay my rent.  A chore that I dreaded because my landlord was kind of an asshole and this meant I was going to have to deal with her momentarily.  I had been late with the rent the month prior.  Two weeks late to be exact.  I was pretty ashamed about the whole ordeal to begin with and how I got in that jam is a complete comedy of errors to be told at another time.  The woman who was my landlord had already had a preconceived notion about me based on appearances.  Now, she wasn’t totally off the mark in her assumptions.  I was a fuck up and I was also in a dark place at that time.  I couldn’t deny that.  But I also didn’t think it was cool of her to hand me a pamphlet on heroin addiction when I went to pay all that I owed, late fees included.  That really got under my skin and just the idea of dealing with her was stressing me the fuck out. I snapped a photo of this tired gentleman, grabbed my money order and decided that I would kill some time before I went back to my place and paid the piper.  It was a lovely day that day.  It was very bright and sunny out, it wasn’t too hot, all things considered, and the view of the harbor that laid just ahead was astounding.  The HMS Bounty was docked and in plain sight amongst the massive cruise ships and I always loved the way that ship looked.  A couple of months later the boat had a massive spill at sea off the coast of North Carolina due to Hurricane Sandy and I would never see it docked there again.  I had enough of the sun and dipped into the aforementioned casino to try my luck.  When a cruise ships come into town it meant a couple of things were certain; all the American fast food spots, like Burger King, were going to get mobbed by those that didn’t immediately decide to set up camp at Senior Frog’s across the street from the docks, the casino was going to get packed and the slots were going to get primed. This usually meant a good run with a one-armed bandit for me.  Which it was.  I walked out of that casino with about 600 bucks.  I hit jackpot on the same penny slot twice in a row and damn near shit myself.  Instead of pushing my luck further I decided to treat myself to a Cuban Sandwich and coffee at a lovely spot called Siglo XX and from there I would face my dreaded hag of a landlord with vigor.  My landlady had a very young and somewhat pretty daughter,who liked to dress very promiscuous despite her age, and also happened to work in the office  This gave me an idea.  Feeling cocky and triumphant about my day I marched into the office and proceeded to pay my rent on time.  With my rent was a pamphlet warning against teen pregnancy which I handed to the duo with a shit eating grin.  I claimed my receipt, winked at the daughter to piss off the mom on the way out and figured it was a good day to be alive.

GNSP14While I was living in PR I met a wonderful young woman and quickly fell in love.  We are still together and she means the world to me.  Hands down she is my favorite human being of all time.  She had convinced me to move back to the states with her so that we could continue our life together.  We would start with NYC and from there venture out into the world till we found a place we could truly settle and call home.  In the initial stages of this plan I had moved stateside first.  I had a job lined up and I figured I could rough it out on my grandfather’s couch in The South Bronx to save up for a place for the both of us for a few months until she arrived.  That particular grandfather is a hard act to follow in terms of temperament and not the easiest man to get along with.  This I say politely and respectfully.  So with that said, I would disappear a good chunk of any day that I had off and venture about the 5 Boroughs.  On this particular day I had ventured into Brooklyn to cop some weed and Xanax so that I could deal with my grandfather on the days I that I couldn’t venture out and to also see an old friend who I genuinely enjoy getting stoned and shooting the shit with.  On my way back I found this fucker sprawled out on the bench of the train platform.  As high as I was it was still very hard to fight the urge to kick this balding twat in the teeth.  Allow me to better explain.  This is the platform of the Bedford Ave. L Train.  Ground Zero for the hipster epidemic.  It used to be a an unloved and neglected part of town which I used to enjoy very much.  Now it is overpriced and fully gentrified hell hole. Here before me was an able-bodied Caucasian looking male, clean clothed and sleeping on his newly purchased Apple laptop from J&R Music World and Electronics.  I guess the over-privileged have just as much a right to sprawl out and take a nap in public as the homeless, but the reason why escapes me.  This is still NYC and I don’t care how much this city has changed or how safe it’s become; you still don’t do shit like this.  It’s like counting money in the street.  Why not wear a shirt that says “Potential Victim” or invite strangers into your home while you are not there?  Fuck this guy! Give me a nodded out junkie any day.

