Author Archive for K0NY

Gunning for Independence

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This is NOT a gun!

As I approached my bank this morning, a man stood by the door with a silver pistol in his hand.  He was holding it with both hands, pointing down at the ground. Another man was unloading what looked like cardboard boxes full of rolled coins from a Brinks armored truck. Ladies with baby strollers were passing between these two men. They seemed to have no problem with their babies being in such close proximity to a stranger holding a loaded weapon.

I wonder what makes these people so trust-worthy. Is there some sort of vetting process by which a person is determined to be capable of handling money and guns without risk to others? Do they get psychological evaluations? I have no idea how it works.

What I do know, is that here in New York City, average citizens aren’t allowed to carry guns. If we go to the local government and request a carry permit because we believe our families are valuable and need to be defended, we would be denied. However, if we sell diamonds and believe they are valuable and need to be defended with guns, they will gladly issue us a license for one.

This seems like another case of misplaced priorities to me. Average citizens can’t board an airplane carrying a bottle of mouthwash because we fear terrorism. Yet a man with a loaded pistol can stand on our sidewalks protecting a roll of quarters? It doesn’t make any sense. Why are average folks not allowed to have weapons legally? Yes, they are dangerous, but so are knives, bats, rocks, and hammers.  So what’s really going on? When you make laws which prohibit the legal acquisition of weapons, only those who don’t follow the laws will be armed. And the more bad guys with weapons there are, the more those of us who are unarmed will need the government to protect us.

When the rebels and troublemakers who founded this country in direct opposition to tyrannical rule first wrote our Constitution, they felt self-defense was both a right and a necessity. The founding fathers believed that our citizenry should be prepared to fight off attacks by outside forces and oppressive governments. We were meant to be armed and vigilant, not defenseless and docile. The government today wants the responsibility of protecting us because they don’t want us capable of doing it ourselves. If we are dependent on them, we won’t offer any sort of resistance.

The debates about interpretations of the constitution will rage on. As I see it, they are moot. When people need to ask permission to assert their independence, they don’t really have it even if permission is granted. Those who have the power don’t want to give anyone else any. That’s just how it is. It doesn’t matter if it’s here in the US or any other country.

When I was younger, I did a lot of shooting. I was good with guns. Paintball and BB guns felt very natural in my hands. I even won a skeet shooting competition when I was a teenager. These days, I’ll play a game or two of paintball every once in a blue moon. That’s about it. Why would some guy who’s not bright enough to do anything but work security deserve to carry a gun over me? If it’s the quarters, I got those. I’m an old-school arcade kind of guy. My house if just full of loose change. If protecting that is a better reason for owning a gun than protecting my family, please point me to my weapon.

-King 0f New York

How to Survive a Police State

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Police State

At this point, there’s little room for debate. The free society we know as the United States of America will soon be a police state. Countless books and documentaries on the subject are available for your perusal if you want to know the gory details. Sure, they are mostly filled with conspiracy theories and facts to back them up. Of course the future is not set, like they told us in the Terminator movies. However, I’ve resigned myself to the conclusion that American society is currently far too lazy and apathetic to do anything about impending enslavement and dictatorial rule. So I’m just going to worry about me and mine. After all, that’s what we’re good at in this country, right?

If you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, that’s okay too. Just go back to your soap operas, celebrity gossip rags and caramel latte frapaccino. Make sure to think carefully about whom you will be supporting in the next Dancing with the Stars vote while your government crumbles from lack of citizen participation. Just remember, sheep get slaughtered.

For those of you who are still reading, and are interested in surviving the eventual transition, I’ve put together a few pointers. The list below will help you stay alive when our government implodes and becomes a dictatorship. If you follow these simple steps, you’ll likely manage to save yourself and most of your immediate family from instant execution or imprisonment on the day that our armies and police forces are turned against us. The sooner you begin preparing, the better off you’ll be.

1. If you can’t beat them, join’em: According to most doomsday scenarios spelled out by conspiracy psychos who sound like they know what they’re talking about, our leaders will turn our own military forces against us. So why not become one of them before that happens? Sign up for military service. Do your best to maintain your individuality as the government goons try and brainwash the morality out of you. Serve your country while you secretly secure your own safety and power prior to the day when all hell breaks loose. If you’re too much of a pussy for military duty, join the local police force. Chances are, they will be enlisted to come for your loved ones in the middle of the night. Seems to me that the only way to make sure they aren’t coming for you (aside from taking an interest in politics and becoming active in the process which shapes your laws and society) is to be one of them.

