Posted on Wednesday, May 27, 2009
As the ships and service members depart New York City today, there is a sullen atmosphere hanging over the Big Apple. Is it the remembrance of those we’ve lost in the military over the past 90 years? The departing of our service men and women to far off dangerous places that they may never return? Having to return to the working life after a long weekend of drinking in the sun with friends and family? Possibly. But this cloud of doom seems to be hovering exclusively over the West side of Manhattan, eclipsing the usually brightly colored arch in the sky above the bars of Chelsea and the West Village. It is our homosexual brothers who are mourning once again, as they do every year at this time, over the loss of their seamen.
"…Don’t be afraid to let those colors shine…"
Although the Fleet Week activities provide telling metaphors for many of the “alpha-manly” demonstrations (21-gun salutes, arm wrestling tournaments, the phallic power of big boats spraying jets of water all over the Hudson), these are just the “official” expositions for the public. However, “unofficially,” these sailors are “exposing” themselves in other ways at night at the West Village's biggest gay bars. It’s no secret that these bars see huge amounts of patrons during Fleet Week (second only to Pride week), and the “don’t ask, don’t tell” military policy causes these drunk, young men who’ve been cooped up together for months, to get their shot at sexual release.
"…Show me yours. I'm gonna show you mine…"
“I fucking love Fleet Week,” states Bobby Jackson, ballet instructor and artistic director of the Bobby Ballet Dance Studio, “some of these closeted dudes really let it all hang out too. Some say it's close to the Piers where the ships dock, personally, I think the guys are cruising for blowjobs. I see it ever year, the kids get drunk, the guys get hot young men, and everyone forgets it ever happened. Like shooting fish in a barrel.”
"…If you find a pot of gold, every little thing is gonna work out fine…"
Many men that get left and heart broken, revert back to cruising Christopher Street wishing that every week could be Fleet Week. The depression that ensues is said to last for the entire year in some cases. Some men have even gone so far as to attempt to get a clinical appellation (Fleet Weak) to describe the mental sickness that drives them to becoming excited and let down all over again each and every year.
“They’re rough boy!” explains Steven O’Chessee, dancer, “I always hope to find my “The Way We Were” moment whenever they come into town. Like some Redford-esque guy who will sweep me off my feet…but it never happens. They always leave.”
"…A warm embrace and a kind-a hello…"
So what are the men of Manhattan to do about this constant annual occurrence that brings their spirits up to the sky, but in a week sends them crashing, dramatically into the sea?
“Look, people need to stop fucking whining, ok,” explains Jackson, “take it for what it is. We’re guys. We should be able to fuck each other without things getting complicated. Should be like a handshake for Christ’s sake. So enough with this “Fleet Weak” shit, wash your mouth out, and move on.”
"…reach inside your soul and learn your fellow. In the Fleet Week rainbow."
Posted on Friday, May 8, 2009
(MP) - In the age-old battle of the sexes, one of the biggest (if not THE biggest), complaints that women have about men is that they are only after one thing: their bodies. Some women like Susan B. Anthony and Gloria Steinem, have fought throughout history for suffrage, equality in the workplace, and the continuing struggle to be looked upon as intellectual equals, and not just sex objects to exploit. Other women, like Jenna Jameson, have used their bodies as tools to rise to the height of the business world, and once there, have changed gears and become formidable CEO’s and intellectual juggernauts in their own right. This past week the oldest woman alive spoke out for the respect that has eluded her for the past eight years. That woman is New York’s very own Statue of Liberty.
“When I saw Jenna Jameson on William Shatner’s talk show ‘Raw Nerve,’ explains Lady Liberty, “and she talked about her shocking decision to retire from porn, but continue to run her enterprise that is the strongest in her business, I became inspired. I related to her. People have been crawling in and out of my body for years, just like her, and I’m tired of it. It’s time they saw what my mind has to offer as well.”
The Statue of Liberty has welcomed visitors, immigrants, and returning Americans inside her ever since 1886, when France gifted the giant lady to the United States. The crown, however, has been closed to tourists ever since the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. But it seems that Lady Liberty’s pronouncement of no longer being seen just as a “body” has not fallen on deaf ears. The crown of the Statue of Liberty will re-open to tourists this July 4.
"We are once again inviting the public to celebrate our great nation,” explained Jacqueline Cufflinks, spokeswoman for the iron icon, “and the hope and opportunity it symbolizes by not just entering our Lady’s legs, and exploring her cavity like a mindless piece of ass, but also climbing to Lady Liberty's crown for a unique view of New York Harbor, and to see that she is just as smart, driven, and wise than any other male statue in the world.”