GNSP17Allow me to take a large step back with this guy.  This Sweet Prince is what I believe to be the very first of the heap.  I took this photo while I lived in Jersey City, NJ while taking the PATH train home at night.  I worked nights then, much like I do now, working security at a live music venue.  I hated living in NJ and I hated the PATH even more.  New Jersey mass-transit is terrible as a whole, but the PATH is its most repugnant after midnight.  It kind of has a mind of its own and your wait for a train could be much longer than you anticipated.  The train ride itself was cross between an oddities exhibit and a zoo in equal parts.  During my late night commutes from NYC to NJ was able to witness a woman stroke her pet hedgehog will sweetly saying she wished she had some flat bread to put it on so that she could eat him all up (I have a pic to prove it!), I watched two young girls pass a big gulp container back and forth to vomit in after a hard night of clubbing and I’ve also woken up to a guy masturbating violently under his book-bag while staring at an attractive woman who was sleeping on the train.  That got interesting, but I’ll tell that one another time.  I’ve also seen bums make love to each other on that train ride home and watched a tranny rip lines of blow off the seat and then point out to her other tranny friends that her boner was clearly visible through her leggings.  All this and more is what waits for you on the PATH after midnight!  But that is also not to say that it was all bad.  I mean, look at this guy.  I love this guy and I don’t even know who he is.  Obviously, he had a hell of a time.  He’s stone cold drunk with lipstick smashed into his forehead and he couldn’t give two shits.  While he’s nowhere near as bad as the homeless, it’s quite clear he’s fucked.  And, while he’s probably better off financially than I am, he’s not throwing it in my face by sleeping on his brand new macbook.  He was just a man on a mission to nowhere and I could appreciate that.

GNSP12This was the most recent of my Sweet Prince photo journey.  A dead bird.  From the looks of it this fellow had taken that first leap that either makes or breaks birds.  In this case our young fledgling failed and plummeted to its death.  But that’s life in a nutshell, or, in this case, eggshell.  You can either do or die, but you have to at least try.  Everything is a gamble and your odds start at 50/50 and either increase in your favor or decrease along the way.  I could relate to this as I had left home at a considerably young age and had to figure most of it out on my own.  I’ve made a lot of mistakes along the way.  I’ve also managed to somehow stay afloat, though often times barely.  I found this poor guy on my way to see my friend whom I have my herbal powwows with.  On my way back home, which is now in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, I stopped and stared at this bird some more and pondered on things some deeply, as most stoners do.  This could have been me.  It could still be me.  Eventually it will be me.  Life has only two promises; you will be born and you will most certainly die.  What you do in-between is entirely up to you.  The obvious choice, to me, is to make the best of it regardless of what is stacked against you.  So with that I wished this poor baby bird, long deceased, a good night.  I thanked it for its perspective and wished it a long journey in its next life.


Good Night, Sweet Prince – Part 1.

Posted in Deep Thoughts, Music, True Stories with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 3, 2015 by dissectingthefetalpig

Many years ago I somehow got this brilliant idea to take pictures of people sleeping and dead animals and coming up with a smart ass comment to post on social media.  A lot of those people caught sleeping are homeless.  The rest are either random strangers or friends.  The latter hate me for it and the former have yet to catch me. Admittedly, it is a dick move. One which I still constantly pull.



This was probably the first of what would become many.  I found this guy sleeping in The West Village in that little triangle where Christopher St. And 6th Ave. meet.  It was early spring and still a little cool out. I thought it was hilarious that this person had decided that this was a place to get cozy.  I believe the hood of the jacket being pulled tight to block out the sun was the icing on the cake.  Part of me admired this person’s sense of liberty.


Then there is this guy.  I found this guy outside of an Oi! gig in Brooklyn.  This kid was a train wreck.  He was probably the only one to ever catch me taking a photo of them.  I was promptly invited to a punch up, which I impolitely declined.  The kid, although sizable, could barely stand and he had piss stains on his pants upon closer inspection.  I laughed it off and walked away.  Over time I would revisit this picture and think of how many times, in my youth and adulthood, had I been found like that or in similar states.  It’s not really a pleasant thought and a harsher reality.  But that’s life when you grow up fast.  That’s life when you let something eat at you.  And, that’s life when you’re not ready to accept life.