2. Make friends in high places: The next best thing to being the man is being friends with lots of them. So if you haven’t the stones to wear a uniform, make sure you know a bunch of folks who do. You can participate in PBA and various other cop-friendly organizations. Encourage your loved ones to marry or themselves become police and military. Or, take some time to introduce yourself to the people who work law-enforcement in your area. Hang out at the local Dunkin Donuts (the stereotype is TRUE, kids!) and pick up the tab on your local badge’s coffee every so often. Give them a friendly salute and a “Howdy, neighbor!” once in a while. Make sure they know your name and that you are good people. So when the time comes to round up all the locals and bring them to the nearest detention facility, your friends and family on the force might be able to give you a break.

3. Get rid of contraband now: The last thing you want when the feds knock down your door is to be caught with all sorts of illicit, anti-establishment paraphernalia. Set time aside to walk through your home and isolate all the provocative reading material, thought-provoking documentaries, legal papers, copies of the Constitution of the United States, and anything else the government cronies may find threatening. Get rid of it, or at the very least hide it where it can’t be found. Currently, having a copy on the Constitution on you when pulled over by a cop is a red flag signaling that you may be a troublemaker or terrorist. Imagine how bad an infraction that will be considered in our future police state.

4. Be entertaining: A world without freedom is going to be pretty dull. Storm troopers who imprison and oppress their fellow citizens all day will get pretty bored. So it’s to your benefit if you can offer them some amusement. Maybe if you’re funny enough, they’ll take it easy on you when it’s your turn to be tortured? Tell a good story and maybe the guards will let you hang with them past curfew. Develop these necessary skills now. A talented comic, massage giver, stripper or cunning linguist could eke out a tolerable existence for herself if she plays her cards right.

5. Buy stuff while you can: Let’s face it, along with the fall of the US government as we know it, the economic system will no doubt crumble. Those stocks and bonds you’ve invested in won’t mean shit when the markets are closed down. When the dollar is worthless what are you going to trade for food and protection? The only answer is to sell all your investments now. Liquidate your portfolios and turn all assets into cash. Then buy as much crap as you can. Stockpile booze and cigarettes because, just like in jail, those will be the new currency when the “Land of the Free” becomes the “Home of Enslaved.” Buy up lots of “stuff” which can later be traded to others in exchange for security, food, and other necessities. If possible, buy small things which are valuable like jewelry. Nelly and Paul Wall have the right idea. Instead of putting $50,000 in an IRA or 401K, put it in your mouth. Get a “grill” made from gold and diamonds. That way, you’ll be able to bribe your way out of the toughest situations once the evil secret societies take power.

6. Embrace the underground: Where there is oppression and tyranny, there will always be underground resistance. Find those people in your area who are currently outspoken about politics. Meet some activists. Attend some meetings. Just be very cautious that you don’t become part of their group. Make sure you know who they are and they know who you are. This serves two purposes; It gives you an in with the possible liberators in case the resistance is somehow able to wrangle the power away from the fascist regime. It also gives you some valuable information in a pinch. If the time ever comes when you are facing a firing squad or when your family is about to be made into Soilent Green, you can offer up the names of the resistance to save your own pitiful skin.

7. Build a bunker: Hiding works. Look at Anne Frank! If you have the means, why not setup a comfortable little hole for you and yours to crawl into when the bad men come? Many Americans are currently living in a figurative hole, while ignoring what’s going on in the world around them. They sit and occupy themselves with trivialities, hoping the problems work themselves out and all just go away. If you plan carefully enough, you might be successful in designing a literal hole for yourself to wait out the oppression in. A self-imposed prison is so much better than one that’s forced on you.

8. Welcome our new overlords: There’s nothing more endearing to a tyrant than loyalty. Perhaps you can win one over by demonstrating that you were on his side all along. If you start hanging up pictures of George W. Bush today, you’ll get a jump-start on his impending power-grab right before the 2008 elections. So when the thought police arrive at your house, they can report back that you have always been a fan.

