Long Island Railroad Duck Envy
Into another season of unsolicited old school advice as we wait for the 5:33am train into the city
Fifteenth in a series of conversations I had with Tom da Lung Eyelund Carpenta as we waited on the train platform for our early morning commute into Manhattan…
“I don’t necessarly wanna be rich. Filty, maybe, but who needs ten million bucks ta be happy? How many steaks can youse eat? Cars drive? Don’t aks my wife about dis, she’ll tell youse she can use all da money I give her.
Instead, all I’s want is ta wake up ta a nice purple sunrise like dis one, burn one out on da porch before da kids get up, an look forward ta not looking forward ta nuttin, at least in da departmint a work.
Ta me, freedom is bein able ta do juss what I wanna do, when I wanna do it, an dat’s it. Not too much ta ask, if ya aks me, but most people don’t, and I didn’t hear youse aksin, eidder.
I don’t take it personals. Youse standin here wid me, anyways, waitin fer da five-turdy-tree train wid us workin stiffs. Everbody should go on strike, but instead, we all juss shut da fuck up an pile inta dese rollin meat wagons every mornin like it’s our last one, no questions asked, here we goes again.
Personly, I’d radder be a duck, like dat McScrooge. Dey got it made! Dey waddle on da land, swim in da watuh, fly tru da air, an quack quack quack all day long, singin ta get laid. Not a care in da world, eggzept chokin on an old cheetoh or gettin shot by some asshole lettin off steam afta workin all day fer odder assholes.
Tink a how much stress we get juss ta pay bills fer shit dat makes us more stressed. Why do we give a shit about shit we don’t need? Don’t get me wrong, I love my boat, but youse got no idea how much I sink inta dat floatin bankruptcy magnet.
Da wife loves it, too, until she complains evry ten minits how I should instead buy her a new car. Den when we’re set ta go on da boat, takes her eight hours ta prep fer a two hour trip. By da time we get to da dock I owe anodder paymint. Disaster, Son!
Meanwhile some fisherman in Mexico who lives in a fucken hut eatin raw clams is laughin his ass off. Dat mornin he’ on a dock sittin next ta a random Wall Street prick who worked his ass off for twenny years just ta earn da privilege ta sit next ta dis fisherman sittin on a dock, eatin raw clams, an doin nuthin.
How fucked up is dat? Why don’t we just cut right to da chase? We’re killin ourselves ta live. Didn’t Ozzie sing sometin like dat? The man was a GOAT, rock n roll royalty, bet he doesn’t give a fuck about ducks.
On dat note, here’s our train, an here we go again. Have a nice fucken day, and oh, yeah, happy fucken new year’s…”
Here’s more Tom…