One very cold winter in Bushwick, BK I found this guy.  I was on my way to the bodega on the corner to grab my usual two tall boys of Red Stripe.  It was a very bad time in my life.  Probably the beginning of some of the darkest days I will ever know.  I drank a lot then.  Way too much, if I may be honest.  Something about this rat that froze to death in the cold kind of hit a nerve.  “His fate could very well be my fate if I didn’t shape up”, I had said to myself.  I didn’t quite get the message when I had that epiphany.  I instead bought a one way ticket to Puerto Rico and swore I wouldn’t die in the cold shortly after this picture was taken.  I put this up on social media and titled it “Good Night, Sweet Prince.”  It tickled a well respected colleague’s fancy and a tagline was born.  I tag him on a lot of these, which is also probably a dick move.  His family and friends must often wonder who the asshole is that keeps tagging him on pictures of bums and dead animals.



I took this beauty in the months before I set sail to PR.  Something about this caught my eye.  The roll of toilet paper only added to the reality of it all.  There were some tourists on the train yelling at some cops who were also stationed on the train about her.  The police did nothing.  That’s life in NYC.  It’s like that Fear song “I Love Livin’ In The City” where it talks about how the junkie is king and the air smells shitty.  Well, here’s one of the 5 Borough’s many queens.  We treat poverty and drug addiction like crimes and we will only help you by offering you one placebo after another.  Like everything else in this town, it’s a hustle.


Do you see this guy?  I mean look at this guy!!!  Pimpin’s hard and sometimes you’ve got to take a break from that long-shoe game.  He’s sleeping well because his third string hoes are probably pulling a profit and he can probably give his baddest bitches the night off.  Or at least that might have been the case once.  This is a unicorn of an image and I love it.  I found him when I was crashing with some friends before I set sail.  My flight was two weeks after my rent agreement had finished and a very kind couple offered their couch to me.  I was on my way back from work.  I somehow managed to get lost, just like this time traveler.  I took the picture because I thought I could relate at the time.


I was coming back from a trip to the Bronx.  My grandfather and I decided to catch dinner and make amends over some bad blood.  I was actually touched by his actions and it made me kind of forgive him for some of the mistakes he made.  I had done some wandering about after I had left his place.  It was a very bitter winter that year.  That night was particularly cold and crisp.  I found this mummy on the ride back to Brooklyn.  It kind of got me thinking about how I was technically homeless and about to embark on a massive journey.  I wasn’t sure if I prepared or had packed appropriately.  Which, later, I realized I hadn’t.  I had to wonder if in all of this person’s problems, were they really as prepared as they thought they were given their current state.


Less than 48 hours from the time of this photo I had been in NYC waiting for my one way flight to PR.  NYC could kiss my ass for all I could care.  It could take its miserable 9 degrees and stick it right up its rat infested ass.  So here I was in Puerto Rico taking my one man act of nihilism and over indulgence to new levels.  It seemed so hot here upon my arrival.  Hot and humid in the most unforgiving ways.  I’d later grow to get used to it.  But I can, within an instant, recall with great detail how that sun would singe my skin instantly and how sticky everything felt.  My second night on the island my friends and I ventured to a club in Carolina, if I am not mistaken.  I was given the driving duties to get there.  I had no license what so ever.  Also, driving gives me anxiety.  I drove singing “Uptight” by Stevie Wonder to keep me calm as my passengers drank and snorted coke.  We saw one of Mimi and Sergio’s many talented bands.  I forget the name of this one.  They sounded like X and The Gun Club.  I proceeded to get banged out.  Man could these people party!  Someone else who was neither the owner of the car nor had a driver’s license was behind the wheel now.  We went to a bar in Rio Piedras.  The streets were filled with a nightlife like I had never seen before.  The Caribbean was such a beautiful place at night.  The music, the women, the rum and the way the ocean breeze would give you such a gentle relief at night; all so very intoxicating.  I was feeling like such an alien.  I was in over my head with a lot of things here.  I felt very lonely.  I was shuffling off to the bathroom to have a piss, a panic attack and a bump of coke.  All in that order, too.  Somewhere on that mission I found this guy.  Suddenly, things weren’t so bad.


