Hipster Holocaust- Chapter 38

 

O’Malley and Johnson walked into the interrogation room and sat across from Fat Louie DeMaio. Fat Louie sat all calm and collected like a guinea Buddha. He didn’t look calm at first glance because he was sweating like a pig. But that was because of his thermostat not his energy. He was stoic almost meditative as he waited. Louie was cuffed to the table and had to lean slightly forward because he was too fat to sit back as his stomach kept him away from the edge of the table.

O’Malley gestured to Johnson. “Why don’t you unhook this fine gentleman Detective Johnson so we can have a little chat?” Johnson grimaced but went across the table and unlocked the cuffs. Fat Louie sat back and rubbed his wrist that had been severely chaffed as the cuffs as usual where too small for his meaty wrist. He looked at O’Malley expectantly like he would have to answer as to why he was sitting there in a too small chair in a too small room.

Hipster Holocaust

 

Anna Feola walked into the Brooklyn Loaf to start her shift at 6 am. Just about five feet tall she was slim but shapely with dark brown hair with auburn highlights. Anna looked like an Italian neighborhood girl even though she came from Suffolk County. She fit right in on Court Street.

Anna was always one of the first employees at the store because she liked the first shift. First of all, it was always busy so she was always moving. Anna hated having to wait around with nothing to do. Best of all she got off early at 2 o’clock so she had the rest of the day to do whatever she wanted. She could take a class or go to an audition. Or even just help out the nice old Italian lady that was her landlord. She was like her Mom. Or more like the Grandmother that she had never had back home. Her family originally came from this neighborhood even though they had moved out to Long Island back in the sixties. Even so she felt a prosperity interest in the Italian culture that was fading away in the face of all the hedge fund managers and Wall Street aholes who were buying up the neighborhood. There were still a few pockets of the old Italian American Immigrant culture left and this coffee shop was one of them even though it was only about ten years old. It featured bagels and rolls and prepared sandwiches with coffee and tea. Not fancy like Starbucks but not as declassee as the Dunkin Donuts on the corner of First Place. It was sort of in-between. Just like Anna.

She started the coffees in the giant urns and Pepe brought up a couple of paper sacks filled with fresh hot bagels. She sorted them out and put them in the wire bins designated for each flavor with a little ceramic name plate attached to the front. Plain. Salt. Poppy. Sesame. Onion. Everything. A bin for everyone and a pile of hot steaming goodness. If only life could be like that.

People started drifting in. Moms on their way to PS 58 to drop off their little monsters. Nannies with their over privileged charges in super expensive strollers. A couple of in a hurry commuters who wanted to pick up something to take on the subway. The crowd grew and the line went out the door into the street. She poured the coffee and buttered the bagels and even had to serve the one section of tables against the wall. They were easy as they were usually her regulars. The same people every day.

One of them was an older Italian gentleman with hard eyes and pure white hair. He was always elegantly dressed in an expensive leather jacket and a silk shirt. He wore expensive custom-made shoes and had a Rolex on his wrist that was worth more than everything that was in the whole shop. He wore dark glasses inside and was very quiet. Occasionally someone from the neighborhood would come and whisper something in his ear. He would nod or make a gesture with his hand or very infrequently whisper something back. His order was always the same. A cup of espresso and a plate of Italian biscotti. He never varied it unless he wanted a short snort of anisette in his coffee. They kept a bottle behind the counter just for him. He was always very kind to her and there was always something mysterious about him. Anna didn’t know much about him and was sort of intrigued.

What she really didn’t know was that he was the real owner of the joint.

You see the Mob had gone into the bagel business in a big way in the 1980’s. What’s not to like? A cash business perfect for washing money. And you didn’t even have to lose money at it to boot. So bagel stores went up in Bensonhurst and Kew Gardens and Staten Island and Ozone Park. There were two in South Brooklyn that now had the Real Estate name of Carroll Gardens. One on Smith Street was controlled by the Columbo’s and was full of cowboys. They ran guns and drugs out of it and a bunch of them got pinched and put away on a Ricco charge. This one was much cleaner. They kept the drugs and the guns and gambling out of it. It was just bagels and a schmear.

