Sunday, February 22, 2009

Adieu Astoria

Yes friends, I've decided to part my hair down the center, grab my gay mover friends Rick & Todd, some prostitute from 21st street, steal a car and get the fuck out of Queens!

As you regular readers may recall, a few weeks ago GWGG's World Headquarters in Astoria, Queens was broken into, which caused me to pick a fight with drug dealers, and then squirrel myself away in an underground bunker for fear of retribution. Well it is with a heavy heart, an itchy foot and a colon full of poo that I announce that the Cherry Fudge Ripple ice cream I ate during the Oscars is giving me the worst gas ever.

With this announcement also comes the revelation that as of March 1st I will be relocating the World Headquarters and our cast of thousands (with the exception of Keith who's just been playing brick breaker for the past (3) months when he should have been researching funny blog topics) back to Manhattan. You see, we're movin' on up... the East Side! You heard it here first! After sharing the gift that keeps on giving (Greatness) with theatre trash and assorted Greeks, I have decided it is time to let my light shine on the Upper East Side, a place that doesn't have the inherent Greatness Astoria does. It is just time that I direct my energies to that place where slutty tops and popped collars may be a little more prevalent -a place where my skills are needed.

Admittedly, there are a lot of things that I will miss in Astoria after having spent the past 1.5 years here. Namely, those delicious snack sticks at 7-11, wet kisses from Sondra and leaving my wildly profitable jackalope taxidermy business. Such is life, I suppose.

The decision was not arrived at easily, but here's the deal: IT HAS A SPIRAL STAIRCASE!!! Deep down getting this duplex with free spiral staircase built in kinda sorta makes up for the fact that I never got a race car bed as a kid. In Queens I had tried to correct this fact by unsuccessfully duct taping flood lamps to the foot of my bed. No more! This swirly set of stairs makes my sub-par childhood alright! Hooray! For more hoorays you can see what the joint looks like below. I encourage you to enjoy the following pictures. While you're not invited over, my hope is that you can vicariously life through the fact that my apartment / manners / life is/are soo much better than yours. Girl, you know it's true. Well here, just look!

Crazy checker bathroom, spiral staircase and outdoor terrace you ask? Yes, now stop staring at my new apartment, you're giving me the creeps.

A lot of people say, hey there isn't anything on the Upper East Side, but I say naaaaaaaaay. Here's just a few of the places that you will find me in my new hood:

In Queens, all I had was Archie Bunker-type sinaglongs where I dressed my roomate / Guy Friday, Joey up as Edith and we sat around the Yamaha singing, "Those Were the Days." Well, no more. Now that my favorite piano bar, Brandy's, is around the corner you can now find me there Thursdays through Sunday nights. If you're curious how you might spot me, I will be the one sprawled out on the piano top, sobbing singing "Send in the Clowns."

Ye olde Astoria may have had a Panera and a Pizzeria Uno (which I never went to), but the one thing it did not have was a Barnes & Noble. Now I know what you're thinking, "Patrick you can't read." True. Failed public edukation system aside, if it is a breezy Saturday or Sunday afternoon and you're wondering just where is that little Greatness-Rocket (my nickname for myself) you love so much, you can find me at Barnes & Noble -spilling Starbucks Coffee on sudoku puzzle books, waiting in line for Judy Blume to sign my copy of "SuperFudge" and making literary recommendations.

Lastly, as some of you have said to me at meet & greets when I started to float the idea of moving to the UES, "Nooo! Patrick I may never see you again." That is correct and entirely the point. You see for far too long, I've let the shackles of Commonerhood chain me down! Well no more. From now on, if the locations carefully typed in my evites don't include the words, "Mansion," "Penthouse," or "Undisclosed Location" I simply will not attend, for I have moved on up, to the East Side, to a deluxe apartment in the sky.

