The Weak End That Was Neither Weak Nor Seemed To End Part II

Saturday July 17th

After Prince, me and Curious George’s mum were more hungry than me family during Yom Kippur. We marched up and down Hell’s Kitchen with our mouths watering. McHale’s? Closed. Vynl? Ditto. We settled on the only place that looked decent and open (not in that order). This place be called Eatery. And Eatery be an f-in fantastic choice for semi-late at nite or whenever. It’s sorta like Houston’s, but without the really dark lighting. Grab yerself an Adobe Salad or the Mac and Jack. C’mon, when it comes to food, you can trust me!!!

Later that “day”… Woke up, got out of bed, dragged a comb across my head, and nowhere to be found was my friend Jed. Today was going to be hot and sweaty and filled with hipsters, so me and Curious George’s mum needed some pre-Siren-Fest-nurshiment. We headed to the only place for unrelievable $3.50 cubano sandwiches that rock the fliz-house: El Malecon II. Everything there is so deli-scrumptious that Doc Oc himself, Alfred Molina, said in Time Out NY that he munches down there.

We boarded el tren, with a Yes & Know pad in-hand (ours was for ages 11-111 only), and headed on down like the Warriors going to Coney Island. 17 days later (or how long it takes to get from the UWS to CI), we made it to our destination. Not much to describe other than we got high on The Wonder Wheel (swinging car for swingers only), rode the best wooden coaster ever, The Cyclone, twice, rocked a wee bit of skeeball and carnie games, got major swamp ass from the batting cages, ate a forkload of Nathan’s dogs, checked out bitz and pretzels of Electric Six, Blonde Redhead, and You Will Slow Us By The Smell Of The Dead (hard to hear music when a giant rollo coaster is right next to the stage), and also ate a mango on a stick! It was umcredible and here are some pictures of what umcredible looks like:

Sunday July 18

Bored myself to tears with my first visit to the American Museum of Natural History. Didn’t really have a “whale” of a good time looking at fake animals and Native peoples. My interests lie in the unknown, not the known. Therefore my cup of tea was filled in the space shills hizarea. Donated my liver and testicles and I still couldn’t afford the $17.50 (discounted) ticket to the Tom Hanks’ narrated Passport to the Universe flick. Eventually donated my sperm and we were clear for take off. The seats vibrated and I learned that our galaxy is in something called the Virgo Super Cluster. If I ever got that far away from Earth, I’d be so cluster-f%#ked. Wrapped it up with a quick trek round the best American art museum, El Met, scarfed down some mad kill-ill-ah pizza at Big Nick’s, passed out, then woke up for a nite of magical HBO.

Life hasn’t been this grand since I was circumcised.