Monday, January 31, 2005

Why Did Nicole duFresne Have To Die?

Everything I write is worthless, and worthless is everything I write. Still, I somehow manage to push along through it, and keep putting more of it out there. I save this stuff, too. I have this blog - all of my words - saved in cyberspace. And if it were to fall into a black hole, well, I printed it out once last year, when I worked at Christie's, and it was easy for me to print a 200 page document without anyone even batting an overpriced-eyeshade slathered eyeball lid. But I'd lose so much if that were to happen now. And I'd go on living, somehow. Maybe cause of magic?

I always thought that everything that happened to me was very exciting. I used to blast into art class in highschool with some lame, mundane tale I'd spiff up and polish so that I could pretend that this turd of a tale was the real McCoy. An example might be a story about how on my way to school that day, I heard "Crazy On You" on the radio, by Heart. I'd then use that as an excuse to sing the whole song in it's entirety and try to get everyone else in the class to sing along. So, I guess it's not that I just thought that things happening to me were exciting, maybe it's more that my life was so boring growing up in rural Maine, and being an imaginative kid, I'd try to make it seem like my life was graaaaand. And then, it kind of became true, at least for a little bit.

But I have been really upset lately. It's probably one part seasonal depression, one part birth control pill, but a HUGE, huge part of it is the recent shooting death of Nicole duFresne. It bothers me because she was my age, she died in a neighborhood I practically call home, just a few blocks away from where I was sleeping soundly. She might as well have been me, or anyone.

I love the LES. It's so fucking dense with weirdness. There are storefronts and bodegas and cruddy little art galleries and remodeled tenements, leaning in against the oncoming, unavoidable big business slaughter that is just moments away from taking place. The neighborhood is ripe with history and smells strange sometimes, and you can buy a live chicken at a store a block away. Some of the world's most reknowned and best kept secret geniuses, artists, writers, musicians and other spent time in the LES.

But what the fuck?

I can't believe that in the place I live, people just walk up to people and shoot them. I grew up in a very small town in Maine called Damariscotta, and we left our doors unlocked. We left keys in the car ignitions. We left windows open in the summertime, and our town had two cops. When there was a murder a county over from me, the whole state freaked out! It was the first time there'd been a murder in that COUNTY for ten years. In the county I lived in, there hadn't been a murder for close to twenty, unless you count vehicular manslaughter, which I guess is technically murder, but it sure as hell ain't a robbery gone wrong.

If it weren't for the sick and twisted things that humans do, I'd be stuck for material. But, I guess this was too close to home for me. A white girl, about to get married, performer, struggling along to see her dream...and of course, thanks to the newspapers "if it bleeds it leads" philosophy, Nicole is more famous now in death than she had been in life, as was the case with art star Margaret Trigg, who died last October for reasons still uncertain.

It's just utterly depressing that just 8 hours north of here, people are leaving keys in the ignitions of there cars, and here in NYC, people are shooting eachother in the streets.

This planet completely sucks.

If you don't know any better and happen to be reading this blog: Don't shoot people. It's not nice. Don't rob people. It's not cool.

If you'd like to visit Nicole's vigil, it's at the corner of Rivington and Clinton. There are candles burning, and some books and flowers. It's a very modest, beautiful community offering for a girl who died horrifically, on the ground, in the cold.

If you haven't read or heard the news story yet, read it here: NICOLE duFRESNE

She has a website, which is, but it's currently not viewable.

It's strange - when you search for her site in yahoo, her e-mail and phone number come up. They're going to catch those guys. In the article, it says Nicole wouldn't want to see her killer put to death, and this should be more about a culture where a kid can get a gun than it should be about a black kid with a gun. I think that's a fair point, but a person who would shoot someone would probably just as gladly kill them some other way, too.

Therefore, a society where murder is unthinkable is the only solution.

How to make that happen?

Thursday, January 27, 2005

A NOTE - (and then On To Our Regulary Scheduled Blog-rambling:)

According to my comments boards, which I read and post to often, people miss the old Jessy Delfino's Blog - you know, the one where I'm whining about being poor, crying because I'm so sad, lonely, fat, and stupid, bragging because I'm such a genius, writing bitchy poetry, and onward and moreward.

Well - the people have spoken and I have heard them! That is why, from now ON, I promise to keep this blog ALL ABOUT ME, as it never has really been, but will be more of from now on.