At one time the cafes in the neighborhood had been part of the fabric of their existence. People would come in and sip an espresso and talk. It was a social thing. That’s why they were called social clubs. You knew everyone and everyone knew you. Now it was like the rest of New York. Anonymous and lonely. Sometimes people might know each other and nod before they became engrossed in their phones. But most of the time they just stared at their laptops or phones as though they could find the meaning of life.

He came in around eight this morning and sat in his usual seat. The second table from the front with his back to the wall. Anna hurried over with his order. “Good morning Mr. Aiello. Here is your breakfast. How are you feeling?” she chirped as she put down the plate. “Great sweetheart” he rasped with his heavy Brooklyn accent. “Just great. Can youse bring over the papers when you get a chance.” “Yessir right away.” ”Thank youse.”

When he asked for the papers, he only wanted the Post and the News. He never touched the Times or the Wall St Journal. Tabloids were all he read. Oh well the rest were there for all the pretentious noobs who came in and hit on her. But they wouldn’t be here for hours yet, so she was safe. Maybe she would have time to practice that song for the audition she was going to hit next week. She just hoped that Mrs. DiMartino would be okay with her singing the same song over and over for hours. What was she thinking? Of course, she would be fine with it. But she was going to bring her a bag of Italian cookies just to make sure.

She had learned her lessons well. She was morphing into a real neighborhood girl.

Hipster Holocaust

Detective Charlie McCarthy looked over the rail on the Carroll Street Bridge over the Gowanus Canal and spit while a thin drizzle fell on everything and bounced off the surface. A six-foot-tall pale Irishman he had the map of Ireland on his face. With the landmarks represented by the veins and broken blood vessels of a life spent with his gut pressed against a bar. He wore what he always wore. A cheap suit with a $5 tie from the bodega. One look at him and you said cop. Bad cop. Drunk cop. Dangerous cop. Not that he felt dangerous these days. Mostly he felt gassy.

A police diver fell backwards of the side of the police launch. And bounced. He had to cut a hole through the surface scum as though he was an ice fisherman freezing his balls off on a lake in Minnesota. How he was going to find anything was a mystery, but they still had to try. They had a report that there had been a jumper last night and some blood evidence on the rail that was enough for the shit heel captain to demand that they investigate.

His partner Julio Torrez walked up carrying two cups of coffee with the plastic tops attached. A slim slick Puerto Rica with a pencil thin mustache that went out of style in the fifties. He had a moderate fro and a decided limp from an old gunshot wound from the Red Hook Projects during the crack years. They had been partners for a long time. 

“Hey Dummy, what’s happening?” He handed over a coffee and they both ripped off a small piece of the top so they could sip the coffee while keeping the cover on to protect it from the rain. “Did they find anything or are we just jerking ourselves off here?”

“Nothing yet Beaner but they just started. How the fuck they gonna find anything in this shit is beyond my freaking understanding. I think that twat captain is just busting our balls with this shit.”

“I don’t know jefe. They said they had a witness. Some old biddy looking through her window. Said she saw some dude in a hoodie push a girl over the side.”

“How the fuck did she see that. There nearest house is half a block away. What the fuck does she have Xray fucking eyes?”

“Opera man.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Opera. What she was singing? You are one dumb Rican you know that.”

“Nah man she had Opera Glasses. She is one of the liberals that moved in. A fucking college professor or some such shit. She had a pair of Opera glasses and she looks out her window and writes down what she sees so she can call 411 to complain. Logged over 100 complaints so far this month. Only this time she called and got right through to the Captain.”

“Well how the fuck did she do that? What did they just put her through? What da fuck?”

“No dude her name is Karen Cohen. She went to summer camp with the Captain and shit. They probably licked each other like a lemon ice.”

“Great another Jew bag. I shoulda retired like my third wife told me too before she split. What a shit show.”

