My Journey to the Edge of the World!
(Verrazano Bridge, Staten Island on horizon – Photo by Bald Punk)
I’m back in Manhattan!!! I journeyed to the edge of the world, to an exotic and strange place full of whacked out people, and have lived to tell about it. If I didn’t have such a high opinion of myself, well, I do now.
Especially because in this strange and foreign land, the people are so fat-assed and lazy, that they brawl over a parking space and think removing each other from the gene pool holds the solution.
THANK GOD Saint Bald Punk was there to save the day. But more on that in my next post.
—-So where is this place you ask???
Me, my lady friend, and the pizza and Chinese delivery guys went to a BBQ on Staten Island!!! Ha! Ha! Ha!
Before I get any further as to why SI is “the edge of the world” — first I have to get a little technical. As you all know, last Monday we went to Coney Island, but that doesn’t count as leaving the City, because you take the subway to get there. While Staten Island, you have to take either a boat, a bus, or a car to get to. So it’s like part of the City, but not really…
But more importantly, when you live in Manhattan, Staten Island is more like the name of a place than anything else. I hope this makes sense. (Cont’d below pic)
(View from New Dorp Beach, Staten Island – Photo by Bald Punk)
Now for some of you who might wonder why I call Staten Island “the edge of the world.” That’s because it’s officially part of New York City; it’s our southern border. And let me be frank, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, especially you, chick from Norway, but life does not exist outside NYC. End of story.
I’m not gonna argue with you. Though I will say, if you wonder how happening NYC is to those who live here, well, right next to us is this huge mofo place called New Jersey, and no one, I mean no one! goes there. That is, unless you have to live there.
If one of my mofos calls me up and says, “Hey bald bastard, there’s this whacked out party, and it’s in New Jersey.” You know what he gets from Baldie — dead silence.
Bands do not play in New Jersey. They pass through there so they can get to the City to kick-it!!! End of Story.
Now as far as Staten Island, if it were a lotto number, you should play it. It’s this one-horse town strapped to the back of a MONSTER megatropolis. Good for SI. Someone in this world has to be lucky.
Okay, before I have more problems and have to have another blog bailout, I’ll shut my burger-hole.
Right now both the pizza and Chinese delivery guys are looking at me while I type. Now I don’t know if it’s their vapid looks or my crazy noggin, but I kinda feel like I’m one of those stuffed animal exhibits in the Museum of Natural History, and two snot-nosed-kids–bored out of their skulls–are looking at me, waiting for me to move. Just a thought.
I’ll have more on the BBQ and the HUGE fight that would have been worse, if not for your hero.
P.S. All you mofos from Jersey can calm down now. Don’t take lil ol’ Baldie-waldy too seriously. I can’t even find your state on a map. I hope that helps.
Here are all the posts in this series: Seventh Episode – May 2009 (Bald Punk Rides Again)