If you want to read about CXB, Christopher Brodeur, the mayoral race, or any of that crapola, I will have to recommend you look on a different blog. Like this one:

If reading blogs about Chris isn't your thing, perhaps instead try going to and searching for Christopher Brodeur under the NEWS link. (That is a tip from a friend - apparently, it brings up relevant news items.)

You might also visit, a website dedicated to the Art Star Scene in NYC, a scene that Chris is already the mayor.

...and NOW, back to my regularly scheduled blog-rambling.

UBER for ya

I don't know much about UBER, but sometimes I get curious and start randomly searching blogs and links, usually with the help of yahoo search (see how anti-trend I am? I totally just dissed Google!) and before I know it, I'm on the other side of the globe, reading blogs of people who's names I can not correctly pronounce, all my intelligence aside! Well, I don't know how, or why, or when, but I stumbled onto this website called UBER. It's got the little umlats (spelling, anyone?) above the U, but I don't have a fancy enough computer to type that shit.

Anyway, you can submit stuff to UBER, and I love to send people stuff I wrote or made, so I submitted, and shit on a shamrock, the dude wrote back! He posted my story "Strange News" on his site, which you can visit here: I don't know where UBER is made, what the .nu extension stands for, or any other pertinent or non-pertinent information regarding his site, but I commend anyone who creates a website in an attempt to reach out to artsy loners among sea of internet freaks.

THIS JUST IN: RSS FEED on Jessy Delfino's Blog

People have been bugging me to set up an RSS feed on my blog for a thousand years. Well, now people's buggings have become a reality. Upon the promptings and advice from a nice lady named Kristen from Drexel University in Philadelphia, I've made RSS feed a REALITY here at Jessy Delfino's Blog! So, feed away, my rss hungry friends! FEED!

I think you might need this link:

But I'm still trying to navigate this RSS crapola myself, so maybe you have to have a special RSS tv or hand-held device or something. I'm 50% technical genius, 50% creative genius, 50% complete and total idiot of every genre.

Any RSS feeders out there, won't you please let me know if I did it right and if it works!

Tuesday, January 25, 2005


Every comedian should read this and please try to attend.
This is in reference to forming a comedian's union and regulating the pay of comedians who work in clubs. This is going to affect you if you work in a club now or plan to, ever. So, don't be lazy.

1/24/2005 - Fellow NY Comedians Coalition members,

As previously stated, there has been very promising progress thus
far. Tomorrow will be a general meeting attended by the club owners
(with the anticipated exception of Tony from Dangerfield’s, the only club
owner who has failed to confirm attendance), a committee of fifteen to
twenty comedians representing the coalition, and four professional
negotiators from AFTRA.
This meeting, in essence, is a last, best proposal opportunity for
the clubs owners before the coalition makes important decisions
regarding acceptance, rejection, and possible recourse.
The next scheduled meeting for the entire coalition is Tuesday,
February 1st, at 2:30 p.m., once again at the AFTRA offices at 260
Madison Avenue (between 38th and 39th). It is extremely important everyone
attend this meeting. It is just as important that each of you forward
this to every comedian and stress the importance of their attendance on
Feb. 1 . We will have each clubs best, last proposal at this meeting;
very significant decisions need to be made by each and every comedian
in the coalition.
Anyone who receives this email as a forward, rather than directly,
please go to our home-page at where
you may join our mailing list.

Thank you,
Russ Meneve
Ted Alexandro
Tom Shillue
Buddy Bolton

Sunday, January 23, 2005


So, this has been a very crazy weekend for ME. I recommend you all come and help me forget my life tonight at APOCALYPSE LOUNGE, 7 pm to 9 pm. I invite writers, musicians, comedians, specifically odd performers, uniquities, foreigners, travelers, and any miscellaneous to come and perform, watch, and be impressed by your fellow human's talents.

It should be fun, but I'm not making any promises. What else are you gonna do, hide from the snow? Why does everyone get so worried when it snows? A reporter on the news said, "If you don't have to go anywhere, DON'T!" Do we really need the histrionics? Are we gonna get snowed to death?

E. 3rd btw. aves A and B
East Village
7-9 PM
This and every SUNDAY
Free show, to watch OR perform! Cheap drinks!
Order chinese food from the corner and eat while u watch!

Saturday, January 22, 2005

This is the comic he drew in this week's issue of NY Press. Chris said earlier in a phone call from jail, "Tell everyone to look at my cartoon. It shows me getting arrested by Bloomberg, and that explains what happened." Pick one up for free from a NY Press rack or look online at

Friday, January 21, 2005


Chris was arrested at 3 PM today in the foyer of his apartment building. The police, who didn't have a warrant, shut off his electricity in order to trick him into coming out of his apartment to investigate. (This was verified when I called Con Ed to check and see if the power had been shut off. They said no and suggested checking the breaker.) When Chris came out, they arrested him, not letting him get a coat or make a call.