 

The diver burst though the scum blanket that cover the canal and not without effort. He was about five yards from the boat and was waving his hand. The boat putt putted over to him and they threw him a line. He went back down and everyone waited for a minute holding their breath. Too be fair everyone had been holding their breath the whole time since it smelled like the monkey house at the Prospect Park zoo. There was a series of tugs on the line and the two coppers in the boat started pulling up the line. They had caught something. A body. Covered in slime and debries. Pampers, plastic bags. Maybe a condom or three. They rolled the body into the skiff and waited for the diver to come up. When he did they pulled him in the boat. The maneuvered up to the bridge and the sergeant in the boat called up. “Hey Dummy we got a fresh one for ya. Wadda wanna us to do? Bring it to the dock or bring it over there to youse and you can take custody?” 

“Shit forensic is on the way and they need some space to work. Just bring it over to the dock in the back of the furniture warehouse on 9th. I’ll have these guys go over and take custody so they can bag her. No need to take it back to your shop. Thanks Flynn. Thanks a lot. Now I got another body on my tab. Fuck it never ends.”

The partners looked at each other and sighed in unison. “Let’s get over there and get this shit show on the road. Oh and give Captain Jew Bag a call and let her know we found a stiff. That will give her a lady hard on now that she is finally right about something.” “Ok Dummy I will call it in.”

They went to the unmarked Toyota and drove on to Third Avenue. This was really going to be a shit show. Cause the stiff looked white. And young. And a cooze. A shit show of the first water. Fuck. Some days it didn’t even pay to get up.

 

Vertigo!

When we went to see the fireworks we went over some granola guy's house in Park Slope. They were friends of my friends and we just tagged along. There was some talk that the mayor might be there but thank God he didn't make it.

The guy was a retired fireman who went native in Park Slope and bought a couple of brownstones on the cheap in the 1970's and sold them for a lot of money. He married an "ex-lesbian" who is thirty years younger than him. Trust me not hot.

Anyhoo we had to walk up this freaking sprial staircase that was two stories high to get to the roof. With my bad knees it was a killer. Plus you had to keep going in circles.

Coming down we were almost the last as usual. But of course the wife has to stop to take photo's.

Sometimes you life is just like a Hitchcock Movie.

Reason 10689 why I shouldn't have a gun

Hipster douchebag helicopter parents in Park Slope want to ban the ice cream man from the park because they don't want to have to tell their children no when they cry for ice cream.

Hipster cunt Dorothy Scanlan was quoted as saying: “I should not have to fight with my children every warm day on the playground just so someone can make a living!"

Let alone that maybe other people want to have a fucking ice cream on a hot summer day.

You know who hates the ice cream man?

COMMIES I TELL YOU FUCKING COMMIE CUNTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You can tell everything you need to know about a person by how they treat the waiter.

This is one of the rules that I live by. That is why I despise hipsters and yuppies and almost every other fucking idiot that I run across when I am going out to eat. For example there is this column by a stupid entitled twat from the New York Post. Her thesis is that waitresses should be replaced by ipads. What a fucking moron.

A good waitress or waiter is essential to a dining experience. They can answer your questions. Help you choose your meal. Make exceptions and substitutions.  When I go to a place I always introduce myself and the other members of my party. I try to make a personal connection. Or at the minimum establish the fact that I know that the waiter is a person. Not my slave. If they were a slave I would expect them to be a shut in from Oakland ranting about reparations. They are simply a server. Someone to help me enjoy my meal. Not someone that I should berate or treat like shit.

A perfect example is our recent somewhat disastrous dinner at Incognito. The waiter was a confused Mexican who was probably distracted because his kids had just got dumped at the border. Since I had been to the joint more than twice I had the menu memorized. I lead him through the appetizers and the main courses. He had to go to the kitchen a couple of times to be sure that they could do what I asked. Not that it was anything spectacular. Just mashed potatoes. But he tried his best and that is all you can ask. Everyone had a good time. I just worried about the meal and made sure it turned out great for everyone.

The Mexican waiter took the photo so we all look like the Devil. That is what he must think of his boss and all of his customers.

Hey I am happy if they just don't spit in my food.