That should be enough to get you all started. There are a few other tips I can offer, but I don’t want to get into too much detail at the moment. Suffice it to say that concerned citizens should start building up a tolerance to electrocution and various poisons now. Learn to stay off the radar by being mediocre. Speak only when spoken to. Get cozy with Catholicism. Before too long, you’ll be prepared for the transition from freedom to slavery. It will go only as smoothly as you allow it to.

-King 0f New York

Analogy, not anal orgy!

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I don’t know what it means either!

 

 

 

I like analogies. In case you don’t know, Merriam-Webster.com defines “analogy” as, “a resemblance in some particulars between things otherwise unlike [SIMILARITY]” and “comparison based on such resemblance.” It’s fun for me to think of similarities between unrelated things. Since I don’t have a particularly good one from which an entire blog post can be created, I’ll list some I’ve recently created for your enjoyment.

• Taking a dump is sort of like prison sex: It happens eventually whether you want it or not. How painful and messy it is, depends upon you. It’s usually best to just suffer through it and get it over with.

• The Hamptons are like a giant snow globe: A crude approximation of reality full of whites milling around aimlessly just because it’s pleasing to the eye.

• Global warming is a bit like Santa Clause: Whether you believe it’s real or not isn’t important. Since the positives of living your life like you do believe far outweigh the negatives, it’s okay to just pretend.

• America isn’t a melting pot. It’s more like a tossed salad: All the different elements in it keep their own unique flavor no matter how you mix it all together. The more variety, the better.

• Marriage is like a fancy sports car: The expense and required maintenance may seem overwhelming at times, but the ride is ultimately worth it, provided you know how to handle it properly.

Throughout my writings, you may stumble across many more of these analogies. Truth be told, one of my main reasons for using them is that our current President of these United States is so fond of them. In many press conferences, George W. Bush has made off the cuff remarks that suggest someone has explained the issue to him with an analogy. So if they are good enough for the Commander In Chief, they’re good enough for me.

Think about the little gems above and see if you can come up with your own. Then share them with others. I’m sure you too can find new and creative ways to describe and compare stuff. Maybe it’s not as fun as judging stuff, but it might keep you amused for a while when the iPod and PSP run out of batteries.

-King 0f New York

Tasting Menu

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Something fishy going on here…

 

I don’t know about you, but I’m usually open to new things. I like trying out stuff that may seem weird or different in the hopes of broadening my horizons and finding something I like. Sometimes it’s fantastic, like the time my friends and I discovered a midget at a bar who could pick up a roll of quarters without using her hands. Other times, it’s just wrong…I could give you an example but there appears to be no statute of limitations on animal abuse. So no matter how long it’s been since that drummer I used to know had a cat he thought was a bit too sexy, he might still get in trouble if I tell.

Last night, I found myself staring at what you see above. It was around the fourth or fifth course of a meal at Iron Chef Morimoto’s Manhattan restaurant. About ten of us were celebrating a friend’s birthday. Everyone was stepping a bit out of their comfort zones this particular evening. I wasn’t sure what to get, so I decided to order the chef’s tasting menu.

First Course

My first course (above) was so complicated; the waiter had to explain how it should be eaten. Apparently, there was a little aluminum shovel with which I was supposed to scrape bits of raw fish off the slab (which rested in a bowl of ice) and dip it in various sauces to properly enjoy. It was certainly tasty. However, having someone wrap it in a bit of seaweed and serve it to me in a roll would have been just as good and far less work.

The mostly raw or lightly cooked food I was served all night was big on presentation while being short on substance. It took a full nine courses to make me feel full. It’s true that I had help with it. My wife tried bits and pieces from each dish. At times I truly didn’t know what I was eating. The waiters would recite a complicated explanation of each dish as they delivered it to the table. The names they used were unfamiliar though.

Main Course

Over-all, I enjoyed the meal and had fun. However, the dish displayed at the top of this article was a real challenge. It looked like a slimy alien vagina. I felt dirty poking it with my fork in front of everyone. It was so vulgar in fact, that my wife was concerned that photo hosting sites like Photobucket might delete it if we tried uploading it. You may want to test that out and let me know. In case you’re curious, it tasted sweet and pungent, with a hint of the ocean; kind of like a fish taco.