By the time I snapped this one, I’d been living in Old San Juan for a while.  I was listening to The Marked Men a lot around this time if memory serves me propper.   I had just stopped off at a dive bar to have a beer to wash down the pizza I was eating that also happened to have an 8th of psychedelic mushrooms on it when I found this guy.  I loved tripping out on the fort wall of El Morro, sprawled out on the bricks much like this guy.  It had a huge clearing that sort of helped reduce light interference that made the night time sky absolutely amazing to look at.  It was much like being in a planetarium.  Very serene, with the ocasional shooting star.  The point that I liked to set up camp also provided an excellent view of the shoreline.  You could see the cemetery, the battered homes in La Perla and it’s empty streets to San Crystobal.  Past that you could see that little beach up by Puerto De Tierra and all the way up to the Condado shoreline.  I usually surrendered my camp when I realized that ants were eating me alive and teenagers had also set up camp and were fucking all around me.  I stopped off at a local bar, El Farolito, and had a whiskey and coconut water while trying to keep some composure.  The bar, tiny as it was, was packed to the gills.  None of them were faces I knew, save for the bartender.  I paid my tab, which was somewhat difficult at the moment and marched on into the night.  This gentlemen still slept peacefully in the same place I had found him as I embarked on the long route home.  I made a point to also check out the Princess Walk which was also one of my favorite views, on drugs or otherwise.  The churro stand was still open and I maintained to up the ante on my level of delinquency and got one churro with dulce de leche and another stuffed with warm nutella.  Awkwardly, I marched my tripping ass to my small one bedroom whilst trying to eat my churros in the neatest of ways possible.  I must’ve been a sight to behold in the most disgraceful of ways.  Later I laid in bed, listening to music and looking at the internet through my phone, as I didn’t have internet in my house.  I uploaded the picture of this sleeping prince on the web.  I admitted, only to myself, in that dark room, how that man had most certainly been more at ease with himself.  I smoked a bunch of pot and drifted off into the night.


Twenty-Four Hours Ago and One Lifetime Away

Posted in Deep Thoughts with tags , , , , , , , , on January 10, 2011 by dissectingthefetalpig

Shall we start from the beginning?

10am Sunday morning. My cell phone keeps ringing. I ponder who is calling me at this hour. Did God finally get my number and is summoning me to mass? I pry my face from my pillow to look and see who it is. My bottom lip is slightly adhered to said pillow with dried saliva. The evidence resembles a snail trail. More ringing. The persistent caller is one of my jobs. Can I work the 12am to 8am shift? So and So called out sick. I reply that I can but would rather not. Begrudgingly I accept the task. I need the money.

10:15am sunday. I curse the slight traces of over-indulgence from the night before. I was DJ’ing a bar the night before. It also coincided with a friend’s birthday. We need not go into details past the fact that said friend dumped two 20 bags of blow on his cake. It put a new meaning to “frosting”. My mouth is sour and dry. I reach for my trusty bottle of water on the night stand, take a good slug and pass out cold again.

1pm. Sunday afternoon. I get out of bed to relieve myself. I curse the sun which is now poking its way through my shitty curtains and make way for the water closet. The bright idea to brush my teeth dawns on me. The idea to shave the taste of last night of my tongue was probably the best idea I’ve had so far. I grab a handful of granola and wash it down with a slug of apple cider as I walk through the kitchen. It is by no means the breakfast of champions, but it makes do.

I realize that I probably get some more sleep as it is going to be sparse for me to get it the next day. I eat half an Advil PM and fall asleep with my headphones on.

6:30pm. Sunday evening. The sun has left the premises and it is dark out. I make the observation that everything feels colder in the dark. My room is filled with shadows courtesy of the street light on the block. It’s cold and creepy in my room. There probably is a Norwegian Black Metal song describing what my room looks and feels like at this moment. My blanket is playing the part of a cruel mistress and keeps tempting me with her embrace. Finally, I muster the courage to get out of bed and turn on the lights.