I am glad I didn't watch the Oscars

It just got too weird for me.

Little Pink Houses and Orange Jump Suits and Copycunts.

So my faithful monitor and spy on TOP has emailed me to say that the Evil Blogger Lady wrote a post about John Cougar Mellencamps stupid spawn. Just to make fun of the kids name. Like we did three days ago. Just more proof that they are reading us pretty closely.

I expect a post about Duck Dynasty and Elmore Leonard tomorrow. Just saying.

Little Pink Houses.......and little orange jumpsuit

Well it looks like liberal douchebag John Cougar Mellencamp is going to get a close up look at the criminal Justice system. His two sons were arrested for assaulting the guy who was sitting on his porch in front of his Little Pink House in a small town. His sons Speck and Hud surrendered to the cops and charges are being filed.

Speck? He named his kid after a salami? What the fuck.

Celebrities are weirdo's.

Don't show us your tits.....

Not if there is a baby attached!

You know this joint Abilene I was talking about? Well I just walked past it and some woman was breastfeeding her baby. On Court St. At a bar. What the fuck?

They just had a breast feeding sit in at an airport because they were told to please not do it in public. I mean an airport is bad enough but a bar? WTF?

That's right keep the little bastards home!

This Mexican joint in Texas has joined a bunch of restaurants in banning children after 7pm. The little bastards just scream and yell and run around an ruin you chance at enjoying your meal. It is one thing if it is Chuckie Cheese or a pizza parlor but another if it is an upscale expensive restaurant. Who wants to deal with that bullshit?

In Brownstone Brooklyn there is a new problem. All of these hipster assholes that are having kids still want to hang out at the bar. There is a hipster joint on the corner of my block that has set up lawn furniture as a sort of sidewalk café. Invariably they have this stupid fuckin' hipster couples sitting there. They always have an infant in a baby sling strapped to the Dad and a stroller and a fuckin' dog on a leash tied to the chair. I mean not one table like that. But six or seven. All day long. The other day it was raining when I passed by at around five and all of these people were inside the bar. With the babies and the dogs. It was a circus. Imagine trying to get shitfaced with that going on?

Sorry but kids don't belong in bars. You don't have the right to take your kids everywhere. They are your kids. They are your problem. Leave us alone while we are trying to get drunk. If we wanted to deal with kids we would stay home with our own kids. Enough already you hipster scumbags.

Carroll Gardens Vignette

So my regular UPS guy is on vacation. This is the nighttime guy who picks up the UPS box on the corner. Now you have to pay UPS to get a regular pickup. I prefer to tip the drivers directly so they are motivated to come to my store and get my packages. Or to come to deliver them later if my store is closed when they come early in the morning. For example last week the morning guy was on vacation. These fucking guys are union guys so they get more vacations than fuckin Obama. We decided to close on Monday and we called him to see if there were any packages. He was on vacation but he called the guy who was doing his route and told him to come personally to drop off the packages when he finished his route. Of course I greased that guy and will grease my regular guy when he comes back to work.

The night guy was off and I don't want to put my packages in the box first of all they won't fit. Second of all sometimes they get lost. If I hand it to the guy and he scans it in then and there I have a better chance of it getting to my customer. So I was standing in the doorway and waiting for the UPS driver to ride up.  Then it happens!

I see this half a mo with a pitbull in a pink sweater. The dog stops right on the sidewalk on the side of the store about two feet in from  the curb. The pussified pooch cops a squat right there and pisses all over the sidewalk. Now it is not right in front of the store so I guess I can't technically can't get pissed. I just had to shake my head. This douche couldn't curb his dog in the fuckin street? I mean he had to have it piss right in the sidewalk. The dog finishes her business and they walk away. Then two ladies push their monster strollers through the piss. A woman in a sandal steps in it. A little kid riding one of those Razor Scooters rides right through it. A piss ride. Good deal.

You see smeared dog shit on every sidewalk. These hipster cunts let their dogs shit and piss wherever they want and do not pick it up. I can't get over how bad it has gotten in the last few years. The sense of entitlement that these rat bastards have is unbelievable.

