A Rat Tale.

I'm sure everyone in NYC deals with mice in their apartments. It's no surprise to me. However, it gets to be a bit much when you have to cover your entire kitchen floor with glue traps to protect the food that is stashed away atop makeshift tables and well-thought-out hiding places. For weeks Josh and I have seen mice come and go. So far we've managed to kill 2 of them but of course that was short-lived when the very next day we saw another one strutting around looking for its next 14 course meal. Many bagels and kaiser rolls have been lost to these little bitches.

But about a week ago things changed drastically. After coming home from a night out, Josh said he was awakened by the sounds of commotion coming from our kitchen. He came out of his room to find a RAT having his way with some fresh garbage. Not wanting any real trouble he back peddled and locked the door. He immediately texted me saying that he saw this vile creature in our kitchen and recommended we spend the next day Spring cleaning. Of course it was the only night I forgot to put my phone on silent so I was wakened by the beep. As I read it, I started to hear the sounds he was talking about. I laid in my bed, under my covers, shivering, wondering what I was going to do. Like any normal human being I strapped on my winter boots and grabbed a half-filled water bottle as my weapon. My plan was to jump on it if it got too close. I'm not exactly sure what the water bottle was for but it was the closest thing I had that resembled a bat so I went with it. I opened the door to find ripped bags but no RAT. I threw the garbage out and went back to bed. I laid there motionless and scared shitless for 4 hours.


After we cleaned we set up some fresh glue traps. I bought six 2-packs of the Jumbo Size traps. The Chinaman at the Dollar Store took notice and said, "Oh you have lots of mice," in a really awesome Ching-Chong accent. I said, "Yea and if this doesn't do the trick I'm going to buy a gun." Let me be the first to say that if a Chinaman is shocked at how many mice he thinks you have, well you have way too many fucking mice.

A few more traps for under the dishwasher.

Josh looking pretty optimistic with our glue barriers. He'll regret that later.

Things were calm for a few nights. Everything stayed clean, we put our food in a different spot, and sort of forgot that we ever shared our apartment with a RAT. I even started to think that this RAT was only really a part of Josh's imagination. Then a few nights ago I went out to buy some rolls and bagels for the upcoming week. Before I went to bed I put them on a table that I thought was unclimbable. I'm an idiot. I woke up hearing plastic bags being ripped open. He was back. I strapped on my boots, grabbed my water bottle, and put on my game face. Of course I made a huge amount of noise before I exited my room knowing the RAT would run back to his bachelor pad.

I found a whole roll gone, half of the other shredded up and a nibbled on raisin bagel. RATs don't seem to enjoy raisin bagels. I cleaned up the mess and threw out the garbage. I went back to bed and laid there motionless and scared shitless, again.

Seriously, how did that bitch climb this? I guess pretty easily.

The next evening I saw that one of the glue traps was pulled halfway under the dish washer. Not thinking anything of it, I attempted to pull it out so I could setup the fortress again. This is when I noticed that a wire from the dishwasher I had never seen before was dangling and caught in the trap. After a little bit of elbow grease I managed to free the trap.

Get ready.

After looking closely I noticed something kind of strange looking. I looked closer. RAT TAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Look at how long it is. The RAT must have gotten it caught and then chewed it off to survive. That's some 127 Hours type shit right there. If you look closely you can see some of its saliva and blood.

So we're back at it with even more traps.

I even put a bucket with a lock in it (to weigh it down) in front of the cabinet doors because Josh said he heard a door open the night he first came across that little tail-less fuckface.

Now we're both sitting here. Waiting anxiously. How this RAT tale will end we don't know. I just hope that if we do catch this little asshole it doesn't have its tail. Because if it does we have a way bigger problem on our hands.

I'm sure any one of these little guys would have taken care of this rodent problem a long time ago. Especially that little bald Chinese (take my word for it) dude on the left.

Snapea Crisps.

"Snapea Crisps. Hot Fries For White People."