7pm Sunday evening. It has been decreed that a lovely Thai dinner will be had and that I will check out one of the movies I got in the mail care of netflix. The film is Once Upon A Time In The West. It’s a three hour classic directed by Sergio Leone and written by Dario Argento. I can’t help but wish my soon to be ex-wife were here. Fond memories of more pleasant times where I’d school her on spaghetti westerns and eat take out come flooding. For as much as I am mad at her, I still miss her.

I shake off these feelings and focus on Claudia Cardinale. They don’t make women like that anymore. If you’ve ever wondered what sort of a bad ass Charles Bronson was before he did those Death Wish movies, watch this film. I wish more films had such intense characters this movie does. I get to the part where Peter Fonda’s character says “Look at you. You’re wearing suspenders and a belt. How can I trust a man who can’t even trust his own pants!”. I have to agree. He goes on to shoot said untrustworthy person. My thoughts of my ex have faded.

11:57 sunday evening. I arrive at work little later than scheduled. I wanted to be there earlier. The guy I am relieving is on the phone with my boss. He has freaked out and was trying to rat me out for being late. I can’t blame him to a degree, but he is a little weasel of sorts, so it only irritates me more. There was a problem with the trains I inform my employer, which is true. Had there not been a delay in service I would have been there earlier. I tell my rodent like co-worker to kick rocks and begin my shift.

Working the overnight shift as a doorman is beyond mind numbing. There is very little if anything for you to do between the hours of 12am to 6am. Yet you cannot completely slack off, because the moment you do, something happens.

By 1:15am Monday morning I have gone through the craigslist casual encounters ads and shared a few with a friend in the hospital. One of which was a man seeking man ad to have someone fart in someone’s face. Who writes this shit. I kind of like reading the gay male ad titles for the following reasons:

They are usually real. Unlike the women seeking men ads which are usually spam robots or webcam lures. I should know about that, I used to over see these things.

Also, the ads in the m4m section show how fucked up the world can be. You will find some seriously disturbing ads there. Never mind people wanting to have a fart blasted in their face, but there are a slew of people in NYC alone that actually want to be HIV positive.

These things make me feel better about myself in a weird way. I may be fucked up, but I ain’t that fucked up.

I refrain from the women seeking women ads tonight. It’s kind of like amateur porn. Masturbating at work is sad. At least here it is. The bathroom is a cold dungeon. If I am going to rub one out on the job I’d prefer to do it in warmer temperatures and in a place that has hot water.

Its now 2:15 am Monday morning and I made a craigslist ad for jesus. It reads as follows:

“I am the son of god. It’s a rough life at times. I’ve been known to bear a cross and walk around moping, but heavy is the head that bears the crown of thorns. I am slender with eyes of coal. I have been rocking the long hair and beard look way before hipsters moved to bedford ave. I cannot take aspirin or eat m&m’s or any other sort of small candy due to a previous injury. However, I can turn water into wine. It makes me the life of every party. I also taught Rick Ocasic how to walk on water in that Cars video. I’m cool like that.

I am pretty open to all, but I do have a thing for slutty girls. So if you are the neighborhood whore, we might get along.

No romans please. It’s not a prejudice, it’s a personal preference. ”

By 2:30am I am depositing some money in the bank and getting something to drink. The cold wind cuts through my slacks. I curse the fact that my long johns are at home. I glance around the scenery. Everything is serene. Very little is moving at this hour. This city may never sleep, but it does take a nap here and again. The city at night is a guilty pleasure. My love for that will never change. I take in a good eyeful before going back to work. My days are limited here. I’ll be living somewhere else soon. I have to take in what I can, while I can.

It’s 3:15 am. I am starting to get squirrely. There is very little in the way of stimulation. The book I am reading is OK at best. This is the third so far I have read from this author. It seems to me, while I enjoy his work to a degree, that he is still working on putting together his one masterpiece. So far everything I have read by him has re-occurring themes or nuances. I decide to switch it up and lift weights in the workout room.

At 4:50am I have executed every possible thing I can get away with. I have left every smart ass reply I could on my friends facebook pages, much to their chagrin. I’ve mopped the downstairs area with a full reenactment of the broom dance from Breakin’ and I have googled every possible question I could think of for the day so far.