Please refer back to the Rifleman post.

So here is your phone you just have to wait for the comet.

In 1975 I went to "Crazy Eddies" to buy my first calculator. It was a Casio and had big buttons and could do all kinds of cool calculations on it. Much better than the adding machines we were used to in the accounting biz at the time.It was sold to me by Irving Shapiro who was wearing a shirt and tie and was very knowledgeable about the product without overselling it.

At the beginning of the week the wife started busting my chops that we had to go to the Apple store to get her phone fixed. It kept shutting off and not working properly and she was getting very frustrated. So we decided to go on our day off which is Tuesday to get it fixed and have a day in the city. What a fiasco.

We called for an appointment at the Apple store in Soho and the only one we could get was at 5pm, Primetime for shitheads. I had never been in the Apple store and didn't know what to expect. When you get there they take your name and put it in their I-pad which I guess gets it into the system. Then you sit at the "Genius Bar" and wait till they call your name. Which took about an hour.

Now I was looking around at all the workers and customers and other than one other older couple there was one word to describe them all: Scievy. They all looked like they didn't wash. Everyone of the employee wore jeans and a red apple t-shirt and sneakers and looked like they were either homeless or they were waiting for the fuckin' comet to show up. They had dreads or soul patches or tons of tats or funky dirty knit hats. WHAT THE FUCK! WHERE WAS IRVING SHAPIRO FROM LEVITTOWN WITH THIS THREE PIECE SUIT!!!!!!

The customers were even worse. Some dude in a knit cap sat next to us for two hours and didn't do anything but nod out. Nobody approached him to find out what was what. I had to keep a hawk eye on him and the wife's purse so they didn't disappear together. He must been hanging out until it was time to go push someone in front of the train. WHAT THE FUCK APPLE!!!!!!!!!!!

Finally this hipster douchenozzle with a soul patch and a dirty knit cap calls our name. He goes over the problem and says he has to wipe the phone. So of course the wife has to back up her photos. She had 5,000 photos on her phone. Yes that right. 5,000. She had the highest storage and memory on the phone so we had to sit there for two hours for the photo's to download. Then the douche wipes the phone and says she just has to put the apps back on and everything should be fine.

In the meantime they were having a concert at the Apple Store. I guess to drum up business they have live music. Some young Justin Beiber type dude sang. There was a huge crowd of young girls who weren't buying anything but I guess there must have been some reason for that.

We finally finish our business with the wiped phone and got to leave four hours later. I couldn't wait to get out of there. Of course the wife had to buy some Apple accessories shit so that took a little bit of time.

We get out and decide to go out to dinner at one of our favorites 'Incognito." (More on that in another post)
When we get home guess what happens? The I-phone is still broke. It keeps shutting off on it's own and not working even when there are no apps or programs running to screw it up.

The wife tells me we have to back to the Apple Store.

AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This Zombie shit is overdone....

Lately we have been having quite a few of our customers come in to shop and we have been taking them out for dinner and drinks. It is a relaxing end of the summer so we can get away. When someone comes in who was on the show we usually take them out for drinks and dinner as sort of a thank you.

On Wednesday it was one of the girls who was on the show and her mom who came to the store for a girls night out. They shopped...went for lunch....then shopped some more....and went out with us for drinks. We went over to my favorite Enoteca where I ordered a cheese plate and a thin crust pizza just for us to munch on. As I had said they have great cocktails and we ordered some for a pre-dinner drink. Now the Mom asked for a Black Russian but Jay the waiter brought over a White Russian instead. Which I thought was better because your Russians should be like your presidents.....so the woman wanted to send it back. I said wait a minute bring it right over here and I enjoyed it along with my rum and coke. All in all we had a great time. After our customers left we went out to sit at the sidewalk cafe to enjoy a final drink and some funny stuff happened (but that's for another post).