Reactions from women all around the country have been supportive and inspired.
“I thinks it’s great, you know,” opines Jeneane Menthol, mother of two, who has used her body in the past to get ahead, “I have a man now, so I don’t runs around no more, but who doesn’t want to be seens as smart? I’ll take my daughters there. I just wish we could enter her mouth first, you know? Then we can leave out of her body the way it’s dones in nature – out her hoo-ha.”
Access to the crown will be limited to 10 people at a time, but Lady Liberty sees that as a good thing.
“It will allow me to really talk to people, in the intimate setting that is my head, so I can have people focus on what I have to offer intellectually. But don’t get me wrong; I am a woman of the 21st century still. I can be everything I want to be. I still have needs and desires, so I won’t be closing my legs any time soon. You just have to also want to get into my head in order to have the whole experience that I have to offer. Just like my new heroine - Jenna Jameson.”
Posted on Wednesday, May 6, 2009
(MP) - When it comes to finding and relying on a courier service to get your package delivered on time, and in one piece, it’s very nerve racking to feel secure about choosing the right one. The USPS, FedEx, and UPS have cornered the market on shipping, but they have become increasingly careless as of late in regard to handling special packages. So when you need drugs that you promised your friend in college sent, or you really don’t want to drive into an unfriendly neighborhood, then whom can you turn to for that piece of mind?
“I don’t know anymore…” frets ‘The Weeze’, stoner, and off-off-off Broadway theater technician who would not reveal his name, “I never used to worry bout gettin’ ‘the kind’ from my buddies in VT. We’d do the Brown all the time. But then I heard what happened in Texas, and I just can’t trust them anymore. I can’t have my Northern Lights going to, like…somewhere else, you know?”
What “The Weeze” is referring to is the incident that took place in Denton, Texas earlier this year. A man from Denton, Texas was awaiting a delivery of tools that he had ordered from Sears, but was delivered a 30-pound marijuana brick with a street value of $10,500 instead. It seems that the delivery was intended for an address in Dallas, but UPS delivered it to the wrong destination.
“We still stand by our track record,” states Arizona Girth, long time UPS employee, “we deliver thousands of packages a day, every day, all year long. Something is bound to get lost in the mix. We’re only human. But our goofs are minimal. After the Denton fiasco, we’ve stepped up our address verifications, and have had a 90% approval rating on deliveries of all goods, and more specifically an increase in our drug trafficking, which is very positive for our growth.”
To compete with UPS, the USPS (which has joined forces with Mailboxes, Etc.) has just launched its “Be Kind Tiers” in all its locations across the country. They will take special care of higher valued packages, and even replace lost items as an insurance policy with G-4 marijuana strands of equal value to lost merchandise. The tiers range from the “Escobar Underground” for shipments that reach a certain weight capacity down to the “Social Toker” tier for those that fear facing an actual drug dealer in person.
“Wine is fine,” explains Cody Splendor, who was willing to record himself after receiving his “Escobar” package for promotional purposes for USPS’s “Be Kind” trial stages, “but knowing that I don’t have to go to a strange place for a solid, sweet strapper, and end up entwined in some mass sex situation with genitalia in my face is comforting for my anxiety. It’s being brought to my friends and I at a specific time and a specific place. I think the service is a fabulous success.”
Others around the country do as well, as USPS has recorded huge first and second quarter earnings for 2009. “The tier system is working solid ” reports Sully Builder, veteran postal worker, “deliveries are on time, numbers are up, salaries are up, postal suicide and mass execution rates are down…and everyone is happy and high. Can you think of a better system?”
Posted on Wednesday, May 6, 2009
(MP) – After a long night of crooning in Cleveland, singer Josh Groban was looking forward to saying his prayers and turning off the lights at the Courtyard Marriot next to the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame where he’d been staying for the last three nights. But what he didn’t realize was that Michael Buble had something else in store for him: a street fight sing-off.
Buble and Groban are well known for exciting senior citizen women in ways their husbands can’t, or are no longer interested in. Their crooning voices take them back to the days of poodle skirts, saddle shoes, and milkshakes-a simpler time where they listened to the likes of Frankie Valley, Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, and sometimes Bobby Vinton. Although these men have cornered the over 65 female market in music, they aren’t so comfortable sharing the throne.
Michael Buble is well known for his rat pack martini drinking style that makes him irresistible to the Cadillac driving Boca Raton Grandmothers that swoon over him in the club house, or in private while driving around in the refrigerated land ships they call cars.
