Monday, November 17, 2008

The Natural New Englander

Well-a good morrow to you, there. Fah from mah flat Ohio accent, ovah the ye-ahs, I have adawpted this hella New Englund accent, which is clearly wicked pissah.

Will i'a do this 'ere blawg entirely with this accent? No, I'm lazy.

As you may have noted from a lot of my past posts, I have been spending a lot of time lately sliding up into the nether regions of Boston & New England. To the loyal New York crowd you're probably thinking to yourself, "hey, what gives???!!!" Maybe your not thinking that, which causes me to think, "does that mean you don't think about me when I'm not around? Are you just using me for my blog? Something to read and then discard until next week? Well, is that it? Is it!? Well, I am not some word whore you can filaciate with your eyes and then throw in the gutter with sunflower seed shells, old US Weekly's and Stevie Nicks -I'M NOT!"

Sorry, it's that time of the month.

The reason for these trips are for strategic cultural exchanges between New York & Boston. You see the other night I was smoking a big fat joint (because I can) with cultural juggernaut, Boston's Chief Revolutionary War Reenactor, Dale "Camel Toe" Johnson, and he says to me, "Patrick, you're one wicked funny, dude." "Oh Camel Toe, you're just fucked up." I replied. "No man! I mean it, you're hysterical. What if I make you my Brigadier General of Lobster, dude!? My fucking Brigadier General of Lobster, man!!!"

It was at this point that I politely informed him that I was currently Ft. Atkinson, Wisonsin's Superintendent of Cheese, a role that I took very seriously. No, if I was going to take on a new civil service or fake military role, it would need to be a more passive position [insert joke here]. "Perhaps a Cultural Exchange Envoy?" I asked. "Done, now pass those fucking Sun Chips. I got the munchies SONNNNNNNN." And as Camel Toe housed a bag of French Onion Sun Chips, I began my preparation to be the Cultural Exchange Envoy to Boston.

What would the exchange be? Well, here's the deal: I do a bunch of stuff in Boston and surrounding areas and bring my unique formula for awesomeness to said activities. Sound awesome, Boston? It so is.

After the copious amounts of cannibus, I too was hungry. Where to? Why the Langham Hotel's Chocolate Buffet, of course.

When I was a kid, my parents would put me in the seat of a shopping cart and push it into a nice looking family, and then run away screaming, "you touched him last!" Aside from not being a very adulty thing to do, I developed some severe abandonment issues. As a result, I brought my Uncle Ray & Aunt Becky to help me partake of the chocolatey goodness. Relatives = safety.

The buffet was truly as sight to behold. Over (160) various forms of chocolate from indulgent chocolate cotton candy to the slightly misguided chocolate covered oil filter.

However, the cordial continuance of the chocolate confection consumption did not last long. Through yet another defect in child rearing I was quickly taken to task by the buffet mistresses.

Growing up, rather than eating at the dinner table we had to enter a cage match and fight it out like dogs. The winner of said match would then be served dinner. When a fellow consumer asked if I might pass her a custard cup, I instinctively began growling. When the buffet mistress came over and tried to reprimand me, I humped her leg, and was promptly whisked out by the scruff of my neck. "Stupid, uptight Bostonians," I concluded.

I wanted to get out of Boston. I wanted to see how REAL PEOPLE lived, not cotton socked Boston pansys. So I headed to Gloucester to document the real New England Blue Collar Experience, so that I could share the plight of the fisherman.

As Cultural Envoy, I can choose my own staff, so I selected noted Trail of Tears reenactor / hand model / photo journalist Salli, to help capture the majestic nature of the quaint fishing village. Below you'll find a smattering of our work:

THE UGLY GO DOWN: This thrillingly accurate portrayal documents the strength of the wives who lost their husbands to the temper of Mother Nature and her unforgiving seas. More specifically, it speaks to the wives willingness to drown their ugly and/or stupid children. Her outstreched hand gently says, "plese step back, the fugly one's gotta go."

THE MERCHANT MARINE: This could be one of our most touching works. The weathered face, sinewy muscular build, vintage leather blazer -this piece screams I make money throwing my line into great expanses.

Interesting fact: While these are lobster traps, they, much like my pants, are full of crabs.

WHEN I'M GOOD, I'M BAD: This installation hearkens back to Gloucester's more shadowy past. In particular this piece shares the tale of Tally, the most notorious hooker in all of Gloucester who would lure cute young things into her bordello with the promise of Battery Service -offering not only the battery itself but free installation as well. The little innocents never stood a chance against Experienced 'Ol Tally. No chance at all.

After conquering the cultural genuses of cuisine and photography, I decided I would press on to the the avant-garde world of guerilla street theatre. To do this I ventured back into Boston and staked out a corner of the T platform. No sooner did I get half way through my interpretive dance, "It's Just Sweat, Fatass: The Rise & Fall of Richard Simmons," I got stabbed in the eye by -of all things- a unicorn!!!

At this point, I resolved that perhaps Boston just wasn't the city for me, thanked Camel Toe for the rocking smoke and resigned my Envoy position.

Sometimes, people just aren't ready for all that awesomeness.


Gay animals, Me with a Gun, Songs about Masturbation. Just another Friday? Perhaps, but this Friday is musicalized! Come see the refined What's the Point?! this Friday at the Laurie Beechman Theatre @ 7pm. Mention my name and they'll charge you full price!

For more info, visit

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