Speaking of fish, I got to sample Morimoto’s sushi during one of my courses. It was very fresh and delicious. Unfortunately for me, one piece had a large bit of wasabi hidden between the fish and rice. After adding some more wasabi to the top of it and popping it into my mouth, I got quite the spicy surprise. Washing it down with my “Morimotini” (which was itself made with wasabi vodka and sake) didn’t help much.

My Dessert

So now I can cross “eating an Iron Chef’s meal” off of my list of things to do before I die. It was over-priced and a bit too fancy for my tastes, but I’m glad I tried it. The dessert below was a nice way to end the meal. It contained apricot sorbet and black bean cake, along with some fancy accessories.

It’s a special feeling knowing that someone has gone to lots of trouble in preparing something you’ll just chew up and shit out later. On the one hand, I appreciate the effort. On the other, if I were wealthy and could afford to have a private chef, I’d never ask him to prepare the type of food I ate yesterday. All the culinary training might be wasted on making Philly Cheese Steaks and coleslaw, but I think I’d be quite a bit happier with that kind of fare.

-King 0f New York

Death & Life

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Life & Death

Life and death are always so close to us that we sometimes forget they are there. It’s easier to not think about. Someone who cleans the piss off the floors of public bathrooms for a living can’t really afford to contemplate their mortality or run off in pursuit of a dream on a whim. If they did, who’d get the job done? Society needs us to remain productive. Our families need us to keep our shit together even in times of crisis. Crack-heads need the rest of us to make money so that they can steal it or beg us to hand it over voluntarily.

Is it possible though, to live like you know the clock is running out while still managing our obligations? I think so. The secret is…there’s no secret. People should do whatever the fuck they want to do, knowing that there will be consequences for their actions. If you enjoy a hot cup of coffee in the morning, go get one; Just don’t go crying to the legal system if you spill it and fry your own nuts or if you stop growing a few inches sooner than you should. If you’re fed up with the way things are, do something about it. Understand that your actions may fail at accomplishing what you want, but inaction will guarantee failure.

Taking personal responsibility is incredibly liberating. Knowing full well that you have only yourself to blame in most cases, allows the understanding to be able to detect fault far more precisely when it falls in someone else’s lap. This way, people who try to pass the buck or deflect will need to be accountable when they deal with you. More people taking their own responsibilities seriously means less folks need to cover other’s asses, which will suddenly open up a whole lot of extra free time for us to do what we want.

If your good buddy at work isn’t pulling her weight, buckle down and handle your own business. If you never cover for her, you won’t have to feel guilty when the time comes for her to be responsible for her own work. Don’t be sad when she gets fired. She’ll land on her feet and maybe even find a gig more suiting her talents.

Can’t go out anymore because you’re trying to build a nest-egg? Saving for the future? What’s the good of a nest if you can’t leave it sometimes? Why would you need money in the future if you never use it in the present?

See where I’m going with this stuff? I’m not a genius or anything. These are fairly simple concepts. I just think we forget them sometimes due to all the distractions which occupy our lives. I look around for reminders that I am currently living a great life and that it could end at any minute.

For instance, I found out this week that one of my coworkers lost his daughter. I’m attending her funeral today. She was a happy chick in her mid-twenties. One day, her body just turned off like someone forgot to pay the electric bill. It wasn’t violent or drawn out or expected. She just stopped living one day. I never met the gal and it breaks my heart. My concern isn’t for the one who’s gone though. I feel for those left in the wake of it. How will they look back on the times they shared? What’s been left unsaid? What do they regret?

I can’t speak about how this woman lived her life. I can only put it in perspective by relating it to my own. I have a wife and son. When someday one of us unexpectedly stops living, I wouldn’t want those who remained to ever regret a moment of the time when we were. That is, I strive for each week –every day– to have some sort of meaning. Whether it’s learning something new, sharing something interesting, having a laugh, going outside the norm, or even just appreciating what’s always been there. I hope to not have my loss tarnished by regret. When I go, I don’t want people saying that I’m better off dead or that I’m in a better place. I want them all to know that I liked this place and made the most of it.

I’d like it if the void of loss left by people who died could remain filled with pleasant memories. It just feels better to walk through a room which is filled with the distant joy of days gone by, rather than one with the buzz of television and missed opportunity.

