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The Smartass Guide to New York, Part 1.



 
 
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  #1  
Old July 30th, 2008, 11:35 PM posted to rec.travel.usa-canada
Jeff Vogel
external usenet poster
 
Posts: 1
Default The Smartass Guide to New York, Part 1.

(I recently took a trip to New York. In my role as a semi-professional
smartass, I have written a journal about what I saw there. It is one
part recommendations for things you should do should you go there
yourself and one part mean-spirited mockery of this intriguing race of
fashionable and irritable people.)

The Smartass Guide to New York, Part 1

And so it came to pass that, on the fifth day of July in the year
2008, emboldened by a week’s worth of baby sitting, my wife and I were
able to escape the humble fishing village of Seattle and spend a week
wandering New York city.

You know. New York. The Big Apple. The city so nice they named it
twice. The Big Easy. The Windy City. The City of Light. Ol’ Blue Eyes.
The Rumble in the Jungle. Ol’ Stinkfinger.

I am writing my observation on this humid land and its attractive,
obnoxious people, so that future generations can be educated and my
blog can be updated for the first time in a year.

We flew to New York on American Airlines, because we hate ourselves.
Since we have two small children, the flight was marvelous. Before we
had kids, the prospect of a five hour plane flight filled us with
dread. Now, the idea of spending that long with nothing to do and
nobody bugging us is pure ecstasy.

We took the subway into the city. They have constructed a system
called Airtrain that can carry you from JFK to Manhattan quickly and
cheaply. Sure, blowing a c-note on a shuttle will prepare you the non-
stop violation your wallet is about to endure, but why hasten the
process? The train passed through Queens and Brooklyn. For a time, I
was convinced that New York had simply run out of white people. Then
we entered Manhattan. Oh. There they are.

We checked into our hotel. We are staying across the street from the
theater showing Wicked. As long as our planet’s precious supply of
teenaged Goth girls remains unextinguished, that musical will run
strong. Every time we walk by it, I treat my wife to my off-key
rendition of one of its songs. This is because I am, all evidence to
the contrary, a big, fat gay.

Then, since we were headachy and jet-lagged, we went to a movie. It
was called The Last Mistress. It was French and full of perverse sex.
A guy gets shot and then the woman he loves licks the wound clean. Ah.
The French. The theater was in the Village, where all the best art
house theaters can be found. Going to a movie is a good way to see
what local people look like. And how much more nicely dressed than you
they are. Do this as soon as you can, and get the jump on being
ashamed.

It was then late, so we went to Greenwich Village to eat at a
spectacularly fabulous and trendy pub called The Spotted Pig. We
arrived at 10:30 PM and only had to wait 45 minutes. We were lucky to
get in. I thought we would be all right because they got there so
late. In fact, we only got in because we got there so early. After
midnight, the place was completely slammed.

The main special for the night was called, “Broiled faggot.” This
was, in case you were wondering, which you were, a pork sausage with
trotter, liver, and farro. This gave me to opportunity to ask the
waitress, “So. Is the faggot more of a appetizer or a main dish?”

We got it. It was excellent. It had whole fried pig ears on the side,
because that is what they do there. I think they are on to something.
Next time I’m there, in addition to having the faggot, I’ll say,
“Thank you. Now I would like the wetback soup. And, for the main
course, I’ll have some boiled Jew.”

While we were waiting for dinner, we sat next to models. Actual
models. They roam wild in New York. One of them was wearing a lovely
shirt. And then I realized that it was her dress. Seeing her ass hang
out like that really made the time pass. Models are amazing. I can’t
make that look work for me at all.

Then we went down the street to the famous Magnolia Bakery. The line
was around the block. This famous spot is where the trend of
overpriced cupcakes for grown-ups started. We got dessert there,
instead of doing what we should have done: Firebombed the ****ing
place.

Then we went to bed. Sleeping pills are the closest thing to magic
ever created by humanity.

(Other parts of this journal, as well as a wide variety of humorous
writings, can be found at http://www.ironycentral.com. The web version
also has web links to many of the restaurants and locations described
in the article, should you wish to learn more.)

- Jeff Vogel
Spiderweb Software, Award-winning Fantasy role-playing games
for Mac and Windows. Huge, free Demos!
http://www.spiderwebsoftware.com
  #2  
Old August 1st, 2008, 12:34 AM posted to rec.travel.usa-canada
Runge12
external usenet poster
 
Posts: 474
Default The Smartass Guide to New York, Part 1. BOORING STUFF


"Jeff Vogel" a écrit dans le message de
...
(I recently took a trip to New York. In my role as a semi-professional
smartass, I have written a journal about what I saw there. It is one
part recommendations for things you should do should you go there
yourself and one part mean-spirited mockery of this intriguing race of
fashionable and irritable people.)

