(I’m the shark! Are you scared? You know she is! – uncredited photo)

Before I get all nutty, this is the situation. I’m supposed to be going to the New Jersey beaches with my lady friend(LF). The pizza and Chinese delivery guys(aka num and nuts) are also coming because that’s what they do. They follow Bald Punk.

I’d rather have a swarm of bees following me, but I won’t digress.

I’ll tell you how this little vacation came about. Remember that BBQ we went to on Staten Island two weeks ago??? The one where I worked a little Bald Punk Magic? Well, the pizza guy’s bro, whose life I saved at the BBQ, invited us to his house. The bastard said come anytime. He’s got an estate. It’s in Jersey. It’s huge! And I’m excited.

And I’m going!!!

I’m definitely going even though the pizza delivery guy broke his ankle. I swear he did it on purpose. So he should stay home and rest. RIGHT??? The Chinese delivery guy shouldn’t come either because he’s whacked. He needs to stay home and work on that.

But “no,” my LF says, “We shouldn’t leave him home all alone. How’s he gonna eat? He can’t walk up and down four flights with crutches . . . Blah, blah, blah . . .“

So here’s what I’m up to—

You know that guy on your block, the guy who never seems to work, always has money, a nice car, and a super-hot girlfriend. You know him, every block has one. Well, I chat with mine, here and there. I look him in the eye, make him think we’re mofos.

Before I go any further, I don’t want you thinking that I’m giving the bastard respect. My LF has to pass him everyday. I want him to know, which he does by the look in my eye to respect my LF or else. (You know the look I give him, right?)

Plus, he sees num and nuts on my tail—and those bastards are batty-eyed. They know not to look at him but still do. They haven’t a clue that you have to look differently at such people. They’re whacked.

So I want you to understand that I’m doing it for them, too. I’ll be honest with you like I always am. I look out for num and nuts only for my LF’s sake. They are like toy dogs nipping on your ankles that you wanna flick out the window when your woman’s not around. I almost don’t care a lick about them. That’s the truth.

Anyway, the seedy bastard on my block said anytime I ever need anything to ask him. So on my way to work this morning, I saw him in the bodega and said I need a wheelchair.

Now don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not gonna go on the wrong side of the law or anything. I already gave him twenty bucks for it. So I don’t owe him any favors.

The problem is that my LF loathes him. She says he’s a dealer, sucking the life out of the neighborhood. She’s probably right, but I mind my own business. I might see the cars pull up and the handshake-exchange of packages and money, but I don’t notice. (Unfortunately, num and nuts have to notice everything! Ah!!!)

So I saw him before, and he got me a nice wheelchair. There was some writing on it that said, “Do Not Remove . . .” But he graffitied over it so you can’t tell where it came from. Now don’t be getting all high and mighty with me, because I didn’t think in the morning that he was going to steal it. I mean, the bastard doesn’t work. How hard is it to find an unused wheelchair? I swear, I didn’t think he would lift it.

But I’m planning on just borrowing it. I read what’s below the graffiti and know where to return it. I told you, I’m a Saint. I don’t steal anything. It’s going back. And don’t give me a hard time on this one.

You have me hyperventilating. Okay. I’m better.

The first thing I have to do is come up with a lie to tell my LF about where I got a graffitied wheelchair. That’s not hard. Plus I figure I’ll look at num and nuts when I say it so if she detects anything on my face, I can say they caused it.

The next thing I have to figure out is how we can get to the beach house. It’s in Belmar, New Jersey. I don’t want to take a cab, because it would be more than $100 bucks.

What I’m going to do is once I’m finished posting this message, I’ll call the hotline that my friend Mayor Bloomberg runs. (We are friends. We shook on it. I’ll tell you another time, but I’m in a rush. Remind me later.) It’s for people in NYC who need shit. No, I don’t think it will work from outside NYC. Sorry.

So I’m gonna call the number. It’s 311 and I’m going to ask those mofos how to get to Belmar, New Jersey. Maybe a ship or a train is best???

Did I tell you the pizza guy’s bro’s house has a pool? I’m so excited.

The only thing is we don’t know the address. But his bro’s got this hot, candy-apple red Mustang. I figure if we can find the car then we got the right house. If it takes a while, we’re all good at walking and not complaining about having to walk. So that’s not a problem.

Oh yeah, before the knucklehead broke his ankle, my LF told me to make sure I got the address. I said I would take care of it. But I didn’t because if I call the pizza guy’s bro, he might make up an excuse to disinvite us. I don’t blame him. His brother is whacked. I might do the same. Plus he might not even remember he invited us, he was pretty hammered at the time.

I figure when we get to Belmar, if we can’t find his car, then I’ll call.

Okay. Wish me luck. If all goes well my next post will be from my new vacation getaway.

Your bud,

Baldie

P.S. Maybe if I become rich I can write about vacationing all the time. I’ll have to get my own catchphrase like: ”40 ounce wishes and Katz’s Delicatessen dreams!”

—

Here are all the posts in this series: Eighth Episode – May/June 2009 (Bald Punk Goes to New Jersey)

I’m Dancing Like A Nut

Bald Punk Goes to New Jersey

Bald Punk Crosses the Hudson!

40 Ounce Dreams and Katz Delicatessen Wishes!

Here are my STORIES and info on my Novels

(Wildwood, NJ – Morey’s Piers – uncredited)

I’m going to New Jersey!!!

Yes, you heard that right. I’m going on vacation there tomorrow. Probably be there the whole weekend. I’m pretty excited, even though it is New Jersey, after all.

But I gotta go. The pizza guy is all limping around and shit. My lady friend thinks we should take him to the hospital. The landlord has a wheelbarrow in the basement and I gotta wheel the bastard all the way across town. I’m thinking maybe I might just keep going and dump his ass in the East River. Ha! Ha! Ha!

But I want you to know just because I’m going on vacation, I will not forget about you. If they have a computer, I’ll fill you in. Wish me luck.

Your friend,

Baldie

P.S. The only reason we’re not taking a cab to the hospital is because the Yankees and METS both have off tonight and there’s no need to rush back.

—

Here are all the posts in this series: Eighth Episode – May/June 2009 (Bald Punk Goes to New Jersey)

I’m Dancing Like A Nut

Bald Punk Goes to New Jersey

Bald Punk Crosses the Hudson!

40 Ounce Dreams and Katz Delicatessen Wishes!

Here are my STORIES and info on my Novels

 (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.

Your friend,

Baldie

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)

Bald Punk The Explorer!

My Journey to the Edge of the World!

Staten Island BBQ Mayhem

Bald Punk Rides Again

Here are my STORIES and info on my Novels