Newsday wrote THIS about the story.

Gawker has been writing about it, too.

I've heard it's been on the news on TV, though I'm not sure which station it was on. They've been talking about it on 1010 WINS, also.

I spoke to Chris very briefly this afternoon a few hours after he was arrested, and he also spoke to a friend, Kelly. He told her that he was arrested for drawing the cartoon "IDIOT PATROL" in this week's NY Press. It depicts Bloomberg having him arrested. He says it tells the whole story.

Bloomberg has also already been busted for making illegal arrests during the RNC and during Critical Mass bike rides.

Chris has already been found by a court to have been acting within his free speech rights when he said "All politicians are liars and should be executed" "You are nazis" and "The Mayor should be executed" in 1997, referring to Mayor Giuliani. If you do a search for "Christopher Brodeur" at, you will find multiple stories written about the case.

Chris announces his candidacy for mayor on Monday at 2 pm, on the steps of City Hall.

For more info. on Chris's campaign, visit his website.

Thursday, January 20, 2005

Uh...mayor, anyone? He wants to make subways free, put chess and piano lessons into school curriculums and get rid of alternate-side parking. He's also very bike-friendly. Read more about CXB at

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

by Jessica Delfino

When I was growing up, I had a really awesome pink bike. It had a banana seat with flowers on it in green and blue and yellow, and there were sparkles in silver througout, and the seat was made out of circa 80s jellyshoe plastic, all slippery and plastic-y smelling. (I know, cause I smelled it.) It had those plastic streamers coming out of the U-shaped handlebars hanging down in pink and white glorious strips and stripes. And it had a thumb bell.

But that was in Maine.

No one can have a nice bike in NYC. Sure, I see some hipster bikes here and there - an ornamental basket (nice try) or sometimes a banana seat on a rare occasion, but those people are probably rich and so they ride their bikes once a year in the Spring, hence they probably keep them stored in their safe, dry bike storage rooms in their rich people apartment buildings (that probably even have doormen - double bike protection!)

You can't keep a nice bike in NYC, because too many people steal them. I had a nice Diamondback bike - it was no sparkly joy, but it was a cool bike with an extra squishy seat that I'd splurged on, and it was a pretty shade of electric blue. Someone took the lock off and left it there for me, and I couldn't decide if the criminal was being compassionate or diabolical in leaving me this parting souvenir.

Maybe he was even being both.

I got a new nice bike, though. My friend Joe gave it to me. He bought a new one. I like it. So, it'll probably get stolen soon. Since I know this, it saves me a little bit, because the brakes are broken, but why pay to get them fixed? To possibly save my life? Eh, not worth it. I've got the Flinstone method down peter.

Bikes aren't cheap in NYC, either. They're like, $75 or more, USED. I saw a really worthless one for sale on the Upper East Side for $100. But, I guess rich people DO like to pay more for stuff.

If only the cop shop would dedicate a small branch of the NYPD just to recovering stolen bikes and keeping bikes from getting stolen, well, then I'd be able to ride just about any kind of bike I want - or more any bike I could afford, anyway.

I'd probably just keep the one I have.

Monday, January 17, 2005

By Jessica Delfino

*This story is very graphic and kind of long.

I got invited to perform at a nudist party back in November, (the party was scheduled for January). I really didn’t want to do the show because I’ve seen the promoter of the party, who happens to be a nudist, at various events, always naked, and he troubles me for many reasons, but I’m a glutton for punishment and something of a sucker for someone wanting me. And - the show was being held at a club around the corner from me, they were offering to pay me $20, and I consider myself an open-minded woman of the world, so I said, “yes”. He asked me to bring one performer, saying that there was only going to be one other performer besides me - a poet. I decided to bring Touching You, my boyfriend, in case I needed any help.

The night of the party, I arrived on time and brought Touching You and my boss, who was very curious to see what a nudist party was like, even though I told him I was pretty sure it was going to blow. When I arrived, I was immediately put at odds for many, many reasons. Besides the three of us, there were only three people there – the guy having the party (who goes by Tommy D. Nutsack, or “Naked Man” and some other guy who also likes to get naked (who I’d originally met at the Annual Mr. Lower East Side Pageant at Collective Unconscious a few months earlier), and a chick named Teresa who Tommy introduced as his “secretary”. Both men were already naked. The “party” was being held in a non-ventilated basement and was already beginning to smell like steak and asshole sandwiches. Tommy immediately came over and gave me a naked hug. Trying to be polite, yet distance myself from his sweaty nudity, I gave him a hug with as much gusto as I could muster, which was sadly, only enough to merit a lame, half-hearted pat.