Don't believe me? Google "Snapea Crisps" and look. Hybrid names = Stuff White People Like. I'll Google it for you.

Yikes.

Yikes #2.

Starting them off when they're young.

Young Republican.

En route to a far away foreign land that will be talked about for the rest of her life. Mexico.

No comment necessary.

And what is one of the first pictures you get when Googling "Hot Fries"?


Don't ack like you didn't know...

The Ace Hotel.

You all know I'm not one for complaining but last night's events were ridiculous. To make a long story short. Me, my roommate Josh, and my friend Donna went to the much-hyped Ace Hotel for their Friday night of fun. Q-tip from A Tribe Called Quest spins every Friday while many brown and white people put their socioeconomic differences aside for a little ass shakin' and pussy poppin'. All of this at the very low price of $10/person. Here is what I thought was going to happen:

The three of us were going to walk into Liberty Hall, listen to some Tribe Called Quest and other Hip-Hop classics. We'd dance a little (even Josh), get our Crunk on, and go home with smiles on our face. I was even planning on getting a little crazy and maybe making some eye contact with girls that were taller than me.

That isn't too much to ask for right? Here is what actually happened.

We got there and paid the cover. There was some shitty boring music playing. They only have one bar with a bunch of fuckin' morons bartending. And if you order more than one drink you have to show multiple IDs (even though it's a 21+ show). Magically a lot of the richer looking white people that surrounded me weren't asked for multiple IDs but of course I was. (Sorry white people, I don't hate you. I'm just really jealous.) $6 for a Tecate is absurd. Hitler should have strung up the people that thought charging $6 for a can of Tecate was acceptable. 45 minutes into the evening the police showed up and told everybody we had to leave because The Ace Hotel doesn't have a liquor license. So after spending about $70 on 6 drinks and listening to shitty music we were asked to leave. I then went up to ask for a refund and was told that it wasn't "possible." I think teleportation isn't "possible." I think a "cool Australian" isn't "possible." And I think a fat black girl who isn't fun and funny isn't "possible." But never did I think getting reimbursed $10 when not receiving a simple service was without a doubt an IMPOSSIBILITY. I complained to the bouncers. I even got PTA-yuppie-mom on their asses and said they should be ashamed of themselves. This was before we got escorted out of the hotel by little fatso police officers for "trespassing."

This morning I woke up livid. What kind of scam are they running over there? And why aren't there any repercussions for anything ever? Was it always this way? Back in the day if you looked at somebody wrong you could challenge them to a duel and go outside and have the chance to FUCKING KILL THEM! You know what I was able to do? You know how I showed them that I meant business? I SHOT them an E-MAIL. Great. I can't even slam a phone on somebody. Nope, I can just respectfully complain with good but not great grammar and a mediocre vocabulary. OOoOoOOoooO I SHOWED THEM!!! Take that evil wrongdoers.

It's like paying money to go to the circus, buying treats, taking your seats, and then being told that the elephants don't feel like being bossed around today and then asked to leave. It's actually not really like that at all but I'm analogy-less. It's like paying a prostitute to have FunTime, going up to the room (or behind the trash can in the alley) and then being told, "Hey I have AIDS and....a penis. If you don't like that, you gotta go." Not really like that either.

So basically you know what my Friday night event was? I paid $10 to stand in a room. Somewhere in the world I hope there is an art exhibition that is exactly that. The Art of "People Are Total Assholes."

Head in your hands.

"Why isn't my grapefuit juice purple?"

"You're now listenin' to the mu-fuckin' greatest! I hope..."

"Wait. Fuck. I'm in the wrong building (pronounced 'biw-din')."

"You don't know me...dad."

"I'm in love with a stripper. And he doesn't love me back."

Can't quote this guy because I've only heard one of his songs.

"Life's a bitch. And then you die. What exactly are the benefits of being God's Son again?"

"I'm in prison. And it ain't for MURRRRRDDDDDAAAAA!"

