Monday, December 7, 2009

Mayor of Ponce rambles on ’bout booze, broads and B.S.

Posted By on Mon, Dec 7, 2009 at 6:22 PM

click to enlarge DOWN WITH M.O.P.: Nikky Williams (left) gives spandex a workout.
  • DOWN WITH M.O.P.: Nikky Williams (left) gives spandex a workout.

Soundtrack of My Shame

Like a drunk, horny, ill-respected Andy Rooney. It’s just the essentials — stuff I think about, just not thoroughly….

I love it when you're writing something and then you spell check it, and spell check has no fucking clue what the word you totally mangled was supposed to be. It's like, "'Orange?' Uhh, 'Hippopotamus?' I don't know dude, 'Star Wars?' Just rework the sentence bro, ’cause I have no clue.”

So I watched Marley & Me. In its entirety. Fuck. I didn’t know who I wanted to die more. Marley, Owen Wilson, or Me. That Labrador took longer to die than Brad Pitt in The Curious Case of Snooze Buttons. Or that jackass Emory kid from Into the Wild. Michael Vick needed to make a cameo in that piece of shit.

"The Twitterer" should be a new Batman villain. He just keeps tweeting Bruce Wayne every annoyingly dull aspect of his life: “Ughhh. No parking spaces and it's RAINING!” “Was about to eat cereal and theres NO MILK! aghhhh.”

An actual AJC vent from a hero calling out for people to care in this world. It reads as follows: "Why can't my burger and fries look like the one in the picture. They slap the burger together and it looks sloppy, and the fries are mostly in the bag! Care. Please care. I help pay your rent!"

You, sir or ma’am, are an unsung hero for all retards out there. Your ability to use a computer or phone to get in contact with the Atlanta Journal-Constitution and vent your call for care about this serious epidemic is truly awe inspiring. Keep fighting.

My girl Nikky Williams is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. A tasty nugget of curious wisdom from this city's No. 1 duggy: “How does Lady Gaga know when she’s done getting dressed?”

I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know.

I love going to Rusan's for all u can eat terrible sushi. It’s sushi a step above Publix sushi, but you can have ALL of it. It's fucking paid for. And I love the gay techno music they blast all day and every day, loud and proud.

I also love that there’s usually just me alone at the bar, and about 12 black guys on Bluetooths.

But I do feel sad for that lone section down near the end — the salad bar section. Not a leaf of lettuce is ever touched from 11 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. Pristine as the moment it was set out. Poor iceberg lettuce, nobody wants it.

I love Rusan’s for everything it is. And isn’t. It isn’t a gay techno club, but it is a place for terrible, cheap sushi one step above supermarket quality.

Yep. I can already see it: Mothers Against Texting While Driving.

I want to become a hoarder so I can be a reality TV star. I’d have nuances that would separate me from the pack. Like making people take off their shoes before they enter my trash heap.

I miss the Fountainhead in East Atlanta Village. Eastside Lounge is quite an unfortunate place. Really not much win going on in that place. But it does stay busy on most nights, thanks to the fact that none of its clientele have jobs to go to the next morning … on their really cool skateboards.

“Success Lives In Gwinnet County” is what the massive quote reads on the water tower traveling up Interstate 85. I love the audacity of that pompous bullshit.

Traveling back down 85 from a raucous Athens weekend, Jon Slay and I are pretty banged up in his Lincoln Continental. We hit some stop-and-go traffic and Slay can tell by my cold sweat it’s not looking good for the home team. A few minutes earlier, I spot a CVS bag on the floorboard, thinking it may prove heroic. Slay spots it too and advises that's my escape route. He calmly reaches in the back for some more plastic and says, “Here, you better double bag it. “

Perfect timing. I begin to return the two days of Athens, Ga. sin into a tidy, double-bagged receptacle. Slay, smooth and tranquil, rolls down all four windows with a flick of a button and turns on classical music for the soundtrack of my shame as we continue to roll down 85.

So sure, you can make the condescending claim that “success” lives in your backwards ass county, but I know for a fact that a CVS receptacle of my puke lives there. Double-bagged, of course.

I refuse to leave you with that image. Instead I’ll give you more wonderful instances of beautiful wisdom from an ex-Atlanta Falcon cheerleader — the most adorable of duggies, the sweetest of all honey dips. The incomparable sparkle of Nikky Williams:

“Is getting turned into a vampire desirable or undesirable? I'm confused.”

“There is no 'I' in team and there is no 'team' in Cleveland.”

“The moment between 'a photo of you has been tagged on Facebook' and seeing said photo can often seem like the onset of a heart attack.”

“Dear Snuggie, just say it: 'Wear this robe backwards for $19.95!'”

“Wal Mart: Always creepy. Always”

“If the FedEx guy was American Indian, his name would be 'Stands With Massive Cold Sore.' (In turn, he may think I'm cock-eyed, since only one eye is strong enough to not stare at it.)”

“Scientologists convicted of fraud? I would like to hear what Xenu, the galactic ruler, has to say about these allegations.”

(Photo courtesy J. Winter)

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