NOTE: If you ever go to a naked party and a woman in a plaid schoolgirl outfit is introduced as someone’s ‘secretary’ - she’s probably not really a secretary.

Let me just explain a little about Tommy D. Tommy D. is a very large, obese man whose body is very sweaty and smelly, in addition to being very oversized. He is not attractive. He seems mostly harmless, but my main problem with Tommy D. is that I feel like he hides behind this fa├žade of being really “into being naked all the time”, when he’s just a selfish man who really is into getting kicks and jollies out of forcing people to look at his extremely out-of-shape naked body. In addition, he has a HUGE nutsack (hence the name Tommy D. Nutsack) which is the size of a ball of unflattened pizza dough, and when he goes on stage, he pokes himself in the ball sack and gets an erection, which I believe is because he enjoys the thrill of having people look at him naked. I don’t believe he’s happy being naked because it’s more comfortable – I believe he is happy being naked because it turns him on to repulse people. And I don’t care what he says to the contrary – I know that he must KNOW that it is disturbing for people to see him naked like that. But week after week at the shows I like to attend at Collective, there’s that sack.

The show begins innocently enough. Tommy buys Touching You and I drinks, and gives me a Dove ™ chocolate rose. I can’t decide whether it’s okay to eat it or not, because I don’t know if I can trust that Tommy didn’t rub his enormous nuts on it. So, I set it to the side until I can better make a more informed decision.

Touching You goes first, playing some of his great songs that I love – “Let’s Light Joan Rivers On Fire” and others. Tommy explains that there’s just one more act, the poet, so I decide the next act should go in between Touching You and I to break up the music. I retire to the bathroom to get really good and high while he does his poem, but he waits for me to come out so I can really get a good listen. He goes on and tells a poem about how he loves jogging naked in the park, and when he’s on a beach, he can ejaculate just by watching girls walk by.


I listen, repulsed, thinking “Ohhhhh – so HE’S the naked guy who goes jogging in the park that I’ve been hearing about since I was two.”

He ends his poem and brings up the next act – Teresa, who’s going to do a little dance for us. I thought SHE was the poet. No, wait – I thought she was Tommy’s secretary. (Why the fuck would he need a secretary? So she could keep track of any appointments his huge nutsack might have?) So, she goes on stage and starts dancing to some r & b really booty shakin’ hip hop, you know, the kind that many black people and wiggers hump to. She gets naked on stage, and whatever, she’s kind of an out of shape black woman. Her breasts are very flabby and she has this nifty little trick where she can pull them up to her mouth and suck on them, which she does repeatedly! I wonder how long it takes to learn a trick like that? After the tit sucking feat, she moves into the audience and begins to give my boss a lap dance. But not just any lap dance. She’s topless, completely straddling him, and fucking his cock area HARD, so that her ass is jiggling back and forth all over the place. Fine, I can deal with that. I am actually laughing as I watch, because it’s just so ridiculous. My boss is tipping her and doesn’t seem so concerned, so I don’t interrupt. Eventually, she gets up and wanders over to Touching You, who politely refuses the dance and informs Teresa that I’m his girlfriend. She apologizes and goes back and forth between Tommy and the other dude, just kind of pulling on their penises for a second, before returning to my boss whose generous erection is now very visibly through his pants. She “dances” on him more, which mostly just consists of her literally dry humping the fuck out of him while there happens to be music playing, which I guess in some parts of the country is truly considered dancing, and apparently is the kind of dancing that “secretaries” do.

Touching You sweetly calls over to me and insists I come and sit on his lap. I think he’s starting to sense the absurdity of the situation and my growing discomfort, even though I’m pretty much in hysterics, which I almost feel is rude, but am just not sure how else to handle the scene. Touching You hugs me a lot and keeps me on his lap while the chick continues to, um, dance. Eventually, the song ends after about ten minutes. Teresa says she’s just going to do two more songs. Two more songs? If that’s the case, she’s going to be shaking her big fat ass for twenty more minutes. I start to feel a bit irritated, as I thought she was just going to be reading a little poem, and I had not intended to stay in the stink of egg and balls for more than an hour, which was nearing. However, I sat quietly and said nothing as the second song began.

