Six Foot Dick

I wake up late.

No six O'clock AM for me today. I wake at Eight.

With a tremendously bad taste in my mouth. My open mouth feels and tastes like the inside of a basketball player's sneaker. I rise and Igor is across from me, already up, already on his laptop. I am ashamed. I should be up when he rises. This day has already started backwards. I walk into the bathroom to take my morning leak and wash out my mouth. I decide coffee will do a better job than just brushing my teeth. I go and have a cup of the shit that they serve here in the Box in the morning, and actually, it wasn't all that bad.

I wander back to my bed and set up the Internet, going through my morning routine of email and blogging and Roundtree wakes. He wakes groggily. "Goodmorning Hobobob." He mumbles. I acknowledge him. Wendy, the Wicked Witch of the West flies by on her broom announcing morning medication. It's time for me to get the fuck out of dodge.

I'm on the Way, reading my book before I know it. There will be scheduled repairs and stops will be skipped. Arrangements need to be made. I get to the sidewalks of Gotham and walking I find an unusual smattering of tourists. Either more than usual, or I'm more sensitive to them this Sunday. They are standing in the entrance to the Way as if afraid of a little rain. I walk out into it sans umbrella and rejoice in the embrace of the refreshing coolness of drops. I head to the Starbucks, running into more tourists, toting cameras and staring up at the raining skies, their bodies covered by bright, thin plastic ponchos. They look comical.

I hit Madison Avenue Starbucks, grab a table and coffee and check the bathroom, finding it closed for repairs. This is not uncommon here. They close down the bathroom for repairs whenever they don't feel like cleaning it. But this will not do for me. In my morning meds is a very powerful waterpill, which as you well know of my exploits of urinating in the most unlikeliest of places, I cannot hold back. I decide to walk over to the Fifth Avenue Starbucks instead.

On my way there I find even more tourists on Fifth Avenue. An avenue that is more designed for them. Fifth avenue is more garish, and stupid and insipid than most, being near to the Empire State building, the shops here do anything to attract tourists. So in their efforts to get them to stop and shop they place shit of all kinds outside in front of their stores. A human-sized Statue of Liberty, a life sized cut out of Senator Obama waving, even a huge spider with a web that looks like you're caught in it.

And these zany tourists and posing around them, smiling, waving: "Look Ma, I'm in New York with an oversized spider!!" I burn inside. Don't ask me why, but I find them stupid. Enjoy New York, not these asinine tourist traps. I swear to God, I believe in my heart of hearts, if you were to put something inherently offensive up, like a six foot erection and hairy balls out in the middle of the sidewalk you will have tourists flocking around it to pose. It should be mechanical too, with a pump in the testicles so that if you stomp on one it'll send a two foot stream of whipped cream from its head. That'll get 'em flocking.

Alright, all of you non-New Yorkers out there who think that I'm being elitist please take a moment to understand me before you pass judgment. I'm not knocking tourists. I'm knocking the shit out of people who 'act like tourists'. Come to New York like a few friends that I know. Come and enjoy the fucking city, the nightlife, the sights, the food, the people. Come and enjoy all of that shit. Just LEAVE THE TOURIST ATTRACTIONS ALONE. leave the six foot penises where they are at, and maybe, just maybe, they'll all go away, and Fifth avenue will become a street again. You don't have to stomp on the testicle to enjoy yourself in New York.

I make it to the establish- ment just as a burning settles into my own loins. There was no way that I could have stayed in Madison Starbucks without pissing all over myself. As I rush in, there is nothing in the Starbucks but tourists. How do I know? Because they are all speaking, and nothing is in english unless it is heavily accented. I'm not pissed now. I'm pissing.

I find a nice table and make myself comfortable. I'm back online, with a cup, make that two cups, of coffee in front of me. The rain outside falls harder, smashing against the huge windows of the Starbucks. I stare outside.

This is home for me now.

Writing, coffee and Starbucks.

And tourists.

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