Ah, Landlord!

Ah, Landlord! You are most benevolent, a benevolence which has not been seen before and shall never be seen again. A man of high morals who some say has the scent of stale cheese, but to them I say that scent may be the odor of the dead mice which you refused to exterminate from the boiler room and they should hold their tongues what speak against you.

Ah, Landlord! Remember the time the pipe burst and everything flooded? And no one could even leave the parking lot nor would dare to for fear of drowning in the surging water? How humorous you were as you sailed away on your yacht, throwing pennies at us humble tenants and promising to send reinforcements as soon as you reached Bermuda with the security money. As I ate my soggy Twinkies for supper I chortled heartily at your optimistically sarcastic view, realizing all the while that I would not be able to get to the market for more food, even with the pennies for they would not float and even if they could would not hold my weight.

Mrs. Rafferty drowned in that flood and still you were kind enough to allow her family to keep the water damaged couch even though that insufferable old woman owed you five dollars for shorting the previous month’s rent! Damn her insolence! So self-involved was she, what with being ninety-five years old and in a wheelchair and on limited Social Security, that she never realized that your numerous vacations had nothing to do with the failure to maintain decent plumbing!

Ah, Landlord! Your leases are sheer art! Some have called them "Draconian," but I call them "literary." They say you are a philistine but I know different; it is the extremely mercenary which is your art and this unbridled creativity manifests itself on the many pages of your labyrinth contracts! Allow me, dear Landlord, to site "Codicil 20, Section A" from page 92: "Thou shalt carpet thine apartment at a rate of 80% which shall be strictly enforced, unless I don’t feel like leaving my desk to enforce it." You pointed this out to me when I, humble tenant, skulked down to your office to complain that either a herd of elephants or perhaps an Arthur Murray Dance School had taken up residence in the apartment above me. You made it clear that you hated to be interrupted in the midst of eating a pastrami sandwich and that I ought never to bother you again with such trifling matters. It was I, dear Landlord, not you, who should have realized the depths of my vanity in making such a request and for this I apologize and shall happily pay the "five-percent annoyance charge" which you assessed on my most recent payment of rent.

Ah, Landlord! Your seersucker suit and patent leather shoes glow in the sunshine as you pick the bugs from your moustache. Enjoy your trip to Antigua; we gladly await your return. Now please untie me.

Policemens' Poetry Slam

Back in February of 2007 I had the privilege of publishing some poems by my good friend, the surrealist poet Avoir Dupois.

In May 2007 Dupois had some trouble with the law when he was arrested in the Bronx for selling "goat jerky" from a pushcart without a license. The police officer who arrested him,
Detective Bill Santeciero of the 14th Precinct, NYPD Bronx Bunko Squad-Narcotics Division, confiscated some of Dupois' poems and told him "I could write better shit than this!" Dupois spit at Santeciero and is currently serving a sentence in Attica. The reason for Dupois' incarceration, however, is attempted murder, not spitting or vending without a permit. It seems that Santeciero tried to eat some of the "goat jerky" and nearly died of ptomaine poisoning.

I became so intrigued by this tale of woe that when I heard through the poetry grapevine that Dectective Santeciero had made good on his threat to "write better shit than this," I decided I had to go listen to him read some of his poems. In mid-June, 2007 I took the subway out to Astoria, Queens to the lovely "Braised Salmon Lounge" of the Olympus Diner, where the 5th annual "Poets On Patrol Poetry Slam" was being held. Consisting entirely of members of New York's Finest reciting their attempts at poetry, the winner receives a trip to the Jersey Shore and gets to beat all the losers with his night stick without fear of reprisals. Hence the term "poetry slam."

Detective Santeciero told me that one reason he decided to enter the poetry slam was because "my wife is always breaking my fuckin' balls saying I'm not sensitive so I need to show her I have a soft side." He said he was a bit angry at having to miss the World Poker Tour on cable and was "throwing shit around the house because I was so pissed off at having to miss a cultural television show to go do this faggy-ass bullshit!"