In closing let me say, I have truly enjoyed living in Queens. I will never forget the street meat, pub crawls, and the creepy strip mall feeling of Steinway. That is unless I suffer an amnesia-inducing head trauma. Then I might forget.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Baseball is a Sham, So Let's Make It Sham-tastic!

You won't like baseball fans when they're aaaaaaaaaaannnnnnngggggggggrrrrrrrrryyyy!

Yes, sports fans this week we learned that the greatest player swinging a piece of timber these days was on the juice -at least back in 2003. Now, the fanatics and legislators are shaking their heads in disapproval and disappointment. To which I reply, shut the fuck up.

I mean really people. This happens like every six months (Barry Bonds, Mark McGuire, Roger Clemens, Jose Canseco and a host of other too big to be real people, people) and every time you idiots issue statements of condemnation and surprise. We know this is going on, so I say instead of acting all holier than thou, we take a page out of Professional Wrestling -who already knows their sport is a fraud- and use this as an opportunity to make what is really a slow-moving, boring game fun!

Here are my initial (5) rule changes:

  1. Runners are allowed to use breakaway chairs to hit the heads of 2nd and 3rd base defensive players. No penalty will be incurred if this results in the gain of the base. If that does not occur, a sudden death thumb war between the offended and offending parties will take place to settle the dispute.
  2. In the outfield, the warning track will be replaced with a moat that is filled with (3) robotic dragons. If the dragon kills the outfielder, the at bat team will get the point. If the outfielder kills the dragon he gets the point and a mutton feast at the closest Medieval Times in the region.
  3. Pinstripe uniforms are nice. However in new baseball, the players will be encouraged to adopt an alter ego and create a uniform that fits that alter ego. All manners of accessories are permitted -except Chinese stars, those things are dangerous.
  4. At home plate there will always be a hanging microphone next to the umpire. This microphone will be dedicated to "calling out" members of the opposing team / making disparaging remarks about their mothers.
  5. In the event the umpire tries to interfere with player-on-player pile drivers, helicopters or Bavarian skull crushers, these players may exercise their prerogative to body-slam the umpire as well.


Chyna, Commissioner of Baseball

Monday, February 09, 2009

Winged Death OR Sully Hates Your Childhood Memories

This just in!

The National Audubon Society and GWGG agree, Captain Chelsey B Sullenberger III is a dick.

In these rough economic times, we are left with so little. Our jobs? No. Our homes? Nay. Our monthly allowance for granny panty bedazzling supplies?Uhhhh. I. Don't. Think. So.

This puts America and Greatness-at-large in a rough position, a position where we grasp with a white knuckle death grip on to that inescapable asset , our memories.

Now most of my memories are pretty shitty because I had the unique distinction of being the only 2nd grader with a meth habit, but what I can salvage or steal from South Dakota Board of Tourism ads and rehab perfect attendance awards, I know two things: My dad and I were both Hispanic until about 1993 -it was a just a phase- and I used to just love birdwatching!

But those Main Stream Media types, the same ones who tried to take the "CHRIST" out of "CHRISTmas" and the "CLOWNS" out of "holyfuckingshitrunitsCLOWNS!" someone doesn't want us to have our precious memories. Who would try to steal our memories, you ask? Dream burglar, American "Hero" & fowl sadist, Captain Chelsey B Sullenberger III that's who!

As most of you had read on the internets, January 15th, US Airways Flight 1549 was landed in the Hudson, and there were zero human casualties.These are facts. I sent carrier pigeons out to confirm this.

What you won't hear from these news outlets, hell-bent on craming the the feel good story of the year down our throats, is the tale of feathered carnage at the hands of this aerial assassin. How do I know? Well, let's just say a little birdie told me.

Despite my strongly worded letter writing campaign, and partnership with Local 59, The Carrier Pigeon Union's messy Shit-In, no one seems to take notice. I thought my cries would fall victim to US Airways unforgiving PR Machine.

That was until professional softball tosser hard-hitting journalist Katie "Cutie" Couric, set Sully -if that is his real name (it's not)- squarely in her sights on tonight's episode of 60 Minutes.