Josh Groban strikes a chord with the God Fearing women of the heartland and beyond whom although obviously sexually aroused by his Kenny G-esque looks and overpowering falsetto, stand firmly in denial to that accusation and claim only to appreciate his God given gift: his voice.
With Groban and Buble both in Cleveland singing their hearts out for their fan base, Buble thought it was high time he settle the score.
Michael Buble waited outside the stage door at the Cleveland Arena holding only his microphone and a Grey Goose martini-extra dirty. When Groban stepped out and began signing autographs to the barrage of overweight women sporting stretch pants and over-sized Disney character t-shirts, Buble plugged in his amp and began to sing. The mist came rolling off Lake Erie as Buble stepped out of the shadows. His voice: electric. The women: silenced. Groban: enraged. Josh ran his fingers through his hair and tried to recall the advice Ted Haggard had given him when he feels his inner monster being awakened: breathe and dream of penis. So he did just that. The women started to rise from their shock and began bouncing gently to the beat of Buble. Ever more engaged by the moment, the movements of their gargantuan breasts under their Disney tees breathed new life into the likes of Daffy Duck, Bugs Bunny, and Yosemite Sam. As Groban looked on breathing and dreaming his special dream, he decided that even though he was sans amplifier, he would meet his aggressor with his sword of choice: his song.
Michael Buble and Josh Groban sang deep into the Cleveland night. Reminiscent of the showdowns in 8 mile, these two crooners gave their fans a night to remember. They traded off with such powerhouse hits as The Little Drummer Boy, and Can You Hear What I Hear. From there they moved into more edgy material like, Grobans rendition of Hold My Hand from Hootie and the Blowfish, and Buble responded with Maria from West Side Story. They truly ran the gamut until the sun came up over the Great Lake, and all the ladies ran full speed in unison to the Shoney’s buffet breakfast in the warehouse district. It was then that Buble slipped back into the shadows from which he came, and Groban stepped into his bulletproof hybrid SUV, popping in his favorite Jonas brothers CD, It’s About Time, as he drove swiftly to his bed and bible.
Neither artist was available for comment. But with their touring schedules mirroring each other we can only wonder if this feud is for real, or just a carefully orchestrated publicity stunt. Either way the fans are getting their fill.
Posted on Tuesday, May 5, 2009
(MP) - With the hysteria over the H1N1 virus pandemic subsiding, a new uproar is occurring in regard to the recent change of nomenclature for the over-hyped contagion. In the past week, The World Health Organization (WHO), bowing to pressure from meat industry producers, concerned governments, and pigs throughout the U.S., said on Thursday it would no longer call the deadly virus strain “swine flu”, but would refer to it, henceforth, as influenza A (H1N1). This change has not only brought outrage from the avian community (whose name has been bastardized and forever linked with the H5N1 virus), but also a new group who wish to end the association of their community with the dreaded lymphatic filariasis disease – the elephants.
“We’re not in any way denigrating or minimalizing the severity of the disease,” explains Babar, the spokes-phant for the newly organized Elephants Are Really Steamed (EARS) coalition, “but we wish that the disease be called by it’s medical name, and stop the use of our species as a short hand from some carnival freak.”
Elephantiasis (filariasis disease), a disease that is characterized by the thickening of the skin and underlying tissues, especially in the legs and genitals, is associated in the public mind with "The Elephant Man", the carnival stage name of Joseph Merrick. The name refers to the resemblance of the sufferer's limbs to the thick, baggy skin on the limbs and trunks of elephants.
“It’s not even in the same ball park as the pigs,” continued Babar, “they actually carry and pass their virus. Swine influenza - that’s right, I said it - is common in pigs, that’s why it’s called that. But now you have countries banning imports of pork from Mexico and the United States, so food industries and governments are calling for a name change to remove the link in people's minds between the disease and pigs – it’s just sickening! Who’s looking out for us? Who has our special interest at heart? Ivory lobbies? Yea right.”
No one in the government, WHO, or pork industries could be reached for comment, but it was discovered that Porky Pig had gathered, in a star-studded after-party, many supporters of the movement. In attendance were Babe, Wilbur, Piglet, the Three Little Pigs, and the biggest hog herself – Miss Piggy. Authorities, arriving on the scene after continual noise violations were issued, discovered a giant “boar-gie” in process. The party was then quickly broken up and all who attended went home.
“I’ve heard about the whole elephant thing, and I think there is a prejudice there,” opines Big Bird, a resident of Sesame Street and advocate of changing the avian flu appellation, “these pigs have these sick sex-parties, without protection, and they just spread their virus without impunity. They’ll have sex with anything, so eventually, that virus will cross species. But, if you have enough lobbyists and dirty politicians in your pocket, then you can do anything you want I guess.”