I know way too many people who go about their routine every single day not realizing that life is passing them by. They don’t think about life or death or the great stuff that happens in between. I try to inject a bit of unexpected change in their lives from time to time; a useless tidbit of information, a goofy tune or joke, a perspective they haven’t seen before. My hope is that some of them get hooked on it and begin to seek it out on their own.

-King 0f New York

Amy’s turn for a shot in the face?

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Amy’s Mug

Look, I love porn as much, if not more than the next guy. It is the grease which lubricates the Internet these days and keeps it profitable. The popularity of this product has created an interesting dynamic in our culture. People who are desperate for attention can now video tape their private sex acts and sell them to the public for increased exposure. Paris Hilton and Pam Anderson were quite successful at this. On their heels, Kim Kardashian, American Idol reject Olivia Mojica, and now the former “Long Island Lolita” Amy Fisher are getting in on this gravy train.

What follows, is a frank and sometimes graphic account of Amy Fisher’s latest effort. It has been released by the folks responsible for Paris Hilton’s sex tape; Redlight District, and is called “Amy Fisher: Caught on Tape.” I sat through all fifty five minutes of it, so you don’t have to. If you’d like the short and sweet version, here it is: This video made me want to hate sex. It had very little in the way of titillation or sex appeal. I found it sad at times, dull and generally off-putting. It’s possible that this is because I like to find flaws in things. Or maybe it’s because I’m too observant for my own good. The bottom line: It definitely isn’t a product worth paying for.

Now for the gory details: The video depicts an almost constantly naked Amy Fisher along with her older husband Lou. She bathes in bubbles, showers, lounges by her backyard pool and in it. She feigns excitement while letting her man blow his load on her fake boobs. The only genuine orgasms she seems to have are self-inflicted. She is pounded fondled and orally serviced in various positions by a man who suspiciously resembles her old flame, Joey Buttafucco. There is spanking, minor bondage, manual release, toy-assisted penetration, and I’d wager more than a single “little blue pill” involved.

All this might have been more appealing around the time when Amy Fisher was at the height of her infamy. However she’s well past that. She is a mom in her mid thirties now and not even MILF material. In case you don’t remember her story, the spotlight found Amy when she shot her boyfriend’s wife in the face on their doorstep. Mind you, she was sixteen at the time and her boyfriend was an overweight Long Island car mechanic who was thirty five. The US was intrigued with the idea that some shlub was able to charm a teenage girl into banging him regularly. The icing on the cake of this decadent tale was that she was so obsessed with him that she would be willing to commit murder to keep him.

Early in the video, Amy says such things as, “I love tasting my daddy’s cum.” And “I live to suck this cock. This is my little bit of heaven.” These statements had entirely the opposite of their intended effect on me. It was a complete turn-off. This was the point where I wished I hated sex. Perhaps if I had more negative feelings associated with my sexuality, I’d feel comfortable with considering what I was watching as some sort of punishment for Ms. Fisher; having sex with this old dude as a karmic revenge for shooting an innocent woman and sexing up her husband.

That’s not the case though. Amy and Lou are a married couple who presumably love each other. In fact, I think what’s going on in the video is an exercise in ego stroking. The two participants are constantly trying to flatter each other. Amy talks about how large her man’s unit is, when in fact it is average at best. Lou keeps saying how beautiful Amy is, ignoring her over-plucked eyebrows, implant scars, in-grown pubes, and highly teased Long Island hairdo. It’s obvious the couple is very vain. There are mirrors everywhere in their bedroom. Even Amy’s dildo is reflective! At several points during the action, you can see both lovers looking off into the mirror or monitor and preening themselves.

Amy actually looks into the camera while straddling Lou and says, “I always wanted to be a porn star.” She asks him if he’ll teach her how and he agrees. This is contrary to being ‘taken seriously as a journalist,’ which is the desire she expressed to Oprah a few years ago, but she may have a future in this field. The girl’s got a fairly appealing body, she just needs to work on the acting a bit. She’s even got that porn star move down where she covers her belly with one hand under the guise of touching herself, when she’s really hiding an unsightly paunch.