Teresa asks for the lights to be turned up, which Touching You and Tommy do eagerly, but somehow, this alerts me that something bad is about to happen. When the lights come up, Theresa lays down and spreads her pussy as far open as it can go, then begins to contract the muscles inside her vagina, asking us, “Can you see it?”

At this point, I begin to get very upset. I stand up and say, “I’m sorry, I can’t stay here anymore, and I can’t follow this act. I’m not performing, I’m leaving.” I put on my coat and begin to leave. The girl stops “dancing” and Tommy, the other naked man and Touching You surround me, begging and pleading with me to stay, insisting I can follow spread open pink pussy, and telling me how they really want to see me. Tommy is standing so close to me I can feel his nutsack touching me and I ask him loudly to step back from me about four times before he actually does. Touching You calls me a diva and tells me I’m being so unprofessional. He says “A deal is a deal, you said you’d perform! You knew there were going to be naked people here!” They won’t let me leave, and they are all surrounding me, telling me please stay, please perform, but I don’t want to be anywhere near any of them, and the smell of pubic holes and sweaty balls are choking me. I eventually push past them with all my gear, but when I get upstairs, I find myself again in a similar set-up, with Touching You and two naked men surrounding me, not allowing me to leave.

Finally, David gets in between the guys and me and puts his hands up. He says “Back away from her, and leave her alone! She obviously doesn’t want to be bothered by you right now!” At this point, I began bawling and was finally allowed to go my own way.

David talks to me for a minute, buys me a drink and calms me down. He tells me that I should feel free to leave if I want to. We’re sitting upstairs at a table, and I realize that there are about thirty people in the room. I decide, well, I brought my guitar out and planned to perform, dammit, so I’ll just high-jack the upstairs and maybe they’ll be into it. Then, I’ll be performing for Tommy’s show, as I said I’d do, but I won’t have to do it while having a ball-sweat induced panic attack.

The tech guy at the club I performed at was really cool and set me all up. I half-rocked the crowd with my ribald sense of humor and variety of pussy-related songs and jokes, and the audience half-heartedly paid attention. The bartender passed a bucket around and I made a bunch of tips. Touching You criticized me, calling me unprofessional and cowardly, and telling me he couldn’t wait to get me back to his house so he could yell at me. I try to explain why he’s wrong, but Touching You is NEVER wrong, and that is the only thing that either one of us leave understanding. (He said later he was kidding about yelling at me at his house, but no one can ever tell when he’s joking because he jokes so seriously because he really hates himself.) Well, and also that Jessica Delfino can be out-pussied.

Addendum: I was a stripper who actually danced to the music in shithole go-go bars in South Jersey while supporting my self through college. It was sometimes fun, but mostly an overpaid, gross job full of disgusting perverts and fat slobs who spent their paychecks tipping me before they even went home at the end of the week. Everything about it was depressing. When I quit, I said I’d never dance again, and so far I haven’t. I now feel bad for strippers, and won’t even let Big Mike take photos of OTHER GIRLS’ breasts. It makes me feel like vomiting every time a girl comes into Collective or the Bowery and Bloated Mike convinces them to pose for topless photos. I tell them to think about it – and I curse out Big Mike for not doing something more productive for the community. (Believe it or not, to goad girls with low self-esteem into doing non-scrupulous things with their bodies isn’t going to give them more self-esteem. It’s going to give them LESS, because later on when they sober up or whatever, they remember that Fat Mike has topless photos of their breasts and then they cry and cry and cry. To make themselves feel better, they then date Touching You and he makes a valiant effort to try to fix how broken they are, but just ends up exhausting them emotionally and making them cry even more. (Just kidding, kind of).

My point is, I believe that dancing is good if you use it as a tool to take you someplace else, but I actually just danced around on stage in a bikini. I never had to spread my loaf in a basement of stench. My boss fired me once for being late, so I went to work at a topless place where I was told I’d make more money (since I was topless) but I actually made less money. I returned to my old bikini dancing job and made my $100 bucks an hour strutting around in a bikini, and later graduated with a 3.6 GPA into a $35,000 / year job right out of college. Now, I tell perverted jokes and sing gross songs, and those songs can be troubling for people to hear, but senses are a delicate thing, and some people are affected more vibrantly by what they see than what they hear, and one of those people is me.