No pigs, hogs, boars, or swines could be reached for comment before this article went to press.
Posted on Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Mayor Mike Bloomberg has finally had enough with the slow walking individuals that parade through his city on a daily basis. So, he’s doing something about it.
“It’s totally acceptable to come to the greatest city in the world and take in the sites, do some shopping, or go to the theater and what have you. But to violate certain unspoken rules when it comes to sidewalk etiquette is completely abhorrent,” said Mayor Bloomberg while being interviewed on the 6 train, en-route to city hall yesterday morning.
The Mayor feels that writing citations to individuals who show a blatant disregard for walking etiquette in Manhattan may just help keep our sidewalks a safe place for foot travel, and cut down on the self-contained hatred that most people feel for the slow walkers.
Walking Rage, a new disease coined by Dr. Daniel Rudinski of the Upper East Side, has been rearing its ugly head on many of our city’s busiest street corners. It is a quiet rage that burns within us, and can ruin our day, week, or even our faith in senior citizens, children and foreigners. Due to the polite nature that is inherent in all humans, we hold our tongue. The anger and frustration is then sent inward and can eat us alive, or send us to the offices of Dr. Rudinski at 711 East 84th street Apt. #5.
“If we had a horn, we’d honk it…but we don’t. If we were driving a jalopy maybe we’d bump them, but we’re not. If we were driving a really terrible jalopy with no horn, maybe we’d scream knowing that we were protected by a ton of steel, but yet again we’re not. We’re walking,” said a smiling Rudinski.
“As far as stories go, Dr. Rudinski has heard them all. “The corners that people hate, the stairways most stopped on for a shoe tie. I’ve heard them all. I know them all. And I’m helping them all.”
You could say that Dr. Rudinski is to Walking Rage what Dr. Zizmor is to acne. Two dynamic, dedicated individuals with a passion for self-promotion, and a calling they can’t deny.
“Dr. Daniel Rudinski has been paramount in bringing this issue to my attention,” said Mayor Bloomberg. “At first, I thought it was just me. I thought that I was over-reacting to being stuck behind someone with a cane when I’m in a rush, or having to fight my way past a caravan of Mommy’s with strollers on the upper west side. We’ve all had our situations. And as varied as they are, we all have one thing in common-we’re suffering. I think it’s about time that these individuals pay.”
The Slow Walking Laws and fines will include:
1) Stopping on the subway stairs for a shoe tie-fine $35. Stopping on the sidewalk for a shoe tie without proceeding to the curb or nearest building-fine $25.
2) Slow and labored movements while gazing at tall buildings-fine $45.
3) Handholding couples moving at a Sunday pace on weekdays-fine $60. Handholding couples giggling and skipping on weekends within close proximity to noticeably unhappy couples- fine $75. Handholding couples- fine $25.
4) The mid-sidewalk friend chat- fine $50.
5) The long goodbye in front of the subway stairs- fine $60. The long goodbye in front of the subway stairs during peak hours (7am-10am and 4pm-7pm Mon-Sun)- fine $100.
6) Moving slowly to watch your own reflection in a storefront window- fine $100.
7) Couples moving slowly to watch their own reflections in storefront windows- fine $200.
8) Complaining on your cell phone to a friend or relative, and moving from side to side making passing an impossibility- fine $100 and cell phone seizure.
9) Walking aggressively alone while wearing sunglasses, and pretending not to see others all the while forcing others to give up ground for you- fine $250.
10) Sashaying unnecessarily as if you are on a runway at any point in time - fine $75.
Bloomberg says this is just the beginning. Keep an eye out for more walking fines in the near future. To get an up to date listing of walking laws and fines, you can dial 311 at any time.
Posted on Monday, May 4, 2009
With youth tweeting on the rise in great numbers, we are seeing a societal shift that may never allow us to enjoy the quiet times of the past. A noise-filled stream of information and self-promotion is in danger of changing our entire existence into a world of brevity. It is happening as we speak, and some of you may find the results frightening.
Dr. Joyce Winthrop, of The De la Soul Institute of Future Sex, is seeing a world in which long courtships and tender romantic encounters will be replaced by a hard-charging universe of barnstorming orgasms that will occur in 140 seconds or less.