Anyway this past Thursday Jenny Gems came to the store. She brought some rings for me to look at as I am getting Lisa a new wedding ring for our Anniversary. So we were checking the stuff out and she did some shopping and we decided to go for dinner. But we wanted to do something different. You see Jenny used to live in the neighborhood before she got married and moved to the end of Long Island. So she knows a lot of the joints and has her own opinions. The last couple of times she came by on a Monday and we ended up going to Casa Rosa to eat as she likes the food. As you might remember I have a beef with the owner so I don't like to go there all that much but the few times we go with Jenny Gems means we won't be totally at war. I mean I spent so much fucking money in the guys place and he would just bust my balls. After he closes up he liked to ride in his car real slow and look in the windows or the sidewalk cafes to see where people we eating. He never failed to tell me as I would be walking by "I saw you eating in the Thai Restaurant last night....or....hey how come you went to Marco Polo instead of my place." Why? Because you are ripping me off man that's why. Jeeez.

Anyway we decide to go out for a drink and back to that Yuppie joint Watty and Meg because the food was ok and Jenny wanted to try it. But their drinks sucked so we decided to go to a bar for a  cocktail first. We go down to Smith St and walk along to see what we can see. We pass a couple of joints and decide to go into this dive called the "Zombie Hut." This is hipster doufous central. It is a Tiki Bar with all the decorations and they specialize in rum drinks like a "Frozen Zombie" or "Mai-Tai's" and "Singapore Slings" and shit like that there. It was full of kids in their early twenties. Their very early twenties. I have stains on my underwear that are older. The girl behind the bar looks like she is twelve. She gets our order. Now we are sitting at the end of the bar. Three people in their fifties. I mean we are too old for this joint but unlike most of the other dumb fucks in there we have money and won't be ordering three dollar PBR's all night. She pours the drinks. And then she asks me for my credit card. SHE ASKS ME FOR MY CREDIT CARD!!!!!!

Now look I know how this works. Most joints let you know when you go in. But I am almost never asked. Because when people see me they know I am a bar guy. And that I am not going to run out on a check. Look you stupid cunt I am fifty fucking six years old and I don't run out on my bar tab. I have been drinking on Court St for thirty five years and nobody ever asked for my credit card. Ever. I wanted to yell "DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM!!!!!!!!!!!!" But I mean you can't do that. I just said "Fuck that sweetie" and put a $100 on the bar. And mumbled to myself. But the wife and her friend were having fun taking little monkey drink things out of the swizzle stick glass on the bar so I just sat there and minded my own business.

I am too old for this shit. I like a real bar where you are treated with the respect you have earned by being a functional alcoholic for so many years running. You know where you can get a great cocktail and not have be bumped into by a bunch of douches doing Jaeger shots and PBR's while rooting for the fuckin' Jets on the TV.

I am turning into a fat Clint Eastwood!

GET OFF OF MY FUCKING LAWN AND I WON'T GIVE YOU MY CREDIT CARD YOU DUMB CUNT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's all about the childrens!

[Legs Diamond]
Legs Diamond in the house
And we sendin clown love out to Above the Law

[Violent J]
When I sit there and right the shit for the mic I hold
I make sure my beats are loud, and bold, and cold
Violent J is the name that I go by
Wakin up with blood on my hands and I don't know why
You motherfuckers tryin to get in my path
Don't be surprised when you get a shotgun up your ass
Instigators, I got one for that ass too
I'm gonna hang you from a street light, mangled and blue (eww)
You on my shit like a fiend coke
But if you say the wrong thing i'll put a slit in your throat
So, it's not the answer, no, i'm not a dancer, no
I'm not a hero, a zero , but I call myself a juggalo
And this is not a demo
ICP, Above The Law, we let it GO

[(Chorus) 2x]
Fantasizing, dramatizing, re-enacting MURDER MURDER

[Shaggy 2 Dope]
I feel actions, speak loud like words, and verbs and adjectives
They give the scrubs a chance to live
{ From: http://www.elyrics.net/read/i/insane-clown-posse-lyrics/murder-rap-lyrics.html }
Not who's first, second or third
It ain't he said, and she said, fuck whatever you heard
When you live like that your life is mangled
In other words your neck is all tangled up
I ain't a hoe, I always go for mine
I was taught it's hard from the start, but you can always CLIMB

