Long Island Railroad Travel Agency
The unsolicited old school advice continues as we wait for the 5:33am train into the city
Twenty-eighth in a series of conversations I had with Tom da Lung Eyelund Carpenta as we waited for our early morning commute into Manhattan…
“Youse flyin all around, huh? In case youse hadn’t a heard, planes fall outta da fucken sky an vanish widdout a trace.
What da fuck happened ta Google Maps? I can see my house from outta space, down ta what’s cookin on my BBQ grill, an dey can’t find an aeroplane full a Chinese people?
I tink dey’s coverin tings up, some conspiracy teories goin on here, nobody in da know, least a whom us. Sure, chances are da plane landed safe in an undisclosured location, da men given huts ta live in, da women freely distributed fer da men ta enjoy, da chilren washin dishes. Hell, why wasn’t I on dat plane?
Too soon? Fuck it, fuggedaboutit, anodder one will fall outta da sky soon enough. Until den, I sure miss da in-flight movies, hot stewardess foot massages, an free booze in da first class, only nine-ta-five fellas wid no class like us can only sniff da vapors. But what’s a guy ta do? Nuttin at all.
Lotsa happened since den good ole daze, dough, fer eggzample Boston gets blowed up by two commie douchebags, how crazy was dat shit? Imagine runnin a maraton only ta run fer yer fuckin life. Ball bearins in bombs fer maximum destructive effect, cold lizard blood coarsin tru dose basterds’ heartless veins.
Meanwhile, don’ ask me how a 19-year-old little prick can out-shoot an out-run da FBI, CIA, local PD an a battalion a SWAT guys. But youse really wanna hear sometin scary, a genuine terrorist attack a epoch proporshins?
Stay over at da Novotel Hotel Times Square near Fitty-Second Street an Sevint Ave: Instead a doin a complete restorayshin like dey legally shoulda done, dey only did a ‘renovayshin’ an left square miles a glowin green mold growin between slats a rottin concrete an tousands a rustin bolts. Last summa we had ta work in Hazmat suits Son, dat shit was phosphorescint! Youse could see da toxic vapors leakin out right inta eight hunnert dollar a night rooms.
Radder dan do da right ting an gut da joint we just smeared fresh dry wall an wallpaper over a science expermint an called it a day, ‘Fear da Future’ is right! Since den youse can only stay dere tree days max before gettin poisoned ta debt, heard Whitney Houston was holed-up dere a week, an we all knows how dat ended.
I mourned her loss all da ways back, she defnitely had a problem, meanwhile lemme yo-yo on da rails all day long, wrapped up in me warm lil world, glowin in da pre-dawn an dusk dark, can’t wait ta not get home to da screamin missus an hysterical yout of America, spawned outta my own nutsack…
Steam! Smoke! Our fucken train! Hasta lumbago, fuddermucker, an happy travelin, Son! See youse one a dese weekends, unless I reads about youse in da paper, lost ferver like dem Chinese in da Bermuda Circle, kiss my ass first class, youse goin down too!”
More from Tom…