Perhaps I’m looking too closely, but it’s hard to not read into things when you’re watching a woman who’s had several TV movies made from her life story. When Amy says, “Wanna spank me a little bit? I feel like I’ve been a bad girl.” I can’t help but think she’s referring to her past crimes. When her husband teases Amy and asks, “Have you been a good girl?” She doesn’t answer.

The only other time she doesn’t answer Lou in this video is when he asks, “This pussy was created for me, wasn’t it?” The silence is deafening. It makes me almost feel that the video’s target audience might be a certain Long Island mechanic; a sort of passive-aggressive final shot which says, “Look what I’m doing with this dude who looks like you but isn’t you.” In the brief scene where Lou blindfolds Amy, I can’t help considering that she might just be imagining Joey in his place.

I imagine that Lou might be more like Joey than Amy realizes. At one point, he starts saying, “You’ve got the body of like a 17 year-o..” and the scene abruptly fades mid-word. The admiration in his eyes when he’s penetrating Amy is evident. Is he thinking, “My wife’s a hottie!” or is banging the “Long Island Lolita” what’s secretly getting him off? It’s impossible for me to tell.

What is clear is that Amy isn’t all that happy. She seems bored in most of the sexual scenarios where she’s not pleasuring herself. The exaggerated acting isn’t believable at all. The dirty talk seems forced. Then, at around 47:30 in, you can see a sort of distant look cross her face. For a few moments she appears to be thinking, “What the hell am I doing?”

I know what she hasn’t done. She hasn’t succeeded at making an interesting home movie of her sex life. Had she been just another anonymous amateur pornographer, this video would be completely ignored by the adult film industry and its customers. I’m glad I didn’t pay for the video and I would urge anyone else to avoid doing so as well.

Joey and Amy should have faded into obscurity long ago. Instead, they’ve shamelessly milked every bit of media attention from a tragic situation that they possibly could. They’ve tried to sell books, reunion specials, reality shows, and now porn to keep themselves in the public eye and for profit. I know that I’ve paid Amy way too much attention by simply writing about her here. As I say though, I watched the video so you wouldn’t have to. I don’t even want to keep it. Remind me next time we go out drinking and I’ll hand it over to you.

-King 0f New York

Tea’d Off

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My Tea

Well, it’s been a few days since I wrote anything here. I could blame the holidays or my hectic schedule but the truth is, I was just being lazy. To make up for that, I was all ready to wow you with an insightful and hysterically funny blog. It would have made you laugh until you cried. Then, in that glorious after-glow of a hearty and cleansing laugh, you would have given great thought to what I wrote. It might have even triggered an epiphany that would go on to change your life.

Instead, I got honey on my nipple and the whole thing’s out the window. I’m far too distracted now to compose anything worthwhile. To give you some idea of just how distracted I am, let me point out that immediately to the right of my keyboard sits a cardboard cup filled with a bit of honey, a teabag and lots of cold water.

You see, I was trying to be clever in composing this morning’s cup of Chinese diet tea. Like the folks at my local bagel store, I planned to add the sweetening element into the cup before pouring the water so that it might have a better chance to mix once all the elements were in place. Unfortunately, the bottom part of the honey dispenser brushed against my right nipple as I up-ended it. This left a small honey smear on my nicely cleaned and pressed forest-green button down shirt, exactly on top of my nipple. I couldn’t very well leave that there as an open invitation for some sort of retro “9½ Weeks” scenario for my coworkers. So I tried to wet the corner of a napkin and brush it away. I succeeded instead in turning my honey-nip into what appears to be a lactating man-boob (hence the reason for “diet tea” –no guy wants to sport breasts when he’s as hairy as I).

 The thought of being asked, “Hey, when’s the baby due?” by a smart-ass coworker distressed me so much that I pushed the blue lever on my water cooler instead of the red one. On top of everything I now know that teabags don’t respond well to cold water.

Seems I’ve been way too absent-minded lately. Just last night, I rushed home after work, hoping to hop in my car and catch a movie. When I got to the car, I realized that my keys were still in the office. As punishment for this oversight, I walked around two miles and blew off the movies. During my walk, I wrestled with complex philosophical issues. For instance; can fish which are pickled be considered “embalmed” and does smoking a fish mummify it since the decomposition process is greatly slowed down as a result? Walking may be better for my fat ass than movies anyway, but I’m sure any benefits that walk provided, were neutralized by the half-pint of Ben & Jerry’s Mint Chip ice cream I ate after dinner.

