I'm from a pretty small Southern town. I graduated from high school with 16 people who I'd known since kindergarten, my family has lived there for generations, you know everyone you pass on the street, blah blah blah. So when I found out my freshman roomate in college was from New York City I was ecstatic about the prospect of going to visit the "Big Apple." You know, seeing all the sites, eating hot dogs in Central Park (my fantasy), and being in the middle of all that hustle and bustle. Well the summer after freshman year I got my chance, and it was... interesting. My roomate lived in Brooklyn and the first night I was there his family took me to a pizza parlor that I'm pretty sure was owned by an organized crime family. Either that or they all just enjoyed wearing matching track suits with gold jewlery and had the biggest hands I've ever seen. Since my college is littered with kids from around NYC, the next night we all met up at a bar in Manhattan that was notorious for not carding. Being 19, I was thrilled to pay 5 bucks for a beer (Heineken Light, all right!). We all stayed until about 3 in the morning, after I had succesfully gotten hammered drunk, given my cell phone number and email address to a 35 year old black woman who continued to call and email me for a month after, and then had an intense conversation with an Irish construction worker about how much we loved titties. At this point one of our friends had passed out on the bar and we had to carry him out of the bar, down the street, convince him when he came to that we were his friends, and then drag him down the steps into the subway to catch the last train back to Brooklyn. On our way down the stair we had to avoid a scraggly looking guy wearing a filthy wife beater and baggy jeans who was passed out and sprawled in the middle of the stairs. After a few minutes of waiting on the filthy wooden benches, and keeping an eye on the scariest looking black man I'd ever seen, we began to wonder what kind of night they guy had had to wind up passed out on a subway platform. Pretty soon we were daring each other to go over and poke him and then sprint back behind one of the columns giggling like school girls. The ante was upped and we tried to take the best picture of him with us posing in the background, which then turned into a nice picture of me with my arm around his shoulders smiling and giving a big thumbs up. He smelled terrible and felt kind of clammy but who was I to talk? I was drunk. Finally our train arrived and we waited for the crowd of people to get off before we could stumble on board. One of the first women to get off the train happened to be a nurse from a local hospital with a conscience still in tact, who attempted to wake the man up and get him off of the stairs. We watched with grins on our faces to see the guy's reaction to being woken up after such a rough night. Suddenly the woman turned around and shouted "Call and ambulance! This man's cold!" Turns out our subway buddy was a crack head who had OD'd about 6 hours before. We deleted the pictures and still get uncomfortable near trains.
On another trip to New York City, I got to meet one of my all-time biggest heroes: stand-up comedian Dave Attell! If you're unfamiliar with Mr. Attell's work, then you're a cunt. His live album "Skanks for the Memories" is the I-Ching of comedy albums, and broke my humor cherry at the ripe old age of 13 (which is probably why I'm writing a blog at 20....).
His combination of life's vulgarities and sexually embarrassing anecdotes would delight any churchgoer's heart. But back to the story. My buddy managed to get 2 tickets to see him perform at Caroline's on Broadway, a very famous comedy venue in the heart of Times Square. We first went to the same bar from before and got nice and toasty. We then raced down Broadway with our dinner (a street vendor hot dog in each hand) and made it to the club just in time. We were seated near the back of the club, which happened to be right next to the back door where the performers would watch each other's sets. It was here I got my first glimpse of the glory of Dave Attell. Too star struck/drunk for words, my friend managed to ask for an autograph on a napkin, which I still treasure to this day. Dave's set was incredible, smut and laughs all the way through. The only negative point was one extremely drunk man who thought that he was just as funny as Dave and that he had the right to stand up and tell him so. Here's a tip for you if you ever go to see a stand up comic: don't heckle them! These people make their living by making fun of people and, trust me, you have enough wrong with your physical appearance for them to make you sit back down with tear in your eyes quicker than you can say "Attention Whore." After the show I was standing near the bar waiting for my friend to come out of the bathroom, where he claims he witnessed the said heckler being told by a group of burly fellows that he was a "pussy-ass piece of shit" and that he should "keep his fucking mouth shut next time." Everyone hates a heckler. Spotting my friend I waved to him from across the crowd. Fortunately, Dave Attell is a short little bastard and he was standing between us and misinterpreted my wave a signal to talk to him. So he walked over and asked me "Hey buddy, how ya doin?" What I had planned to say (Hi Mr. Attell, I'm a huge fan!) came out a bit skewed (Hey! You! I... uh.... Hey!) He shook my hand, patted me on the back and told me to come back anytime. "Yep!" was my erudite response. New York really is a magical place, more stories from my time there to come.
About out of time kids, plenty of money and bitches to get tonight.
As always,
Send me naked pics!
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