SUBWAY FIGHT!!!!! (and I stole a Bible)


"How do I know I'm mad?" asked Alice. "You must be" said the cat. "Or you wouldn't have come here."

Good thing Lewis Carrol was quoted in Batman: Arkham Asylum so I don't have look up anything for a blog.

Point being: however gentrified this city is, there is still enough crazy to go around. Trust me, it's not nearly as ballznutz crazy as it was in the 80's, when just making it through the Port Authority after rush hour was considered cheating death, but it still can test you in ways you can't smell coming. Maybe that's what this place is - an Arkham Asylum isolated by dirty rivers and ten dollar tolls. Don't get me wrong, I love it here. But some days I think I am insane for even wanting to live here. I stay up at night dreaming of a bland, spacious, McApartment in Indiana with a nice car. Days like today.

After working on Labor Day, I was heading home on the uptown N. I sat between a pair of ginormous, friendly lesbians who tried in vain to make room for me on the bench (wasn't happening) and a pair of Queens bound Queens across form me. A tall black guy with a Bible gets on at Queensboro Plaza. (sounds like a priest and a rabbi joke, but this really happened and was decidedly NOT FUNNY)

The man immediately started shouting very loudly. Even on a separate decibel scale of subway nuttery, this man stood out.
"Jesus!" he screamed. "Homosexuals and Fornicators will fry in hell."
As is always the case when I encounter the batshit I remember the rules
1. No eye contact
2. Do not try to reason with the batshit
3. Pretend you do not hear the man shouting two feet away from you.

"Gay people are a curse! It is not a choice! They are a curse on humanity!" he went on.
The gays just rolled their eyes. I did not want to dignify him bu so much as looking up from my book. Ignore him and he'll go away. My mother might say. Not today, Ma.
"There are hellbound gay people right here!" He then pointed (pointed!) to the pair of Queens, who were still in the increasingly ineffective "pretend we don't notice" mode.

Finally, a voice of dissent in the form of the oldest man on the train. Surely this elderly, bestpectacled man had seen too much in his 80 or so years to tolerate such ignorance. "Shut the fuck up! No one wants to what you think!" the old man barked and received a thunderous ovation. He went on "You'll be there in hell with him. All the ni**ers. You're all going to hell!"
(applause tetering out)
"You and all the other ni**ers! You people are all murderers and rapists."

In Minnesota, this hate-spewing man, bible guy (uhm the black guy who hates gays, not the white guy who hates black guys) would be the craziest man in four states. In this city, he is only THE SECOND CRAZIEST MAN ON THE TRAIN!

From 39th street to Broadway no one made a sound other than these two men. The riders, confused, being forced to back a homophobic screaming man or and elderly racist just stared at them and braced for some unforeseen ugliness. The tension could only last only one I thought.

The old racist got off at Broadway, and dropped a series of N-bombs on his way out the door. But the Bible guy douchenozzle never missed a beat. "Hell is a real place. Homosexuals will burn!" A voice from the back finally yelled, "Shut the fuck up, asshole" and got some applause as people desperately wanted a non-racist spokesperson to stand up to this nut. Anything to make him stop. The nutcase said "Only the homosexuals clapped!" To which i said, "I'm straight and I clapped." Which may be the first sign I was losing it since I had to have my sexuality validated by the homeless. (one of the lesbians patted me on the back for saying that) Anyway the crowd now really ganged up on and this guy seemed to dig in further as he got outnumbered.

Finally, at 30th ave the man who yelled shut the fuck up walked up to confront this guy. I thought, well here comes the fight and ensuing rioting and looting. I just hope it comes after my stop. This man was not gay. He was not black. He was not making a statement as far as I can tell. He was however, very pissed off. He cocked his arm back, as if he was going to throw a punch, but instead he spit in his face! At point blank range! Then for good measure he punched him anyway. I mean he landed a haymaker, the kind you see in a movie that makes a huge popping sound. And the guy went down Glass Joe -style!

The angry dude (uhm, again the white guy) probably would have continued to beat the shit out of him, but his stop was Astoria Blvd. His girlfriend pulled him off the train. Amazingly, the hateful screaming bat-shit, fuckface got right up, didn't even wipe the spit from his face and started yelling again, "They spit on Jesus! They beat Jesus! They yelled insults at him! I am here to save you!" Now every remaining person was yelling at this guy. After comparing himself to Jesus I said, "Pride comes before the fall." Now I know I am losing it because he made me quote the Bible. And I only knew that because it was in the Departed.