Such is my life. Please forgive me for not thrilling you with anything interesting today. As my punishment, I shall go and try to choke down a cup full of cold water with a teabag floating in it and unmixed honey at the bottom.

-King 0f New York

Fruity or Nutty?

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DEEELICIOUS!…okay, I’m back. What was I talking about? The meaning of life? Splitting the atom? Whatever it was, it must have been awesome, otherwise I wouldn’t have stopped in the middle to go masturbate. Moving on…Everyone and his Aunt Fannie is talking about Thanksgiving today. So I’ll save that for another time. Instead, I’d like to discuss a certain food.

Pomegranates turn me on. There, I said it. Of course, I’m not suggesting they are sexual, like say an apple pie. They just make me feel good in a very primal way. There’s no getting around their appeal to my primitive nature. I know you might be thinking I’m completely off my nut, but give me a chance to explain.

As a civilized society, we like to demonstrate our dominance over beast and foul by using tools to do everything. We eat with utensils, build with machines, cook with fire, and et cetera. It’s all very complex and impressive to our fellow mammals, I’m sure. However, we haven’t lost our baser instincts. Among the simplest and most basic pleasures we can experience as animals, is to devour another living thing. A fresh salad, sushi, fruits, steak tartar can all be manifestations of this desire. In fact, vampire stories may even be a metaphor for the animal instinct to devour the life essence of others.

Now at this point, the question is obvious: What does all that have to do with a fruit as weird as the pomegranate? Relax sweet pea, I was just getting to that! Pomegranates have several characteristics which make them appeal to our animal instincts. First of all, they are difficult to eat with any sort of utensils. The best way to eat one is to break it open and pick at all the various layers and membranes to get at the sweet and juicy fruit inside. Each kernel has a seed inside of it. This prevents the use of a fork to pick them up. Using a knife or spoon to try and pull out the little nuggets, will only succeed in making fruit juice or mush.

Speaking of juice, the red liquid inside of a pomegranate is very similar looking to blood. Psychological testing has determined that humans respond aggressively to seeing blood and red colors which approximate it. Combining that with the leathery skin, the sweet taste, the feel of it all…it’s just a perfect storm of carnal satisfaction in a fruit.

I’m telling you, get yourself a pomegranate and find a corner in which to crouch. Rip it open and devour the insides. Once you taste the sweetness, and start spitting out the seeds, there’s no turning back. Before long you’ll start feeling like a primate. Go ahead, make a mess! Scratch your nuts, fling your poo and be yourself. That’s what being an animal is all about, after all.

-King 0f New York

Jerry’s Angels

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Springer

Jerry Springer has already kicked off his seventeenth season in syndicated television and is nowhere near running out of losers for us to ogle at. It really is amazing, and a bit sad, that there are so many people in this country willing to humiliate themselves and air their dirty laundry in public for a few minutes of fleeting celebrity. Even more amazing, is that people are still watching after all these years. Ratings during the day are still pretty good. Still more amazing, Jerry’s making money with Pay-Per-View specials where the action is uncensored. People are actually willing to pay for his shows on DVD as well.

So what’s Springer doing to keep things fresh for so long? Well, there are some basics that never change. People will continue to tune in as long as there is sex and violence. When girls rip each other’s shirts off over some dirt-bag, it gets viewers. When some sort of mutant shows up, people are tuning in. However, it seems like Jerry is catering more to certain fetishes these days. Extremely fat folks, midgets, and sloshing are now featured more often. In case you’re behind the times, “sloshing” refers to getting messy with food or other stuff in a sexual manner.

Also new on the Springer Show this season, are three off-duty female police officers. Mimi Madrigal, Katie Darwin and Mari Flores are trying to fill the massive void which Steve Wilkos left when he got his own show. The security force is certainly a lot nicer to look at. However, I question their effectiveness when two street brawlers start throwing fists on the Springer stage. I guess time will tell whether they have what it takes to do the job.