I try to take a nap. I have mastered the art of sleeping upright so that it doesn’t look like I am slacking off in the video monitors. Big Brother doesn’t like it when you sleep on the job. My mind wanders to what I have planned for the evening. I have promised to bring a game called Apples To Apples to the bar my friend is working at. It’ll be fun. My thoughts wander back to my ex and how she loved that game. I try my best to shake the image of us sitting in the outdoor part of a bar with our friends playing this game and having a wonderful time. I think our dog was running around too. God I miss him. I return to the weight room and exercise these demons. The past is gone. Move forward.

By 6am the first signs of life hit the building. The first human contact is with the girlfriend of a tenant. She is a very attractive young lady, a little skinny for my liking, but attractive none the less. Her hair is rather disheveled and it is obvious that this is her walk of shame. She has to run home and get ready for work. I give her a nod in a way that shows I am not passing judgment and make way for her egress. The building slowly becomes alive with nannies starting their shifts, bankers making way for work and joggers going for a morning run. The coffee carts have set up shop and the smell comes wafting through. I look outside and the morning hustle, or the daily hate if you will, begins. Groggy eyed pedestrians making way to and from work. Curses being cast under veiled breath for some reason or another. A typical NYC morning.

My relief comes at 8am. I hustle home. I have to be back at work at 4pm. Time is not my friend today.

At 8:25 am, monday morning I emerge from the subway. I look around to see what awaits me. I notice the cops have a kid pinned to a wall, he’s being searched. Across the street his classmates point and yell. Everyone loves a 3 ring circus provided you have the right acts. This is none of my concern and so I move one.

I figure I will get a light breakfast at my local coffee shop. A woman and her three children are there. She is having small talk as her two oldest are eating their breakfast. They are young, probably preschoolers. They youngest of this trio is an infant in a stroller. I think to myself that either this woman wasted no time in creating her tribe or she hates rubbers. Then again, what does this matter? It’s none of my concern.

Some of the school kids come in to stay warm. The proprietor of this tiny coffee shop insists that they either order something or leave. The three boys begrudgingly order 3 bagels with cream cheese and jelly. They are standing in the doorway hooting and hollering about their classmate’s run in with the cops. It’s a lovely 23 degrees out with a moderate breeze. I finally ask them to close the door and point out that there are kids in here. The draft will surely get the infant sick. The biggest of the boys sucks his teeth at me. I have to refrain from caving his face in. The owner silently thanks me. The mother says nothing. In a well played effort to get the teenage terrors out faster, the line cooks cranks their order out. My order comes up next and my coffee was on the house.

I make my way home and solemnly eat my meal. I observe that my roommate’s dog has yet again made himself comfortable on my bed. I grin. It’s cool. I decide that brushing my teeth will do me some good. As I pass back through the kitchen to my room I take a slug of apple cider. The combo between the fresh toothpaste and cider leaves an unpleasant taste. Why can’t they figure out how to make a toothpaste that won’t make drinking orange juice or apple juice taste like shit? If I was a scientist I’d have made this a priority. I imagine that I’d get the Nobel Peace Prize for it.

I look over at my clock, it’s 10 to 10am. Almost 24 hours from when this day started. I have to sleep. I’ve got to be at work again in a few short hours. My mind drifts to my moving away soon. I imagine that NYC’s own Mayor Bloomberg will roll up on his bike at the airport and congratulate me for leaving. My absence will dramatically decrease the rate of violent crimes in the city. I dream of palm trees and sand and fade off.

You’ll Never Hit Me Up Again

Posted in True Stories with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 23, 2010 by dissectingthefetalpig

PhotobucketI’ll make your toenails curl.

A long time ago when The Bowery was seedy it wasn’t uncommon to get hit on by a working girl.  Let me be clear in saying that these working girls were nothing like that Julia Roberts bitch in that romantic comedy about a john falling for a trick.  You get what you pay for in all things vice, and these were definitely dollar bin crack whores.

For years I hung around and even worked in The East Village/Bowery/Lower East Side areas of the city.  My one mainstay of employment over the years was under a co-ed shelter.  Two blocks north was another shelter.  Around the corner from that another shelter.  The next block over from the club I worked at was a porn store.  There were two methadone clinics within a four block radius as well.  So needless to say there would always be toothless crack bitches wanting to get you off for cheap.