The Smartass Guide to New York, Part 1

And so it came to pass that, on the fifth day of July in the year
2008, emboldened by a week’s worth of baby sitting, my wife and I were
able to escape the humble fishing village of Seattle and spend a week
wandering New York city.

You know. New York. The Big Apple. The city so nice they named it
twice. The Big Easy. The Windy City. The City of Light. Ol’ Blue Eyes.
The Rumble in the Jungle. Ol’ Stinkfinger.

I am writing my observation on this humid land and its attractive,
obnoxious people, so that future generations can be educated and my
blog can be updated for the first time in a year.

We flew to New York on American Airlines, because we hate ourselves.
Since we have two small children, the flight was marvelous. Before we
had kids, the prospect of a five hour plane flight filled us with
dread. Now, the idea of spending that long with nothing to do and
nobody bugging us is pure ecstasy.

We took the subway into the city. They have constructed a system
called Airtrain that can carry you from JFK to Manhattan quickly and
cheaply. Sure, blowing a c-note on a shuttle will prepare you the non-
stop violation your wallet is about to endure, but why hasten the
process? The train passed through Queens and Brooklyn. For a time, I
was convinced that New York had simply run out of white people. Then
we entered Manhattan. Oh. There they are.

We checked into our hotel. We are staying across the street from the
theater showing Wicked. As long as our planet’s precious supply of
teenaged Goth girls remains unextinguished, that musical will run
strong. Every time we walk by it, I treat my wife to my off-key
rendition of one of its songs. This is because I am, all evidence to
the contrary, a big, fat gay.

Then, since we were headachy and jet-lagged, we went to a movie. It
was called The Last Mistress. It was French and full of perverse sex.
A guy gets shot and then the woman he loves licks the wound clean. Ah.
The French. The theater was in the Village, where all the best art
house theaters can be found. Going to a movie is a good way to see
what local people look like. And how much more nicely dressed than you
they are. Do this as soon as you can, and get the jump on being
ashamed.

It was then late, so we went to Greenwich Village to eat at a
spectacularly fabulous and trendy pub called The Spotted Pig. We
arrived at 10:30 PM and only had to wait 45 minutes. We were lucky to
get in. I thought we would be all right because they got there so
late. In fact, we only got in because we got there so early. After
midnight, the place was completely slammed.

The main special for the night was called, “Broiled faggot.” This
was, in case you were wondering, which you were, a pork sausage with
trotter, liver, and farro. This gave me to opportunity to ask the
waitress, “So. Is the faggot more of a appetizer or a main dish?”

We got it. It was excellent. It had whole fried pig ears on the side,
because that is what they do there. I think they are on to something.
Next time I’m there, in addition to having the faggot, I’ll say,
“Thank you. Now I would like the wetback soup. And, for the main
course, I’ll have some boiled Jew.”

While we were waiting for dinner, we sat next to models. Actual
models. They roam wild in New York. One of them was wearing a lovely
shirt. And then I realized that it was her dress. Seeing her ass hang
out like that really made the time pass. Models are amazing. I can’t
make that look work for me at all.

Then we went down the street to the famous Magnolia Bakery. The line
was around the block. This famous spot is where the trend of
overpriced cupcakes for grown-ups started. We got dessert there,
instead of doing what we should have done: Firebombed the ****ing
place.

Then we went to bed. Sleeping pills are the closest thing to magic
ever created by humanity.

(Other parts of this journal, as well as a wide variety of humorous
writings, can be found at http://www.ironycentral.com. The web version
also has web links to many of the restaurants and locations described
in the article, should you wish to learn more.)

- Jeff Vogel
Spiderweb Software, Award-winning Fantasy role-playing games
for Mac and Windows. Huge, free Demos!
http://www.spiderwebsoftware.com

  #3  
Old August 1st, 2008, 03:12 AM posted to rec.travel.usa-canada
catalpa
external usenet poster
 
Posts: 96
Default The Smartass Guide to New York, Part 1.


"Jeff Vogel" wrote in message
...
snip
The main special for the night was called, “Broiled faggot.” This
was, in case you were wondering, which you were, a pork sausage with
trotter, liver, and farro. This gave me to opportunity to ask the
waitress, “So. Is the faggot more of a appetizer or a main dish?”

We got it. It was excellent. It had whole fried pig ears on the side,
because that is what they do there. I think they are on to something.
Next time I’m there, in addition to having the faggot, I’ll say,
“Thank you. Now I would like the wetback soup. And, for the main
course, I’ll have some boiled Jew.”


This joke doesn't work because every New Yorker knows that a Jew wouldn't be
caught dead in an establishment that serves fried pig ears. There is trief
and there is trief.


 




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