Manhattan
Written By: Gringo

Hello to all the idiots who read every single article on this website! This is a follow-up to something I wrote about my recent visit to New York. Click here to read all about bird poop, crushed lunch and other fun activities I took part in during my time in the Empire State. Why I write more? Because having nothing better to do wins every single time! The other article focused mostly on the stupidity I suffered alone, whereas this one will bring shame upon the heads of Joe and his friends as I write about the wacky fun (read: drinking - except Joe - and smoking pot - except me) we got up to in Manhattan and stuff. There are two stories; the night in Manhattan and the night at Joe's university. You want fun? THEN LEAVE NOW! Or read Joe's article. Also, if anyone out there likes laughing at my misfortunes, you'll be less thrilled with this article than the other, because in this one, I don't get crapped on by a bird. However, I did get my accent mocked on several occasions, and had both my press card and passport laughed at extensively. So everyone's a winner, really! There are four central characters to this tale, and I shall now introduce them to you, because you are a fat loser who has nothing better to do than read about what we got up to. Ha! Rumbled you at last!

      

And no, I have no idea why my skin looks so pasty. Or why Keran looks so giddy. But I do know why Colin is licking Joe's face. Because Joe is a homo! HAHA! No, he's not, and that's the only Evenflow-style joke you'll be reading today. Unless of course you visit that link and go to the forum, in which case you've got my sympathy for whatever you read. Anyway, that first picture is Gringo. Uh, I mean me. Moving on swiftly! The guy with the beard is Colin, Joe's friend from Hofstra University. I think he's since shaved the beard off and looks less like a hobo. Then you've got Joe, who has the biggest grin in the world. Finally, Keran, who enjoys eating. No, really. You can't see in the picture, but Joe's wearing a t-shirt with "FAT" written on it. Win! I forced these three people into socialising with myself one night in New York, except I had no idea where to go. We wandered the streets for a while before Keran's eat detector went off, and we had to sit and watch him devour a whole cow and a gallon of soup. Honest!

The guy sure can eat and, quite rightly, he seems very proud of this fact. I remember him breaking a glass in the restaurant and just ignoring the waiter, who looked confused at the smashing noise he'd just heard. Excited yet?! After that, it was on to get alcohol, because that's just so cool. Hint: sarcasm. We ended up in some bar called The Blarney Stone, which was supposed to be an Irish bar, except I didn't see any Leprechauns. I don't remember how much any of us drunk, except that Joe didn't (he's a well-behaved sensible person like that). We talked about dumb shit, I think my Tony the Tiger t-shirt was suitably made fun of, I tried a goddamn awful beer which I couldn't manage more than two sips of, and ooh some other stuff I don't care. I'm sure something interesting happened, but I can't recall it and even if I could, probably wouldn't write it up because it'd make us look less like losers. At one point, someone flicked beer in Joe's eyes, and at some point Colin licked his face, as you've already seen. How all of this came about I don't know.

Moving on again! After all the shenanigans of the night before, I mustered up enough energy to get motivated and travel to Joe's university home of Hofstra. I think this was both good news and bad news for Joe. Good news because he didn't have to move or spend any money. Bad news because I was coming to stay. After a pretty uneventful train ride from Pennsylvania Station (in New York! So confusing for a dumb Brit!) to Hempstead - which Joe told me was named after hemp growers. I think he lies like a naughty - I arrived at the campus of Hofstra University. After being dropped off by a driver from a cab firm called Dashing Dan's (so fast! Dash like winners!) I was ready to impose myself some good on these innocent students. Investigation time! I learnt a couple of things at Hofstra. Joe's room smells like a pet store, and I think his RA is deathly afraid of me. I think that's because I arrived on Joe's floor with a suitcase and bemused look (the room number I wrote down turned out to be the toilet) and was asked by the RA "Who are you?" A reasonable enough question, yes?