The audience (many of them on furlough from Riker's Island) was so charmed by this intelligent and literary man that I decided to publish some of his poetry here (he also said he would figure out some reason to ticket me if I didn't):

DETECTIVE SHIRAKI AND ME
A poem by Detective Bill Santeciero
14th Precinct, NYPD
Bronx Bunko Squad-Narcotics Division

Detective Shiraki and me was on a stake out down in the two-five
When we spotted two alleged assailants driving a late model Buick Century
The reflection of the hood chrome glistening in the noon day sun

So hot you could fry an egg on it to go with your dark, black coffee, no sugar

It was at this point that we observed these two individuals exiting the vehicle on foot
And entering a small corner bodega
Where the children romp and play outside
And the old folks wander drunkenly up and down, down and up
In front of the door, swearing and throwing dominoes all about
Like so many small black bricks raining down from the sky
From the sky they are raining

Detective Shiraki and me had received a report
That both assailants had been seen accosting an elderly gentleman
In an apartment lobby in the Bronx, though we did not discuss it
For it pained our souls to think of it
And anyway, we were not at liberty to divulge any information at that time
So our mouths remained tightly shut along with our hearts

Me and Detective Shiraki, Detective Shiraki and me
We then heard what sounded like an altercation and gun shots being fired
So we exited our vehicle and made our way to the door
Only to realize that it was just a child playing with a cap pistol
And we laughed, and gave him a dollar for some candy
And laughed some more
And then went into the bodega and arrested both suspects just for the hell of it

And for detective Shiraki and me, our innocence was lost forever

REQUISITION FORM 198765, REQUISITION FOR SHOES
Yet another poem by Detective Bill Santeciero
14th Precinct, NYPD
Bronx Bunko Squad-Narcotics Division

Before I’m interviewed late night on the news
I fill out requisition form 198765, sub-section part a
Of the newly mandated ancillary uniform code
State of New York, requisition for shoes

It is a form that’s like no other
It reminds me of my mother

For we all must have shoes
Is what she once said
And if you get yours dirty
Pop will kick you until dead

I remember the first time when in the form room,
Of the ninety-eighth precinct it stuck out in the gloom
I was drawn to it instantly, although I must say
There were many other forms there on my first rookie day

There was form ninety-seven
For when you are sick
And form two-oh-eight
When a suspect you kick
And form twenty-three
Which they keep in the back
To authorize use of a two foot black jack

There’s form one-six-seven
Which gets you a badge
And form four-five-eight
Which you get from that good lookin’ dame in
Communications named Madge

But none of those other forms could cure my blues
Only requisition form 198765, sub-section part a
Of the newly mandated ancillary uniform code
State of New York, requisition for shoes

For us cops we need shoes every day of our lives
To run out for donuts and away from our wives

To wear with our dress blues and wear with our jeans
To hammer the head of some dealer in Queens

To kick off a car alarm when loudly it honks
To chase an alleged sniper up to Gun Hill in the Bronx

Whenever I'm on a stake out and I'm cold
And my bones hurt and I feel like I’m ninety years old
And some homeless guy keeps on breaking my balls
By asking for bus fare to Niagara Falls

And I need a nice thought that will help keep me warm
So I swallow a cruller and think of that form

Which I filled out before I went on the late news

Requisition form 198765, sub-section part a

of the newly mandated ancillary uniform code

State of New York, requisition for shoes

Although Santeciero didn't win the contest (that honor went to a poem called "Put Up Your Hands And Throw Down That Condom, Whore!" by Sgt. Thomas Merklinson) I firmly believe that we will hear more from this fine poet in the future. He plans to keep writing, though for write now he says that "I need to put in a lot of overtime to build up my pension so this literature bullshit is just gonna have to wait."

Let us all hope that it won't have to wait to long.