I’m just hoping that they call me soon. I’ve been anxious to get on television and come clean about my secret crush on Angelina Jolie. Hopefully, they’ll let me and Brad Pitt punch each other a little bit about it before they break us up. I know he could probably kick my ass (I watched “Fight Club” after all) but I know I’d get a few good shots in. Maybe if the lady cops were breaking us up, we could pull their shirts off in the process. Then Angie could jump in and get her clothes ripped off too.

Maybe then they could all give me lap dances…and get oiled up…and…excuse me a minute…

-King 0f New York

Might as well jump!

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Try wearing this for a stretch.Why the hell would I want a strange man strapped to my ass during one of the most intimate moments of my life? And if I was interested in something like that, why would I even consider paying him? Shouldn’t taking part in a guy’s “first time” be payment enough? So what if this stranger is a so-called “expert” at what he does? It’s not exactly rocket science, you know. Basically, the dude’s just along for the ride. If you start freaking out in the middle, (as some first-timers do) he can gently ease you into the proper positions for maximum enjoyment. That’s what they tell you. I think they’re just doing it for their own cheap thrills, and the extra cash.

Many first-timers opt for a “tandem jump” at their local sky diving facility. It allows you to hop out of a plane and freefall for almost a minute before opening your parachute on your first attempt. It doesn’t require extensive training or particular courage because the whole time, you have a big man attached to your rear with a set of unbreakable straps. This strapping fellow does the jumping, the steering while falling, the chute opening, the landing and most of the thinking. So why in the world would I want that?

As it happens, death and the fear of it are responsible for some of the best times of my life. Facing one’s mortality is a tremendous rush…well, okay that’s not entirely true. It’s scary as hell and your body’s natural mechanisms do everything in their power to stop you from doing something that will put an end to their function. The rush of euphoria, joy and excitement come moments after you realize that something potentially lethal didn’t kill you.

I like to call that moment, “a burst of living” as it is the polar opposite of “la petite mort.” In case you don’t know, that’s the French expression for the feeling of melancholy one experiences just after a sexual orgasm. It’s sort of like dying a little inside after experiencing one of the best things in life. Well, “a burst of living” is that sensational realization that you’re still alive after coming close to death.

My point is, life and death moments are very personal. Some people shit their pants when they face death. Others vomit (like Condors, for instance). Some people may get such excitement from participating in their own destruction, that they orgasm. These are all perfectly natural bodily functions that most wouldn’t want a stranger around for…except maybe that last one.

So the few times I went skydiving in my past, I opted for a “static line jump.” This is a process by which non-experienced jumpers learn the ropes of leaping on their own. The sharper among you will understand that I used a clever pun in that last sentence because “static line” refers to a rope which pulls your parachute out of its packing for you. For this to happen, you need to learn some basics. After a training period, jumpers go up in small groups on a single-engine propeller plane. They then attach their static lines to the craft, climb out onto one of the wing, let go of the plane and hope for the best.

Note the concavity of the mammaries

Jumping from 3,000 feet in the air, you have about 15 seconds to either untangle it or open your spare, should your primary chute fail to open properly. Otherwise, your jump turns into a bounce. After logging a number of successful jumps, you move to higher altitudes and eventually begin free-falling on your own. Working your way up to this point seems like a far more rewarding way to go about tempting fate.

Much as I try, I couldn’t convey in words the feelings I got from that experience. The monumental terror that streaks through your body when the jump signal is given is soon replaced by a Zen-like acceptance that today might be the day you die. The adrenaline fueled determination while holding tight to the wing. Those few seconds of desperate uncertainty as you let go of the plane, make way for a crashing wave of exhilaration when the parachute pops open. From there, it’s a gentle coasting back to Earth as the green surface rushes up to welcome you back.

If you’re curious about jumping from planes, I can tell you this: At the time I went, a “static line jump” would cost $200 the first time (which included a five hour class, equipment, and plane ride). Each additional jump was only $20. So for about $400, you could work your way up to independent free-fall and experience about 11 jumps. The “tandem jump” price was about $250. It required only a two hour class, but would cost another $250 if you wanted to go again.

In my opinion, tandem jumpers aren’t getting the full sky diving experience. The extra person attached to me would just be a damper to all the fun. Plus, there’s the other stuff to think about. Do you really want to chance dying with this person you never met before? Even if you do survive, do you want your memory tainted by the garlic breath, body odor or possible erection of your jump buddy? I know I don’t.

-King 0f New York





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