Yes. Except I provided the non-committal answer "A friend of Joe's" before wandering off in the opposite direction. The next series of events is somewhat odd. The RA followed me to Joe's door, where we stood looking at each other for a few moments. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Joe bounded round the corner. Then, as Joe was unlocking the door under the watchful - probably confused, too - gaze of his RA, Colin appeared clutching quite possibly the biggest and stinkiest pizza I've ever seen. The RA still looked perturbed. I don't even think my presence was explained, but at least I had entry into his room and...OH MY! THE PET STORE! His room really did reek like he'd been keeping dead hamsters or poop or something in there. Still, with a bit of air freshener sprayed it was perfectly tolerable. I would say how Joe's room probably stinks because him and his friends smoke a lot of pot in there, but that'd just be silly! Who ever smokes pot? We talked for a few minutes before suddenly there was a MOOBA MOOBA type noise, and I was helpfully informed that a fire alarm was going off. Hooray for everything at Hofstra!

OOH! LOOK, JOE! YOU'RE FAMOUS! Anyway, because of the whole fire alarm and potential of dying in flames thing, off we went to stand outside in the cold with all the other students from Joe's building. Not that Joe owns it, but...um...and what a bunch of oddballs they were! I was introduced to some Canadian or French guy (I can't remember which) who talked about frat parties and beer. Great. Later in the night, in Colin's room, I briefly met some camp guy. Fun continues! The fire alarm turned out to be a test (probably an attempt to persuade that weird British fuck Gringo to vacate Hofstra right away) and some other stuff happened. I drank a bit more, played some Grand Theft Auto: Vice City very badly, and then fell asleep. Couldn't have done that at home! Well, technically, I couldn't, because I don't own a PS2. So fuck you, you sarcastic cuntmuncher! You think you're so clever with all your little putdowns! I STAB YOU! STAB YOU IN THE EYES! And that was more or less the extent of the fun I had at Hofstra. The next day I got another lift with Dashing Dan's fine taxi fleet back to the train station, and from there was back in New York for one more day.

Also, if you type 'prenis' into Microsoft Word, it doesn't suggest 'penis' as a correct spelling, which is odd, as it's only one letter out. NO NAUGHTY WORDS FOR BILL GATES! Anyway, after having been shit on and visiting Joe at his smelly Hofstra University, although not at the same time, it was time for me to fly back to the hairy anus of the world that is England. Now, bear in mind I don't drive - I'm incompetent like that - and didn't really fancy riding in a taxi all the way from the Plaza to JFK International Airport. So, taking one look at my bank statement and wiping my butt with it, I ordered a $100 black sedan ride direct from the hotel's steps to the airport. When I got inside the car, which was really rather schmoogy, I was introduced to my driver, who was apparently called Alan. Well, Alan, sorry I ignored you for the whole journey, but I had more important things to do like look out of the window. Still, he was a good driver and I'd say getting driven to the airport in a sedan is better than getting some obnoxious asswit take you in a shared crappy shuttle-bus contraption.

Oh yes, I too have suffered the frenzy-inducing feeling of being a helpless passenger in a poorly driven airport-to-hotel shuttle. That's part of the reason I went with the car on the way back. Anyway, when I got the airport, the final embarrassing incident of the holiday occurred. It was time to tip Alan, but I didn't have any notes on me. So I went off to find an ATM while he unpacked my luggage. I spent 15 minutes going to three separate terminals, but at each one the ATM was waiting on being refilled with magic cash (it was midnight and no-one was about). So, sheepishly, I went back to Alan and raked together all the coins I had. It must have been about $5, but made up of more than fifty coins. I tipped it into his cupped hands, tried to avoid the glare of DEATH that was coming from him, and zoomed off to catch my flight home. Success! Conclusion time! When I landed at Heathrow the next day, I dug into my bag for some British cash. That's when I found at least $70 in notes bundled together at the bottom of the bag. Whoops! Sorry, Alan!


This website is © 2001-2008 Listen To Me. All pictures, sounds and other stuff which doesn't belong to us is © its respective owner(s). Everything else is a free-for-all. Steal anything we created (as if you'd ever want to) and we'll...well, we probably won't be motivated to do anything. But you never know. And yes, that is Colonel Sanders throwing a punch at this copyright notice. SMACK