Now you have to either wonder about the perseverance of these women (and the men that tried to look like them) or you had to wonder who the fuck keeps them in business.  I for one always thought of it as AIDS personified coming over to remind me to get rubbers on the way home.  But that is neither here nor there.

So there was this one trick that would harass me to no end my first year working in that area.  As soon as the club would close and I’d make for the bank to deposit my cash, she’d be right there trying to hit me up.  She was this scabby old hispanic woman with a few teeth missing.  Maybe a biker “mama” at one point, but clearly no-one’s baby.  Baby mama, maybe.  Anyways, as soon as this hag would see me, she’d follow me and cat call me.  Insisting that she knew I had some money on me (which I did) and that she could show me a good time (which I doubted, highly).  At first I would try to ignore her, then I would try to play it off, and that was a total fail.  Finally I had enough.  So one night after seeing her around while at work, I knew she’d be ready and waiting to be my private dancer come closing time.  Enough was enough and I was going to make this bitch fuck off.  I devised a plan.

As I went for a coffee run before the end of the night I bought the BIGGEST cucumber I could find in the deli.  I felt kind of silly doing security the rest of the evening with a cucumber in my jacket pocket, but whatever.  It had a purpose so long as it didn’t break or get crushed in the few hours I had left for work.  As I made my way to the bank, as predicted, my leathery vulture came swooping down looking for a hand out.  This time I switched it up and said I’d play, but I just wanted a show.  She agreed like a fool.  We went to the sub-level of a building stoop where it is dark and away from prying eyes.  She asked what type of show I wanted and I laid it on her.  I pulled out my gigantic cucumber and told her I’ll give her $40 bucks for her to shove it up her ass.  Half up front and the other half when that thing is halfway buried up her ass.  Take it or leave it.  See, that’s the one thing about being a junkie in need of a fix, you won’t say no to cash.  I had her in a bind.  She can take the $20 dollars and fuck off or she can humiliate herself for another $20.  She was greedy and went for the full monty.  She asked for lube and I only grinned and said “Nope, work with what you’ve got.  You said you could show me a good time.  Put your money where your mouth is.”  She screamed, winced and probably could not shit for a week afterwards.  Whatever, as soon as she had it lodged up there I crumpled the bill and dropped it on the floor.  I didn’t need to stick around, I figured I had been just enough of a bastard to get my point across.  She was yelling and screaming at me as I was leaving, but whatever.  I wasn’t gonna be bothered with it.

I have to say while I could have done other things with that $40 dollars, it was well spent.  That bitch wouldn’t even look at me again let alone harass me.  Neither did the other tricks in the area.  I guess word got around that I was one of those “crazy” motherfuckers.  Which I was totally fine with.  I didn’t expect some pimp to come and slap me around and I was even pleased when the hookers decided not to work in front of the club anymore.  I did refrain from eating cucumbers for a minute, but I eventually got over that too.

NYC Party Vikings

Posted in Rave with tags , , , , , , , , , on March 5, 2010 by dissectingthefetalpig

If you don’t know about this, then you should check it out.  It is a cult dedicated to binge drinking and really bad behavior.  It’s pretty much an open call and anyone can get in on the fun.  Provided of course that you have a sense of humor and possibly bail money.

I may or may not be affiliated with these people, but I do highly promote them.

It’s way cooler than the Bad Santa Crawl and if they ever catch up with them or the Pirate Crawl, expect a blood bath.

Torrid Tales Of Mysanthropic Teen

Posted in True Stories with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 25, 2010 by dissectingthefetalpig

So I have done some things deemed unconventional by my peers. To be honest I do many things that most people find strange. I wear the title “weird” like I was Superman and it was my god damned cape flapping in the wind. But curiosity is a hell of a thing. Mix that with a general distaste for the majority of people in the world and you have the recipe for a real nut job. Or so I am told.