With two, possibly three minutes till my stop. I simply could not bear this hideous screaming another second. Punching, spitting, and screaming back did not deter him. Then it an idea so simple it's stupid, so brilliant it's retarded: steal his Bible. He waved that thing around like Thurman Thomas carries a football. In one motion I could grab the Bible, fling it out the doors when the opened, that way he would chase after it and the doors would close behind behind him. Me and my new gay friends would point and taunt as he banged on the closed doors. Brilliant. (see and unwritten blog that disproved my Arthur Fonzarelli one-punch knockout plan that resulted in getting band from the Derby in Atlanta since 1999)

The only problem was this was the last stop. Of course we were all getting off at Ditmars as coincidence would have it. I walked slow on the platform hoping he would walk ahead of me. But he slowed down to wait for the gays to get off so he could yell at them all the way down the stairs. So he ended up right next to me. Immediately he started screaming at the poor gay guys, who through all this tried to take the high road. There it was right at arm's length. It actually went just like I saw in my revenge fantasy! I snagged it right from under him. His tone changed from fire and brimstone to some sort of pathetic plea bargainer. "No really, give me back the Bible. C'Mon man, I need it." His voice hardly a whisper.

"My Bible now." I replied like a teacher who just took away a paper airplane.

"Really, give me back my Bible." I faked as if I threw it over the elevated platform. And his eyes followed like when I used to fake throw the tennis balls to my dear departed Chocolate Lab.

"You'll get it back if you say nothing between now and the time I cross that turnstile. "No I need my Bi-" Then he just cut off. Then after the long two seconds, I went through the turnstile before he did. Then true to my word, I dropped it at his feet.

There are so many things wrong with this incident, I don't know where to start. Let me see:

1) First of all, what if some bystanders or police officer saw me steal a Bible from a possibly homeless man and throw it? I completely forgot that the Bible is considered sacred by some sane people as well and it is more illegal than anything he did

2) This man knows my stop and could have followed me home and sacrificed me to his God

3)Obvious racists and homophobes need little prompting to let their true colors show even in the most inappropriate places.

4) The First Amendment sucks

5)How fast mob mentality can take over

6) Did sanity prevail after all? Or did this man "win" for disrupting everyone- did we "lose" for being unable to ignore him.

7) Why did it take an act of violence to unite us? Again, I think it is seldom justified- but never is a strong word. Some people need a punch in the face.

8) Is taking the high road always a more appropriate action than a confrontation, even on the subway?

More so than anything I just felt I was sane at 14th street and I was a little less sane when I got to Ditmars. Too late for a timeshare in Montanta?

Infinite McFlys + Infinite Biffs = Infinite Buttheads

Nothing in Back to the Future or it's sequels makes a damn bit of sense, even by 80s movies standards. Not that time travel makes sense in any movie. Like a prom night slut on her fourth Bartles and James, we are willing to swallow quite a bit. We need to dumb ourselves down for that two pumps and a squirt worth of entertainment and will believe anything. Well, almost anything. If it's a western, we know John Wayne's six shooter can fire anywhere from 11-to 48 times, pending the number of Jews painted like Indians he may encounter. But you, Back to the Future, you had to go and insult us.

Let's start in order of magnitude of bullshit.

1) You could always try again, with a time machine

Okay you know the set up of Part II: Biff is the mayor or some shit, Hill Valley is a crime-ridden cesspool and Lea Thompson has twice the Boobage she had in Space Camp. (side note: she gets in on with Tom Cruise in All the Right Moves and he is in waaaay over his head)

Here you go, pervs

Why is good old Hill Valley in tatters? The answer is perfectly logical: Biff went back in time and stole a sports almanac and was able to amass a fortune based on gambling winnings and subsequently mount Marty's mom. And as Doc Brown shat out the entire ludicrous backstory with the chalkboard. He warns Marty, "We must not fail in our task!!!" Marty asks, "Then what happens?" And Doc doesn't even answer him, because he knows Marty just stumbled upon a giant plot hole!

Marty knows the truth: If he failed to retrieve the Sports Almanac. He could just try again the next day. Or the day before. Or at any point. In fact. He could go all the way back and snuff out infant Biff with a pillow. They didn't even know about SIDS back then. So really nothing depends on the Sports Almanac at all. And of course, Biff could go back the day before Marty arrives and take the Almanac back, back and forth until some it is so confusing and muddled we have The Biff Tannen Chronicles on Fox. Which leads us right to our next problem:

The Multiple Biff Conundrum.

The Marty in the leather jacket has to avoid the Marty from the first movie that is onstage making Johnny B. Goode white and Canadian. Doc Brown, who warns Marty to avoid the "other" Marty, for some reason is just casually passing by the clock tower where he knows the other Doc Brown will already be there for the 1.21 jigawatts (it's gigawatts, right? Hard G?) He seem intent on not heeding his own advice on not
disrupting the space/time continuum.

