...on time machines

so as the bastard mentioned earlier, he has developed some problems breathing. so what's a jerk to do but to go to the doctor and address the problem. besides, blue doesn't go too well as, say, a skin pigment. now the last time i saw my doctor, he was closer to home but has since moved to the lovely guido equivalent of an amish village known as howard beach where if the makes models of the vehicles rolling up and down weren't brandy new, you would be convinced it was still 1986. and that isn't really a neighborhood and all if you like living near the pizza place that was the site of what was probably the most notorious violation of civil rights in my time but, then again, i heard you can get a good slice at the new park pizzeria. or maybe it was the crown heights riot that was the more notorious violation because the guy who killed yankel rosenbaum got off in the long run while the guys in howard beach went to the clink.

but i digress,

i was going to the doctor's office.

now the office at doc's old digs was generally filled with the silent masses who were waiting for the gynecologist who shared the office with him and most of them were russian so i rarely had a conversation with anyone. but this place was a little more ghetto than that. there were these two chuckleheads who were playing with their sidekicks. one (pictured here) just kept opening and closing the fucker. his buddy, who i managed to not get a pic of was the more priceless of the lot. his ringtone was i got money by fiddy cent. how do i know this? because he decided that everyone in the waiting room needed to hear it. i found myself wonderring in the waiting room full of pauly walnuts lookalikes, why no one thought it would be a good idea to stab this kid in the neck with a pencil.

go fig

why do i get all the really choice ideas.

well, since you asked, yeah, i'm breathing better.

—the bastard