NEW YORK CITY REPORT

The rage in New York City today is Mayor Bloomberg’s “surprise” decision to abandon the Republican Party the way you might discard an inflatable sex doll that has long been suffering a slow leak – there’s not enough left to lie on, so into the rubbish she goes.

He was forced to leave it after getting caught smoking a joint backstage at the Oral Roberts University Right to Life Prayer Breakfast in Open Crotch, Arkansas earlier this month.

Nevertheless, if Bloomberg is counting on winning the presidency he’s been drinking too much New York City tap water. Having lived his whole life in Boston and New York, he is discounting the countless millions of lawn mower professionals and car detailers who inhabit the nether reaches of our great Republic, to whom he is a horned, tailed, cloven-hoofed disciple of Satan. As these Okies told me during a Caribbean vacation recently after spotting the Star of David hanging from a gold chain around my neck, “We never met a Jew before.”

“How do you like it?” I inquired.

“It’s awright,” he allowed.

Jeez, what a relief! Nevertheless, while I wish him well, I don’t have high hopes for Bloomberg’s presidential bid and I seriously doubt whether he will ever win the endorsement of the West Texas Butt Riders Association with his wingtip brogues and Brooks Brothers Suits. Recently I saw him on TV attending a Yankees-Mets game and he was wearing a canary-yellow v-neck sweater from Madison Avenue, which is just around the corner from his townhouse on 79th Street. Not exactly the attire to instill admiration in the rednecks stalking the power tool section of Wal Mart in search of a new pair of work boots.

Bush, who has got the kind of money that Bloomberg can only dream about, succeeded in endearing himself to these idiots because he’s a moron himself. Also, he’s not a Jew. Anyway, it’s my contention that Bloomberg still has his work cut out for him here in New York. He may have done wonders with the crime rate, but he’s no Pied Piper: we’re still overrun with rats and roaches. The latest eating establishment to get hit with a rodent attack is the Pinkberry frozen yogurt store on Second Avenue in my neighborhood of the Upper East Side. A passerby happened to look inside the place after closing hours and saw some mice running around the floor. Using his cell phone, this solid citizen immediately called that great public servant of news information, The New York Post, and they sent over a reporter toute de suite!

These cell phone people are everywhere ready to rat you out for anything. They are paying a fortune of money for the privilege of running these toys, and they need a reason to use them. One guy was walking his dog and looking in the windows of parked cars, and he saw wires sticking out of some stereo equipment, so he called the cops and they blew up the van only to discover that the equipment was a stereo. It’s reached the point where you can’t even mind your own business and jerk off on the 7 train without some busybody broadcasting your photo all over the Internet.

The difference is, Pinkberry does not serve a minority clientele as does KFC, whose rat problem earlier this year resulted in a nationwide scandal and the shuttering of multiple stores. Pinkberry is savored by an elite class of white people that you will never see hanging around a Dairy Queen. As a result, instead of massive headlines accompanied by full-page photo reportage, the Pinkberry coverage was confined to one-third of a column with no pictures, buried deep in the darkest interior of The Post.

Remarking on this disparity, I immediately assumed my mantle of investigative reporter and rushed over to Pinkberry to gauge for myself the severity of the public health menace. I ordered the fresh fruit sundae and was immediately suspicious to see that it was topped off with suspicious little black speckles.

“What are these?” I demanded of the counterman. “They look like mouse droppings.”

“What do you care,” he responded insouciantly, “as long as there’s no rats in your ice cream? There’s rats all over the city. Get used to it!”

The guy had a point. I have mice in my apartment. Every morning there are droppings to clean up in my kitchen area. For a while there were actual large rats getting in through holes in the wall behind the refrigerator, before I had the holes plugged up.

New York is plagued by rodents from the top of Rockefeller Center to the mansions of Fifth Avenue. One time this woman told me that she loved living in New Jersey because she loved being surrounded by nature. I responded, “Hell, I’ve got nature living right in my apartment.” She gave me a look like she had just smelled a damn rat.

I’ve got glue traps, spring traps, poison, roach bait, you name it. But the rats and roaches just keep on comin’!

Once I had to take a job managing an industrial bakery in Hell’s Kitchen. Part of the job was keeping the rats, roaches and flies out of the food product and I had my own little army of undocumented aliens to keep the little buggers at bay. The rats and roaches, they weren’t that bad, but the flies were impossible. They used to fly right into the dough mixing machines as the doors were closing, to get mixed into the 400 lb. batches of dough, I kid you not. Next time you eat a bagel, try to focus your mind on the little fly particles contained therein. Oh goody!

The FDA is fully aware of this. That’s why the regulations make allowance for a certain percentage of insect contamination to be permitted in your food. Food processing is the most gruesome industry you can imagine. The fact that we live a long time in this country is testament more to the industrial strength of our digestive acids than to the magnificent detective work of our food inspectors.

I had just gotten outside on the sidewalk and was preparing to enjoy my rodent infested frozen yogurt when this girl stepped onto me and got her titty stuck in my ice cream. She was topless and the titty was all mixed into the kiwi fruit and the blueberries.

She screamed at me “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, you asshole!” A bicycle policeman in short pants and a helmet happened to be sitting on his bike nearby eating a frozen yogurt, and he broke out laughing.

“Hey,” I said, “aren’t you going to arrest her for going around topless?”

“Nope. The court ruled that it’s legal for women to go bare-chested. My sergeant said not to arrest them.”

So, while Bloomberg is running around the country running for president, the mice are running Born Free in the frozen yogurt and the women are rampaging bare-titty through the streets of New York. Look at it this way, folks, if Bloomberg wins maybe you won’t have to come to New York. Maybe the rats and roaches and the bare-titty girls will come to you.

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Posted on 6/20/2007 ( Permanent Link )
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