So part III takes place in the Hill Valley of 1885. So now Never there is a Doc Brown in 1885, one in 1955 and one in 1985 and none of the Doc Browns noted the Highlander-like scientific necessity of killing the others- "There can only be one!" proclaimed notes physicist Connor McLeod (on a side note why was Christopher Lambert cast as a Scot and Sean Connery cast as Spaniard) No seriously, he needs to kill the other Doc Browns for cosmic harmony.

So for every trip they take in the DeLorean, there is a identical Marty and identical Doc and identical Biff all disrupting an identical timeline. Making an infinite number of lines in the chalkboard and an exponential number of Hill Valleys. Surely they could let Biff have his Casino in one of them. Clearly he has self-esteem issues. Or they could just leave that Dystopian nightmare and live in any of the paralell Hill Valleys. Maybe even one that's racially integrated.

3) Clark Kent Complex

ANYWAY, once Marty is in 1885, he stumbles upon his great-great grandfather, who is just Michael J. Fox in a mustache and Irish accent so bad he sounds like the drunk Irish cops in the Bugs Bunny shorts that got pulled from syndication. So Maggie McFly does not notice that her husband and the awkward stranger LOOK EXACTLY ALIKE? Of course she doesn't. Couldn't he just has easily looked exactly like Crispin Glover or does the identical gene skip four generations? That's not to even mention that neither Lorraine McFly or Geroge notice that their son looks EXACTLY like that kind stranger who got them together at the Enchantment under the Sea Dance.

4) Bad Dialogue 1885-present

Those are just a few of the major plot holes. To say nothing of little things like when Marty refers to John F. Kennedy boulevard, the archetype 50's soda jerk replies, "Who the hell is John F. Kennedy?" What an unnatural response! Go to another town and tell another person the name of your street. Aren't most streets named after people you've never heard of? (thanks Chris for pointing this out)

The McFlys have been replaced by Pod Replicants

Furthermore, at the end of the first one when he returns to the "fixed" Hill Valley Timeline, George is a best selling author Lorraine is still hot, his brother no longer works at Burger King and his chubby sister has become a popular slut. So in other words, Marty returns home to find a house full of strangers. Wouldn't that be alienating as hell?

The only plausible explanation for time travel is in Austin Powers when Basil Expedition looks right in the camera and says, "I'm not worried about it and neither should you." and I am paraphrasing. Scientists however argue that while time travel is pretty dodgy, parallel universes are scientifically sound theories, this is where Back to the Future is below DC Comics's multiverse in plausibility. In mathematical terms: the amount of molecules colliding in the universe is vast beyond comprehension but not infinite, meaning at some point all those random molecules will collide in the exact same order at some point. So it is a scientific probability that you are reading this exact same inane blog in another universe. Loser.

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I fought pirannas and I fought the cold....

I really did walk in on my parents fucking. I was just old enough to figure out precisely what was going on. My Dad was on top, reminding me much of the wave pool in Action Park and my Mom was on the bottom just looking terrified. Not that I caught them, but that my obese father would lose his balance in the confusion and kill her. It was physically impossible to back pedal out of there, slam the door and haul ass back upstairs any faster than I did. It matters not. The damage had been done. That image was singed into my brain forever. It can't be undone.

Today on the ever important facebook news feed it said to try some new friend finder, that I think is exactly like the new friend finder. Though I can't imagine anyone I would still want to find that isn't already on this godforsaken abyss of time suckage, but I am impulsive as shit. Immediately, I saw my ex. Which one, you may ask. THE ex. The one I had to make a conscious decision to never, ever look up on Facebook, even in my weakest hour. Like i did some 25 years earlier, I quickly tried to unsee what I saw. I exed out of there (pun) like I had busty lesbian enema videos on my work computer. It was no use. It was such a blur I can only be sure of two things: 1) It was definitely her, her super blonde, long blonde hair was a blinding and beautiful 2) the guy she is with is dressed as a pumpkin.

Do you really want to be friends with girls from your past. Or are you planting your seed to plant your seed? Are you vying for the coveted title of emergency dick in a box? Or do you have a legitimate pathetic desire to count your ex as a friend? Who knows what are true motivations are...

Facebook, without fail, will lead us headlong into the icy apocalypse

Anyone there read books? Of course you do. That is just the bitter, elitist, book-smart with no skills grouchy old-man who still has a VCR and scarcely knows how to blog talking. I won't accuse you of being less smart than me by blah, blah, blahing that print is dead. Pretentious hipster fuckwads. I fucking love video games and I am so computer literate I shit on an iToilet.