[(Chorus) 2x]

[Violent J]
Violent J, I break backs, back break with my crew
If i'm jumping in the pit then i'm gettin loose
Cause i'm takin out people, causing bodily harm
Making moves to improve the Dark Carnival brainstorm

[Shaggy 2 Dope {Violent J}]
I'm not inferior, not takin no shit
Last kid that tried to check me got his fuckin neck slit
{Powers my name, the clown be insane}
And if we get to panicking WE ALL GONNA REARRANGE

[The Ring Leader]
Ladies and gentlemen, introducing the Triple Threat!
The Wraith, The Great Milenko, and the Ringmaster!!

(Insane Clown Posse)

Bad day!

It was a pretty bad day all around. The weather was dreary and the shooting matched it.

And I feel down the stairs right on to my knees into the garbage bag that someone left on the steps so I could trip on it.

So all I could do while I was there is sing:

I wanna be a billionaire so fricking bad
buy all of the things I never had
uh, I wanna be on the cover of Forbes magazine
smiling next to Oprah and the Queen

Oh every time I close my eyes
I see my name in shining lights
A different city every night oh
I swear the world better prepare
for when I’m a billionaire

Yeah I would have a show like Oprah
I would be the host of, everyday Christmas
give Travie a wish list
I’d probably pull an Angelina and Brad Pitt
and adopt a bunch of babies that ain’t never had sh-t
give away a few Mercedes like here lady have this
and last but not least grant somebody their last wish
its been a couple months since I’ve single so
you can call me Travie Claus minus the Ho Ho
get it, hehe, I’d probably visit where Katrina hit
and damn sure do a lot more than FEMA did
yeah can’t forget about me stupid
everywhere I go Imma have my own theme music

Oh every time I close my eyes
I see my name in shining lights
A different city every night oh
I swear the world better prepare
for when I’m a billionaire
oh oooh oh oooh for when I’m a Billionaire
oh oooh oh oooh for when I’m a Billionaire

It all depends on who they pick?

So as I am sitting in the back I hear the man behind the curtain talking with California and all the big wigs who actually make the decisions. I hear that they are bring our show to a "Focus Group." You know what that is? It is a bunch of people who watch the show and give their opinions. Which means I will be out of the show.

I mean what I do is a very acquired taste. And they are not going to pick people on this focus group who have anything like my sensibility. Which is fine. The show is really about Lisa and the store. I am happy if she is the star and the store is successful. I don't need to be the star. And I know the fighting I am doing every day with them means my part will be sliced and diced down to nothing.

You see focus groups are what is wrong with television. They play to the lowest common denominator. They are going to research this and homogenize it and dumb it down. It is what they do. So the originality and spark that got us this show in the first place will be pushed out of it. And I am helpless to do anything about it. The more I fight it the more they roll their eyes and act condescending. There is not much I can do.

Lisa hid my shovel.

I just hope they get my people for the focus group.

You know like youse guys.

You gotta be humble......

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Bill Maher mocks Tim Tebow!

Yesterday noted douche Bill Maher mocked Denver GB Tim Tebow (shown above with 3 of his biggest fans) when he tweeted the following:

"Wow, Jesus just f***ed #TimTebow bad! And on Xmas Eve! Somewhere ... Satan is tebowing, saying to Hitler "Hey, Buffalo's killing them"

Tim Tebow didn't care. He has bigger things to motorboat...errr bigger and better things to do than to worry what some douchenozzle like Bill Maher has to say. I am not one for Jesus talk in athletes but this guy does take a lot of crap. He is a starting quarterback in the NFL and he has done pretty good this year. He has to realize that some people only can tear you down. They have no other purpose in life. I think Tebow knows that.

There are to many people with strollers!

They block the streets. They push into stores so you can't get past them. They come into the store and knock over stuff. They bring them into outside spaces and want everyone to be quiet so their brats can sleep. I hate these peoples with strollers!

On the other hand there is an exception to every rule.