My Blog

Hands down, my favorite place in the world.  This dump opened in 1958, in the east village of Manhattan.  Almost 150 years later, the place smells like old, smelly Irishmen urine, onions and foamy beer.  Garland and I made our way over there Friday night, and got the full experience of fall down drunkeness, getting yelled at by the angry Irish waiters, and having a taste of the horseradish mustard. 

The best part of this place is that not only did they not allow women in until 1970, but they didn’t build the first woman’s room until 1986. 

Actually, the best part is the good times you have there, the beer and whole getting thrown out by your shirt thing.

Do
you care to learn how Ethan and I became friends? You see it’s quite a tale of sorts. One summer night, back when we were all still attending
university, Paul Kanakaraj, Jay Camhi and myself decided on an impromptu voyage
to our local strip club, Stilettos, for a rapturous evening of debauchery and
pot-induced revelry. As a black Corolla
pulled forth to “scoop up” Paul and I, as we used to say in our collegiate
days, I noticed a gawky, skinny Jew sitting in the front seat of Mr. Camhi’s
automobile. This charming young lad and
I developed a rappoire in my mind based on his vast knowledge of Professional
Wrestling, his disdain for Keith Mansfield, and his relentless desire for
bush. By the time Mr. Shapira and
myself were seating in the corner seats of Table 2 at the establishment, a
young lady sprung out of no where, spread her legs in front of us, like a
Preying Mantis awaiting it’s spoil, and in one felt swoop, grabbed us both with
her legs and pulled out faces into her pelvic region. For more than 30 seconds, Mr. Schapira and myself were pressed
face-to-face, a mere inches from this young ladies worn and vivacious outer
labium. In those 30 malodorous,
incredible, vile, awe-inspiring seconds, a friendship was born…

Wow, this is my first Friendster blog.  I feel special.