My sixth year of blogging started with a bang. I’m not sure what caused the massive explosion in my bedroom at 3AM. but I was awoken suddenly, my flannel sheets from Target on fire. There was no time to save anything from my bedroom, not even my undeserved Little League Trophies for randomly being chosen to be on the winning teams. The hot orange flames were blocking me from the door, so my only choice was to crash through the pane of glass and fly out the window, like Peter Pan. And fly I did, over the Chinese restaurants and the kosher butchers of Kissena Boulevard in Flushing into the cold dark air above, naked as when I was first brought into this world.
Yeah, I sleep in the nude. Just a little something for you to think about on a lonely night, my dear Maria. But tonight I was too busy for thoughts of romance. As if you even cared.
But tonight I was flying high, and never felt such exhilaration in all my life. I had goosebumps and my hair was twirling in the wind. I flew over 59th Street Bridge and into Manhattan. And then, as I soared over the mighty skyscrapers, I did what any man would do. I pissed in the wind. Over New York City. I pissed on the Empire State Building. I pissed on Rockefeller Center. I pissed on Donald Trump’s head. I placed my mark on the urban jungle, as if I owned the city. It was mine. The piss was the contract. Any dog can tell you that.
And then I flew back home, to my local pizzeria, still open for the night. I was naked and shivering from flying outside in early March, still winter. The owner, Angelo, offered me an apron, and a cup of coffee to warm myself.
“What would you like to eat?” asked Angelo, in his New York accent stronger than my own. “Tonight everything is on the house. You own the city!”
Apparently, word gets around fast.
And so begins another year of blogging. I take my words very seriously here. I slice my leg for you, and let it bleed, and then tell you about it for your enjoyment. I blow up my apartment, piss in the wind, and then tell my tale. I fall in love. I hate. I kvetch. I hope. I wonder. I send secret messages to Maria. I’m curious about who the fuck you are and why you come here. Everything I say here is true. Every word.
Wow! I sure picked a good time to start following your blog! Love your flying adventure over New York City – very funny. One thing though…. I distinctly remember my father warning my little brother to NEVER piss into the wind.
Who’s Maria? Happy Sixth Year!
I think someone pissed on Trump’s head long before you did. In fact, I think they do it daily.
So, what’d you eat?
Let me see if I have a clear understanding.
You owned the city and could fly, and you didn’t take advantage of your unfettered access to all of the city’s posh rooftop lounges?
1. I take it there was no blowback.
2. Did you feel groovy as you flew over the bridge?
I just stopped by to let you know the “pissing contract” is the thing. In case you were interested in an expert, first-hand validation.
Did I ever tell you … http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1xks3_bette-midler-wind-beneath-my-wings_music
I love this. Well done!
Love it, Neil! Congrats on six years of blogging 🙂 Anything else you plan on doing with your new-found power besides order pizza?
59th Street Bridge? Classy neighbourhood. I bet none of the locals sleep naked. they fly over the East River and land at La Guardia before bouncing off to the North Fork. They’d love to have a naked guy to navigate. You could be a great big naked Tom Tom. I bet they never landed in Queens. To them, it’s flyover territory.
Did you vlog it? We need video evidence.
Happy Blogversary! Here’s to many more years.
love it. Me gusta. J’aime beaucoup.
Did you stop to flash anyone?
Neil – this is superb. That’s all I can say – this post leaves me breathless – speechless.