Irregardless, as they say in south Georgia, (anywhere past Atlanta airport) Kurt Vonnegut is my favorite writer, as he is many isolated broke-ass doomsday dreamers my age. Cat's Cradle is one of my faves for sure, since all real literature is either about love or the apocalypse anyway. In that story there is a Calypso prophet named Bokonon, who forms a new religion. He saw the end of the world coming before it froze over. The government leaked a formula for a weapon called "Ice-9" that, you guessed it, leads us all to an Ice Age 2: Electric Bugaloo. I specify this to differentiate this from the animated movie, "Ice Age 2"
My bad!

I don't have the book in front of me, my two dollar copy just disintegrated in my hands one day. But as far as I remember, one of the calypsos of Bokonon defined your "karras," I think, for a simple definition was people who's destinies were intertwined or collided with yours. In the book the four people in a plane crash were in the same karras. They wouldn't know each other on thier own accord, but are conjoined by forces out of their control.

In my own terms, the waiter who waits on you when you're breaking up with your girl, some homeless guy with shit stuck to his pants that makes you realize your more repulsed by other people than empathetic or maybe it's the guy at Krauser's who sold your mother the lemon flavored pez that got mixed in with her birth control pills that resulted in you being born (by all means picture your parents fucking in a '73 Dodge Dart right now) or whatever. They are all in your karrass, these are people doing thy (God's???) will, unwittingly so, nothing is at random as it seems.

All of the this leads me to my next long-winded point. Facebook has greatly upset karass. There was a natural order of things. Particulary, the past stayed in the past. For generations we survived without knowing what they guy from college who ate human shit on a cracker for five bucks, thought about health care. Must we know everything about everybody? Yes, there are people who get married via Facebook (i know two couples offhand, who couldn't seem happier) But I think for the most part, we are projecting our neurosis, adulterous lust, pride in children to the point of mass annoyance and most of all, we have a transparent window into just how lonely adult life can be.

So how is this leading to the apocalypse? That I do not know. But i think Bokonon would call Facebook a "grafalloon" which is a false Karass, people who think they have a real connection when they don't. Like being from the same hometown, liking the same band etc. I think this will result in chaos and a future where people forget how to socialize and the erosion of basic human empathy and privacy. Can you imagine a status update from June, 5, 1944? "Dewey Morris is gearing up to invade Normandy. Hope there are no Germans on FB!!! LOL!!!!"

On a personal level, I have been thinking of fates, fortunato and (Alex) Karrass (former NFL lineman who played the Dad on "Webster") Why did I bump into someone I used to work with on Will & Grace on the 4 train, when I so would have preferred to cut my sac with a rusty razor than to talk to him? How can I separate the Karras from the Garafallon??? Can you date in the facebook age where you have advanced knowledge how bad your next breakup will be? Spoiler alert!!! You're petty attempts at free will are laughable.

But I take comfort at the random chaos of science. That works better for me than some "It's all God's will" Now that's a reach!!!

Coming soon: How will lead us to generations of inbreeding.
Home is where you're barely tolerated.

Schindler's List 2: Electric Bugaloo.

Them Nazi's got served!!!!! No you di'int!!!!


Hey anyone,

As you can see I haven't blogged in months and have yet to really blog anything of substance, as if I would want to do that. I have been slow to recognize the word "blog" as an action verb anyway, but they used to say the same about "pork."

Similarly, I am slow to embrace new technology and blogging isn't even really new anymore, but I continued to make mixed tapes until 2005. ("Crimson and Clover," "So Alive" were on my standard nookie mix- kidding- sort of)

Those who know me know that I have been writing my whole life and will continue to do so whether I ever get paid to or not. I have kept a journal as long as I could write. It's a perverse and disturbing trail of Jack Torrence-like rants, repressed Catholic smutty thoughts and insufferable abstract poems that are really about food or sex anyway. Its scrwaled across about 50 bent spiral notebooks that I don't even know where the hell they are.

You would think that I would naturally be blogging out of this but I always thought they canceled each other out. A journal after all is completely free since no one ever reads it. So what point is a blog? Well ultimately, writing something that no one will read is just mastubatory and cowardly anyway. In other words I didn't want to blog because I didn't want to write anything that was less than honest and if I truly revealed the inner-most thoughts of my concious, I simply wouldn't have friends anymore. I feel like I have to be so damn neutral on my Facebook page or risk being stuck in a healthcare debate with some neanderthal townie I haven't seen in 20 years. (Sometimes I think all of this is unnatural and we are disrupting natural social order of things by not leaving the past in the past, but that's a separate post)

In the end, I know that truth is subjective and fluid anyway, and this hopefully will be a tad less self-indulgent than my journal (though plenty self-indulgent, in case you forgot who you were talking to) I suppose to, we can safely conclude that I overthought this and pretty much everything else.
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