“This won’t only be for males. Women who are connected to the tweeting lifestyle will also experience orgasms within this time frame,” Winthrop explained with subdued confidence. “Think of a world where you just get right to the heart of the matter, not only during intercourse, but during the courtship process as well. You meet someone on a speed date one day, tweet them the next day to set up another date, then you have quick, fast and ultimately unsatisfying teenage-sex and part ways at the end of the evening. At this rate you can test out multiple partners and have thousands of forlorn lovers pining away for your attention for years to come. You can keep them at bay, and within your reach by a few tweets here and there. It’s truly an efficient, shallow, yet exciting time to be alive. It’s a vision of America and the world that native people have been yearning for…and it’s finally here. I think it’s just great.”
Dr. Winthrop has been studying attention spans in sexual behavior, and the new definition of friends since the advent of friendster in the early 2002. Suffering from Adult Attention Deficit Disorder and new-world nymphomania led the good Dr. to her fascination with sexual brevity and the word “friend”.
“What is most fascinating is the bastardization of the term friend. I think we will be searching for a new word that better describes our off-line relationships quite soon. Something along the lines of old friend, true friend, or good old buddy may be more apparent. It will be wonderful to see this new type of language emerge. And being a sex therapist that is also a nymphomaniac makes this all the more exciting. I’m not sure why…maybe that’s just me tweeting out loud.”
Tweeting out loud is something Dr. Winthrop says will be inevitable with chronic twitterers. It will appear to be some sort of turrets, but in actuality it will be certain humans vocalizing their tweets into microphones on blue tooth headsets while navigating their way through the sidewalks of New York, or braving the Los Angeles freeway traffic and beyond. You will hear such remarks as, “I’m eating a ham sandwich”, as you pass by a man at a backstage deli eating a ham sandwich. This announcement of action and assertion of existence will be ubiquitous in all aspects of life says Winthrop.
“You’ll hear it everywhere: screams from the car next to you or the person sitting next to you in the movies. But what I’m most interested in is the tweeting in the bedroom. It will not only allow us to get off quicker, so we don’t always have to Tivo our favorite show, but it will bring dirty talk back to the sheets where it belongs.
Posted on Monday, May 4, 2009
(MP) - Either sipping on Mint Juleps and gorging on Burgoo on "Millionaire's Row,” or drinking straight from a bottle of Jim Beam down in the “The Infield,” over a 100,000 spectators and revelers came out to Churchill Downs in Louisville, Kentucky for "The Most Exciting Two Minutes in Sports." The Kentucky Derby is one of the crown jewels of the elusive Triple Crown, which includes the Belmont Stakes and the Preakness Stakes. It is also one of the most heavily gambled sporting events of the year.
This year’s winner, and a 50-1 long shot, was Mine That Bird - one of the biggest upsets in Kentucky Derby history, winning by more than 6 lengths. Mine That Bird covered the 1 1/4 miles in 2:02.66 and paid $103.20 to win. However, the buzz around the area, as well as around the country, is “who exactly bet on this loser?” Well, it seems that more and more people are coming forward claiming to have done just that…or at least, thought about doing just that.
“When ‘I Want Revenge’ was scratched,” explains Bobby Jackson, a ballet instructor who came to "The Run for the Roses" to finance his ballet school, “I looked at that f@#&ing mule and thought, ‘maybe I should bet on a loser.’ But, then I came to my senses because I hang out with enough losers, so I put it on ‘Friesian Fire’ at 5-1. F@$#%ing Christ! I almost picked the winner!”
The excitement of thinking about betting on the horse that won was also expressed on “Millionaire’s Row.” London Marriot, attired in a long dress, big hat, carrying a fancy umbrella, and completely inebriated also lamented her missed opportunity, “Oh my God! I thought about betting on him when the horses were paraded before the grandstands. But then the marching band started, people were singing, I slipped off to the bathroom with Brandon, and like, I came back and betted on ‘Mr. Hot Stuff.’ Wait, or did I already bet on him, and wished I hadn’t? I don’t remember…I was pretty gone.”
This “arm chair quarterback” syndrome was not exclusive to the visitors to Churchill Downs. Spectators across America have also reported that they “almost” picked this year’s winner as well.
“I called my bookie cause I don’t like the OTB,” explains Millis Hobgood, a resident of New York City, “and I told him to run with Dunkirk and Pioneer of the Nile (both at 4-1), and then Mine That Bird. But I misread the name, and I called him back and bet on Summer Bird. I wanted Summer Bird…I like the summer…not mines. But I picked the winner initially!! How about that?”
This mass self-deception has been found to actually be quite prevalent across all major sporting events, as well as on all suburban high school sports fields across the country. Studies are showing that more people believe that they are able to consistently pick winners, but then for some reason decide to neglect their instinct. In a cross-study conducted by the University of Mania, it was found that 90% of the people that believe that they almost picked an eventual winner, but didn’t, are completely full of shit.