True Crime Story: The ISP-TOS Killer

In the annals of crime Herman Snookerdorance is rarely remembered. For one thing his name was difficult to recall or even pronounce. For another, he was an unbearably obnoxious schmuck.

Anyone who has ever been the victim of crappy customer service from an ISP should learn about Snookerdorance. In 1947 he became the first person ever executed for "email murder" when he killed a customer by providing shitty, useless "solutions" to the customer's email problems. He did this by sending an asinine form email as a response to the man's desperate pleas for help, an email which seemed to indicate that he never even looked at the fucking question which he was sent.

Snookerdorance was a small time confidence man selling defective watermelons out of the back of his car on the shoulder of the Cross-Bronx Expressway when a friend offered him a job at "Hey Yo Daddy-O Software," one of the first service providers which opened "in the early days of the Internet right after World War II" (Al Gore, 'I Invented The Web' p.51). He had no actual computer skills and couldn't speak very well on the phone, yet he quickly rose through the customer service ranks because of his profound ability to grunt, say "umm-hmm" a lot and always make it seem as if the customer fucked up instead of the company. Very soon he was the head of customer service, specializing in problems with email.

Historians estimate that Snookerdorance probably killed about 55 people with his shitty customer service. Right before the state took his life he admitted to 23. He was very shrewd; he would delete any trace of his ridiculous answers the minute that he heard a customer had died as a result. He even developed a method to tap into the hard drive of the victim's machine in order to delete any evidence of his having tried to help them. The media of the day dubbed the unknown murderer the "ISP-TOS Killer," an abbreviation for "Internet Service Provider-Terms Of Service." They believed that whoever was committing these murders must be absolutely rigid in his/her belief that the service provider knows all, the customer is a moron and the company's terms of service should be followed to the letter in lieu of actually answering a customer question correctly or solving a problem satisfactorily.

Since detectives of the day were having an impossible time finding evidence it looked like the murders might never cease. But then a break came and it was Snookerdorance's own carelessness which led to his eventual undoing.

On July 13th, 1945, Snookerdorance received the following email from a Yonkers, New York plumber by the name of Arnaud Gastronitis:

Within seconds Mr. Gastronitis received the following response:

Upon opening this email Gastronitis, who was already prone to dyspepsia, became apoplectic and died of a combination of explosive gas, a massive coronary and multiple strokes. His wife read the email and, after vomiting up her dinner, phoned Yonkers detectives who promised to come investigate the minute they were finished eating.

Snookerdorance's mistake was that he got up to go the bathroom without first deleting all the evidence, which he had planned to do upon returning to his desk. He was wearing a ring that was loose which slipped off his finger and fell into the toilet; he then got his arm caught in the drain trying to fish it out. In the meantime the Yonkers detectives, hot dog mustard dripping from their mouths, arrived at the Gastronitis residence and were able to trace the email to Snookerdorance's computer. After stopping for more hot dogs they found Snookerdorance, his arm still stuck and dripping wet with toilet water. They pulled out his arm, and making sure to finish their hot dogs first, promptly arrested him.

The trial for Herman Snookerdorance began on September 15th, 1945, in the Bronx County Courthouse. It took six hours, five hours and fifty minutes of which were spent trying to make sense out of Snookerdorance's customer email responses. The jury reached its guilty verdict in five minutes; it seems that every member had somehow been screwed over by "Hey Yo Daddy-O Software." Lawyers for both sides would later say that it was impossible to find any jurors who weren't biased against the company or hadn't been screwed by them, so they simply went with the 12 men and women who seemed the least pissed off. When asked about the futility of defending Snookerdorance his lawyer commented "I would have had an easier time getting probation for Hitler." For the capital crime of "email murder," the judge sentenced Herman Snookerdorance to die in Sing Sing Prison's electric chair.

