once upon a time 9 years ago the nice lady and i moved in together and started our lives together. at under one roof that is. it was quiet, despite being on a main drag. we had a balloon shop nearby. in 1999, they went belly up and now there is this italian restaurant that shall remain nameless and at this point i have to urge the dub to keep th ename out of this. i try to keep everyones name out of this to preserve some illusion of anonymity for my limited readership. i do not want this jerk (pictured here with either his sign maker or his rent boy. either way i hope he's a rent boy because his signs leave alot to be desired)to receive any manner of free publicity whatsoever. anyway i will share his name. this special asshole is named danny and he is a terribly inconsiderate man that doesn't have a clue about how to run a restaurant. we live in the last death throes of an italian neighborhood so there are 3 italian restaurants on this block alone before he showed up and what did he open up...you guessed it, romanian food (you get it right?) anyway, danny installed tin ceilings that reverberate sound off of them. doors that open to the street, so that one can hear awful caterwauling amateur pianists cover celine dion tunes...badly. on top of that danny charges alot of money for crap portions from what i understand (i won't eat there). and according to my polish neighbors accross the street, they don't know how to serve vodka. so with this brilliant formula you'd think the restaurant would do well. nah. so danny started a karaoke night to boost his sales. it essentially his most money making night of the week. it has everything that you'd ever need:
old folks who sing badly, and re-enforce bad italian stereotypes,
i reiterate old folks who sing badly
let's not forget this big fat joe bag o donuts here. he thinks he's tony soprano,
oh yeah and middle aged losers making out under the boys window. now when the boy wants to find out how babies are made i can just tell him to look out the window.
and this is the special, special asshole who brings all the thumping bass equipment for this extravaganza. sometimes he takes loose women out to his car while some silver haired guido chucklehead whose best days are behind him sings "knights in white satin" (tone deaf with your best brooklyn accent) and share some weed with her jet trash looking self (you know how much the bastard loves a mini skirt on a 60 something, ewwwwwwwwwww). nothing helps old guys get their swerve on like a little grass.
okay, the bastard's gotten used to this stuff. why did i bother with this little song and dance? it's like this. when it was 1999 the nice lady and i were expecting the boy and we thought about a house but we couldn't afford 1999 house prices. and now that we can afford 1999 house prices...well...you know. i have become accustomed to all of this racket and i have accepted it. it's a routine. the bastard never goes to bed on tuesday before 12:30 anymore and i can deal with it. but i wanted to try and capture how i felt when this started. when i was out of work and sweating out how i was going to make ends meet without a job (truth to tell, i lucked into something quickly) and feeling absolutely helpless because there was no 311 at the time (not that filing a noise complaint with them gets you any satisfaction). it was just you and the owner and the police. and the police here do NOTHING. well not entirely. one time the bastard hung his head out of the window and shamed a passing patrol car into asking them to turn it down. yes you heard it right. i had to SHAME THEM. he shook his head and begrudgedly got out of the car to do his job. anyway, i wanted to remember the helplessness the bastard used to feel which has given way to apathy unitl tonight when the boy asked me what hat racket was at 10:30 tonight. i am a very petty man when i want to be and truth to tell is that these fat old jerks are the face of many of our futures to come one day. but their escapism is my insomnia so screw them. i think the bastard has a new hobby. good night shiteyes, wherever you are
—the bastard
6 comments:
they weren't any louder than usual. i've been stockpiling photos of karaoke night for later use. last night was just a good time to use them.
well not knowing i guess is a good thing. nothing personal dub, i have no faith
—b
i did tell grandma. she didn't believe me. called me up 6 months later to tell me the dictionary said that christmas was in december. it was then that i discovered that religion has no place in a historical discussion unless you are using that story book as a historical document.
don't tell monsignor schmidt that the dodgers left brooklyn a long ass time ago.
here's the punchline on that. most of these photos were takien while walking down the way to get ice cream with zsolte. everytime i popped one off, zsolte lets out a big ol belly laugh. i could give two tugs of a dead dogs johnson how these idiots feel. they have no respect for the neighborhood and the people that live in it. i know people down the block in private homes that have to put up with this stuff.
lilo and stitch? dude, you have got to go see batman or something. besides, i am so much more malicious looking than that.
—the bastard
i know because i see commercials. the boy, despite the amount of warner bros he watches @ the rents has only seen 2 or 3 movies. one of them was madagascar the other was finding nemo. oh and that moby music show at the planetarium.
i know the feeling. the only thing karaoke night has done for me is keeping me up watching family guy futurama and reruns of the tick. that and i've been getting into rescue me. i have had my fill of the food channel so much.
—bas
First of all, calling the kids AJR Speedwagon is quite possibly the greatest nickname ever, even better than Judge Roughneck. Second, I can't believe you didn't mention the Whiskey Bar in all of this. And now that it is called St. James, is it quieter? And shouldn't you go in there and claim it as your own, or should the speeling be Jaymz.
it was originally ajr overdrive but know the dub to be supersticious i guess he changed it so that none of the kids wind up stuttering. it's all good. i still like judge roughneck.
the whiskey bar was never more than a phone call away form silence for me. richie, the giant among bartenders always knew how to be a good neighbor. that's why he is the giant of bartenders.
according to john karaoke next door, (not the restaurant, another neighbor. a nice neighbor), he has friends that bought a house close by and they are miserable from the noise. i don't hear it but quite like a tree in the woods, it's there. i will only claim the st james if iut is called BASTARDS LONG PIG EMPORIUM.
well played dub
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