"Brrrr. They didn't put sprinkles on my ice cream cone!"

Do these Top 3 remind you of something? (Look up.)

"Of course I hate my mom. Duh. But don't even get me started on my dad!"

"Why don't people listen to my white people problems anymore?"

"I specifically ordered persian rugs with cherub imagery!!! What do I have to do to get a simple persian rug with cherub imagery uuuuugh" via Twitter

iPhone Apps.

I've been considering getting an iPhone for a little minute. Since moving to New York, I've convinced myself that it would definitely enhance my experience. What if I would have had an iPhone the time I saw a brother dressed like a Samurai from head to toe eating a slice of vegetarian pizza? (I know this because I followed him. Don't judge. When's the last time you saw a real-life Samurai? Especially one with so much soul?) Or what if I would have had an iPhone the time I saw that 15 year-old Hasidic Jew's penis? (Don't ask. The image is forever burned into my brain. If you really want to know, I'll share the story at some point.) So I guess I pretty much only want the iPhone for its camera, although I'm not sure what a picture of a 15 year-old's penis would get me besides a prison sentence.

Today I was trying to think of other iPhone features that would help or enrich my life. I looked up apps and questioned if any of them would actually be beneficial. Would I really be the chach at the party that whips out their phone to open up the Shazam app that identifies songs being played? A review of Shazam says "There’s nothing worse than when you’re at a party, you meet the perfect hottie and this awesome song is playing, except you have no idea what it is. How the heck are you going to impress her later by playing the song you heard when you met if you don’t know what it was?" Yea, I agree there is nothing worse. Oh wait. There is something worse. How about that hottie resting her drink on you because she mistook you for a bookshelf or some other inanimate object? That has to be worse. Anyways, almost every single app seemed to be the exclamation point to, "I am [fuckin'] privileged!"

Now I'm debating if I actually need an iPhone. Of course I don't. But what hypothetical iPhone app would considerably enhance my experience and enrich my life? If you read this regularly (Hi Ma!) then you're probably saying, "An app that would find Marty a girlfriend!" And to that I say, "Go figgity fuck yourself." (Not you Ma!) Plus that app doesn't exist right? Does it? Seriously, if you know anything about an app that can make this happen please email me (upper right corner of this page). I guess an app that would write a bunch of fake comments on my blog posts to make me feel better about myself would "enrich" my life but I like to think that people never comment because people who read this are too good for commenting and "Yelp."

Actually, I have an app idea that would change my life.

Puerto Rican kids next door bouncing that fuckin' basketball for hours on end? Too much of a pussy to knock on their door and tell them to stop because you don't want to get your computer stolen again? We have an app for that! Introducing the all new app for your iPhone...Trouble Dribble!

Of course I'm not sure how it would work. If I did figure it out I'd make bajillionz off of it. (White people would love me. I think "Loving Marty C." would beat out "clapping along to songs at concerts" as the #1 Stuff White People Like.) Maybe it would just allow you to turn on all of their stereos to that music they listen to. They'd surely stop bouncing the basketballs and start salsa and merengue'ing all over the place. But then you'd need an app to get that god awful music out of your head. And you'd also need an app to take care of all of the kids that would be conceived because we all know what that sort of dancing leads to.

There aren't enough apps in the world to make my life any better. Yet.

The Ending.

This is probably the best ending to a conversation ever. The end and possibly the beginning of a totally awesome new one.


I am officially back. For real this time.

Not playing at all.

Since I don't have a computer yet, I can't e-bitch as often as I'd like. So here are a few ideas to help you stay busy.

1) Watch the Bulls.

2) Play Pogs. (Then kill yourself.)

3) Go for a run because I hate when chubsters take up all my room. Why should I be inconvenienced by your laziness?

4) Get Crunk. Why don't people use that word anymore?

5) Slap people who say the word "Swag." Why do people always use this word?

6) Eat the rich.

I'll be back shortly.