I used to go to adult theaters to make myself feel better about myself. And by feel better about myself, I mean have a laugh at the degenerates at play. If you’ve never been inside one of these cesspools you will see a ton of atrocities that happen everyday. It’s amazing what grows in dark places. It’s a sense of life like you’ll never know. Almost any given day you can find normal people going in to not only score, but smoke crack. Not your typical junkie flair, but some asshole that looks like he walked off the set of Ozzie and Harriet. You’ll sometimes even find the wanton house wife or suburban mom wanting to unleash their slutty side and blow as many people as possible. It’s degradation at its finest. The whole time I watch the nightmare unfold. Only watching and never participating.

Then of course you have the obvious patrons. Gay and bi-curious men cruising, junkies shooting up, bums looking to just sleep in the aisles and prostitutes looking for johns. Every so often a construction worker comes in to drink a tall boy and beat off before returning to work. All this and more in a dark enclave that thousands pass by in a day. Never mind what is on the screen, the real show is in the audience.

There was this one particular time I went to this theater on my lunch break and there was this transvestite that was getting gang banged by pretty much the entire audience. I assume that this was his/her game plan. You had to at least admire or acknowledge the sense of freedom in all of this whether you agree with it or not. All caution to the wind with this sort of public display of carnality. It seemed as though everyone was in line to get at this piece of meat. Like a pack of coyotes on a lone desert hare. It was one of the more disgusting things I had ever witnessed. I be very clear that I was in no way sexually aroused. But I could not help and watch. Is this how Vlad Tepes felt when he ate under his dying victims.

I sat mesmerized by the fact that these men were engaging in a dance with a slow death. I laughed and entertained the notion that I had just watched several men from various walks of life commit suicide. It’s the closest thing to eating popcorn and watching Jonestown unfold. It was almost electric!

I had to wonder if this is the basis of humanity, a piece of ass, a hole to get your rocks off in. I left feeling like I had witnessed something that should not be seen. As if some darker god had shown me where the world was headed if he were to have his way. I laughed and thought to myself “All of you people are fucking dead!” And I went on with my day. I returned to my menial office job and wondered if any of my co workers who I could not stand were one of the many shadowed faces in that dog pile during their lunch break. I smiled and thought “Of course they were, of course”.

It Goes Full Circle

Posted in Deep Thoughts with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 25, 2010 by dissectingthefetalpig

Never in my life did I think that seeing a bunch of kids drinking in the street would bother me. Mind you 15 years ago I was drinking on the same stoops.

When the city cracked down with their “Quality Of Life” campaign I was really bummed. There was a sort of class rift that came of it. The question in the back of many a citizen’s mind was “quality of life for whom?”. The simple and mildly illegal pleasures of the lower and working classes were gone. No more brown bagging your beer on a nice summer walk. No more drinking wine at Mostly Mozart in the park (unless of course you are in higher status) and no ice cold beer on the beach.

I can see why these enforcements came to be. I understood why they needed to be. But it was frustrating to watch things get revoked from the lower classes of the city and yet the upper classes were really allowed to do as they pleased.

Gentrification set in and pushed away the people who made these new frontiers what they were. The East Village and The Lower East Side are just shells of what they were. While they were always a party spot they have become the hip and happening party spots for the trust fund kids, the middle class hipsters and even the bridge and tunnel crowd. I never in a million years thought that Ludlow and Stanton would be the new Soho. I never had the foresight to think that Chinatown would elevate from dive bar status. Nor did I ever think that there would be velvet roped lines and guestlists on Ave. D.

So here I am 10 or more years later walking down a familiar strip where as a youth I spent many a night drinking on stoops. It’s 1am and once upon a time I’d at least see a few familiar faces, but instead it’s a sea of endless strangers. All drinking brazenly on the street. Large bottles of Asahi in the hands of youth where once a 22 oz. of malt liquor was the norm. But these young men and women are much different than the youth that paraded and littered this very strip. They are from good homes. Money is never an issue and more importantly, they are outside of the law.

A cop car cruises past and takes in the same visual. For a moment I had hopes that they would clean up the streets and get rid of this mess. Instead they stop a few feet down and make a homeless man vacate from the store front he was camping in front of. Probably a safe target seeing as he will never be able to afford a lawyer. I grab a coffee and plant my ass on a stoop I was once very familiar on and wish that someone would in fact do something about the quality of life around here and I laugh.

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