While sitting on death row Snookerdorance became his own lawyer, as he had been unhappy with his legal counsel. Executions in New York in the 1940's usually happened within six months of sentencing but Snookerdorance was able to keep the grim reaper away for almost two years by writing his own appeals. Historians have said the reason for this was the fact that the appeals were written in a confusing, hard to understand fashion, even for judges, so that it took much longer to get through them or to make sense of them. One appeal Snookerdorance filed didn't even have anything to do with his own case and addressed an entirely different issue; it concerned a guard suing the state for a uniform dry cleaning reimbursement, a case which Snookerdorance wasn't even a litigant in and which could do absolutely nothing to help save his life.

By the end of July, 1947, all his appeals were exhausted and so were the jurists who had to suffer through them. On Thursday, August 21st, 1947, at 11:02pm, the big oak door of the Sing Sing death chamber swung open and Snookerdorance entered defiantly, flanked by two guards and with the prison chaplain standing in front of him reading from a copy of "Death House Psalms For Dummies" which had been given to him as a gift by Snookerdorance. The condemned man faltered a bit when he first saw the chair but managed to regain his composure, walked quickly over to it, and sat down. Within a minute the guards had strapped him in and the executioner stepped over to attach the electrode to his head and drop the mask over his face.

It was then that Snookerdorance uttered his famous last words, so apropos for a man about to pay the ultimate penalty for "email murder." Not being able to see what was going on due to the mask over his face Snookerdorance assumed that the momentary pause while the executioner walked over to his controls was an indication that perhaps something was wrong with the machinery. The pause was made even longer than normal when the warden walked over to tell the executioner something. The room was absolutely silent. Snookerdorance, probably thinking that as a last hurrah he could offer some customer service assistance, shouted out "Did you remember to plug it in?" Upon hearing this the executioner promptly threw the switch and at 11:10pm Herman Snookerdorance, the "ISP-TOS Killer," was pronounced dead.

His death did nothing to improve ISP customer service but hell, it sure is satisfying to read about it.

An Ozarkian Rant

I saw the machine pictured to your left when exiting my local Shop Rite the other day. This product is sure to improve the already tenuous relationship which we New Yorkers have with the fine folks from Appalachia and the Ozarks. I'm fully expecting that the next time some tourist family from one of those regions stops by the store to buy some possum or raccoon for "vittles" (an adorable colloquialism for "eats") they will spy this machine upon leaving and go "deliverance" on one of the stock clerks with a rusty-stringed banjo and some K-Y. The situation will be exacerbated by the fact that these foodstuffs are not normally found in New York eateries or groceries (something the Clampetts will no doubt interpret as discrimination) and the family will therefore be forced to cancel their plans "to hunt for 'eye-talians' (I just see'd one over yonder Pa!)" and drag their two-headed, three-toed albino children (who are cousins as well as siblings) out to the expressway or to some of our more well traversed back roads to rustle up some chow.

A profound question for you, my dear readers. DOES ANYBODY ACTUALLY BUY THESE FUCKING THINGS?!! And why the fuck would the genius who came up with this particular novelty tooth machine place it right next to the BUBBLE GUM machines!! If anything is going to turn parents off from buying gum for their annoying, relentlessly shrieking children its to see a machine full of fake, rotting hillbilly novelty teeth. "You see, junior, that's what happens when you fuck your sister, oh yes, and when you chew that crap! We're not buying any!! Now go over there and hug that cute little Appalachian girl and tell her you're sorry you laughed at her cyclopsian eye!"

What the fuck happened to the machine with the novelty vampire teeth that they had when I was a kid?! At least vampires aren't real (or so we hope) so you really can't offend them and kids at least know what they are. What kid knows about hillbillies? And, the novelty vampire teeth help to ENHANCE rather than DETRACT from the sale of gum because they are pearly white and have very sharp incisors, something that every parent wants for their silly kids.

The next time I visit the Ozarks or Appalachia (which will probably be sometime after I visit either Newark or the 7th Ring Of Hell) I fully expect I will see this machine in one of their supermarkets:

Have a nice week folks and be sure to brush twice a day.