I don’t really give a shit about being considered unprofessional for making a scene. The one thing I felt badly about was for getting up and interrupting Teresa’s set, because I thought it might have hurt her feelings to have me storm out. I did apologize for doing that, but she had no problem with showing Tommy D her pussy folds, so if that didn’t bother her, I doubt me leaving did. I don’t really know exactly why I got so upset. But I do know that for some reason, it bothered me very much to be forced to stay in the room and watch when I didn’t want to be there.

Saturday, January 15, 2005

This poem is not about the people in this picture. This poem is about general friendship with every human being on this planet. I only have so much clip art. Send me a picture if you'd like me to make a poem about your picture.

Saturday, January 8, 2005

The top says "Bitchy Poetry" and "by Jessica Delfino." It's too small and white to read clearly.

Thursday, January 6, 2005

Strange News

Did you know that the news can be crazy sometimes? In Ohio, insane things are happening! In Rhode Island, it’s out of control how bizarre life is! In South Dakota, well, I wouldn’t even ask if I were you.

Humptington, MI

In a strange and bizarre turn of events, a 72 year old woman was found mauled, strangled, and raped to death in the kitchen of her 12 year old trailer home. The suspect? None other than Kitty-Wilkens Boots, the woman’s beloved pet of 9 years. Kitty was lying in a nearby windowsill, apparently waiting for authorities to find her there. She is currently being held at St. Christopher’s Women’s Facility, without bail.

Limas, WA.

A person in Washington and their daughter found the cure for AIDS with the help of the US Postal Service. “The mailman had forgotten to deliver my mail that day,” said the person in this story, “and I picked up the phone to call the post office and complain. Just as I did, ball lightning entered the window and chased me to the roof. On the roof, I hid under a cardboard box. In the box was a vial, marked, “cure for AIDS.” I picked it up in my pocket and called you.” Well, you read it here first, folks. It’s a crazy, AIDS-free world out there.

Lowell, MA.

A “spooky” radiator has been “haunting” local residents of a good night’s sleep! Tenants of a building located at 138 Water St. have been complaining that their house is haunted to the landlord. He hired a private ghost detective to investigate, and then it was determined that the radiator was haunting the house, not actual ghosts. Strange as can be!

Smithsville, TN

Lucy Argyle got more than she bargained for when she bit into a bite of her Fruity Pooties last Wednesday in Smithsville. Apparently, the diamond in her wedding ring fell out and into the bowl of soup she was eating. “I bit into the spoonful of cereal, felt the crunch and glanced at my ring at the same instant I swallowed the sugary glob. I realized what had happened a second too late.” Well, looks like Lucy will have to fish the diamond out of her shit by hand if she ever wants to see it again! Insane!!!!!!!

Utopia, IL.

It was just like any other Friday afternoon when Morris Norman saved two babies from a burning building, except that this afternoon, a building was burning with babies inside of it. Morris was on his way back from the store when he saw his apartment building on fire. He ran in to try to grab his favorite jacket when he heard the first baby crying, so he rescued it. As he was almost out of the building, he heard the second baby and rescued that one, too. “It was like I hit the baby in a fire lottery,” the man later commented. Are you starting to get an idea of how crazy this world is yet?

This world is crazy, everyone. It’s a crazy, crazy world, full of crazy, crazy things. Try to make fun of the world if you can, so maybe it’ll stop being so crazy. It’s too fucking crazy. It’s insane. It’s like Crazy Eddie, if Crazy Eddie were the world.

Wednesday, January 5, 2005


I got in a taxi the other day, and the driver was eating a sandwich. So, I was like, excuse me, but can you not eat that sandwich? Can you put it down and pay attention to the road? And he kept eating it. So, I said it again, more loudly, in case he hadn’t heard me the first time. I said, “Excuse me, but can you put down that sandwich?” At that moment, a kid on a bike comes out of nowhere. He slams on the breaks, I smash my face into the glass, and the sandwich went flying all over the car. The thing that I can’t get out of my mind is,

I heard that when suicide bombers kill themselves, they get 100 virgins in heaven. So, how many virgins do taxi cab drivers get? My guess is 8.


Dinner at Mama's was so very fine
It tasted so sweet, like a 9 dollar wine
Potatoes so soft, like a soft baby's head
with Tomatos so red! Like the color of red!

I sipped upon Fresca, a soda of leisure
for rich chicks who eat artificial sweetner
and talked with a friend who I simply adore
we ate too much food, then we shoved down some more
If it weren't for good food, I would cry so much more

Dinner was free, at least it was for me
A plate of hot food, with the steam on all three
It's cheap and in both of the best neighborhoods
I miss my mom. And dinnertime.