Best Of The Ashton Post Police Blotter

The "Ashton Post Weekly Retractions" have proved so popular with our readers that this week we give you the "Best Of The Ashton Post Police Blotter", regarded by many criminologists to be the most exciting documentation of law enforcement ever compiled.

1. Incident Date: June 21, 2007
Time: 15:05 hrs.
Division: Farm Response
Title: Chicken Vandals
Location: 89 Velcamere Road, RR2, Ashton
Summary: Chicken and Lima bean farmer Joseph D. Pendragon phoned in a complaint that an individual(s) of indeterminate description was/were attempting to cut the barbed wire that protects his chicken coop. Officer Bob McGittrick responded and immediately arrested Pendragon when he caught him soliciting one of his goats. Pendragon indicated that the vandal(s) could be "my piece of s--t neighbor Harry Orson who's still upset about last July 4." Officer McGittrick tasered Pendragon when he found absolutely no damage to the chicken coop. The goat was turned over to Social Services.

2. Incident Date: June 23, 2007
Time: 20:15 hrs.
Division: Family Broohas
Title: Banana Threat
Location: 34 Eagle Drive, Ashton
Summary: Mrs. Arlene Johnson called in a complaint that her husband, Bill Johnson, was threatening her with "his banana." Officer Mabel Burnoose responded and discovered the "banana" in question was actually a large "pepperoni." Officer Burnoose sent out for a large pizza and ate it with the complainant, using the pepperoni on the alleged pizza. The alleged assailant left the residence in a huff and was later arrested for soliciting one of farmer Joseph D. Pendragon's horses. The horse was remanded into the custody of Social Services.

3. Incident Date: June 24, 2007
Time: 17:20 hrs.
Division: Fireworks
Title: Ass Cracker
Location: The Arnold Stang Community Center Baseball Field, Ashton
Summary: Officer Chuck Dipopolous responded to a report of a man with an M-80 firecracker stuck in his rectum / sphincter region. The man, who had a migraine headache and was slightly inebriated, assumed that the device was a suppository. Officer Dipopolous noticed that the fuse was protruding from the rectum /sphincter region and he ignited said fuse using his taser in order to expunge it from the victim. This caused the victim's head to land in the neighboring village of Reston where it was recovered by paramedics and attached at Reston General Hospital. The victim's name is being withheld pending further investigation (it was actually the Mayor). Officer Dipopolous issued one citation, pursuant to ancillary subsection 105-A Part C of the Ashton Penal Code, which prohibits "the possession, mistaken use as a pharmaceutical and drunken use of class C fireworks for same purpose while causing fecal matter to be sprayed in the face of a responding law enforcement officer or other official." Officer Dipopolous then returned to the station house and announced he was going to take early retirement. The party will be at The Arnold Stang Community Center on Tuesday July 10, 2007, thought NOT on the baseball field.

4. Incident Date: June 29, 2007
Time: 21:37 hrs.
Division: Adolescent BS Unit
Title: Don't Look At Me
Location: 105A, Route 92 (Main Street), Ashton
Summary: Sergeant James Hickerson responded to a complaint from Omar Kai-Am, proprietor of "Omar's Dogs And Gum" in the Main Street Strip Mall, alleging teenagers fighting in the parking lot. Upon further investigation it was determined the teenagers were having an intellectual discourse regarding which is the better recording, 50 Cent's "Get Rich Or Die Tryin'" or Mitch Miller's "Holiday Sing Along With Mitch." According to an eyewitness fisticuffs ensued when one teen looked askance at one of the other teens. Sergeant Hickerson diffused the situation by muttering something about going back to law school and then tasering all the teens. Mr. Kai-Am then exited his store and tasered Sergeant Hickerson. For his heroism (and since he offered the town a small gratuity) Mr. Kai-Am will be given the variance he needs to put up a new gas station.

Happy 4th Of July loyal readers.