"Sully, why did you fuck up those birds?" Couric began.

"Well, it was a normal climb out in every regard. And about 90 seconds after takeoff, I noticed there were birds, gently floating on the cool Hudson air, and a blind rage came over me. I found myself chanting, 'Fuck you, birds! You think your better than me, birds? You're not! I have a plane, a big plane, birds!'" Sullenberger recalled.

Asked by Couric at what point he realized he had successful initiated a bird strike, he said, "Oh, you could hear them, as soon as they did. Loud thumps. I was so giddy that I pinched my nipples painfully hard. It felt like the airplane being pelted by heavy rain or hail. It sounded like the worst thunderstorm I'd ever heard growing up in Texas. This made me think of the delicious BBQ Pappy used to make, and then I asked the steward to get me a rack of ribs and some hot, moist cornbread. It was delicious. "

"When did you realize that these birds had seriously damaged the aircraft?" Couric asked.

"When I felt, heard and smelled the evidence of them going into the engines. I heard the noises. I felt the engine vibrations, of the damage being done to the engines. It reminded me of the time I strangled a hooker in St. Louis. Positively euphoric. This was different though. That was a sleep crime, so it didn't really count. This time I really just wanted to grind up some of those uppity birds! Hoo-rah!" he said.

So like I said, Chelsey is a dick. The next time you go to (the official travel site of Patrick Garrigan, which usually just redirects to, but whatever), be a responsibile shopper. Think of the magpies, mallards and Mom*. Would she want you to support people who kill birds with airplanes and land them in some flashy, dickflick-style belly landing? NO! She'd just want you to give her a call once a week. I mean, really? Is that too much to ask?

*Happy Birthday Mom & Dad

Monday, February 02, 2009

Alright, Fess Up, Who Broke Into My Apartment?

Alright, alright very funny. Which one of you numbnuts stole my XBOX 360?

What am I referring to? Oh please, don't pretend like you don't know...

Last Thursday night as I was "sharing my gift" at the World Famous Big Night Out: The Songs of Hectors Coris, in a hilarious bit of hijinks, one of you jokesters out there snuck into my apartment and "borrowed" my XBOX. Now, just like Sherlock Holmes, I'm trying to use my sleuthing skills to figure out which one of you did it!

Clue #1: The clandestine criminal used a screw driver to bust the latch on my window. So they must be crafty. Maybe one of you Extreme Home Makeover junkies out there?

Clue #2: The also stole about $5 in pennies, nickels and dimes from my dresser, which leads me to believe they had to do laundry -don't forget to pre-soak those Hershey marks, you dirty so and so.

Clue#3: They took my new cufflinks. This provides me a pivotal piece of information: the criminal wears French cuffs. And as we all know, the only people who wear French cuffs are characters on Mad Men (The Official Favorite TeeVee Program About 1960's Ad Execs of Patrick Garrigan) and Vietnamese pimps, and that morsel drastically cuts down on my list of suspects as I don't know anyone on Mad Men. Asian pimps? Well, that's another story.

Clue #4: The respectful gentlemen at the NYPD Evidence Collection Unit could not recover any fingerprints, which means the culprit doesn't have hands.

Clue #5: They borrowed my nice Swiss Army backpack to carry the stuff right out the front door. Which tells me they kinda wanted me to catch them in the hallway in one of those hilarious "Ha, ha, ha! Look! I tried to steal your XBOX, change, and backpack" moments you always see in those situational comedies everyone's so fond of (or, you know, it's the little shit who lives below me on the second floor did it).

So, all day Friday it was just driving me crazy! Which one of my good friends, would pull such an insanely funny prank. While I was at Home Depot have a steel pipe custom cut to make it impossible for any other mischief-makers to ford my winder, I racked my brain but simply could not figure it out!
When I arrived home I discovered my friendly, neighborhood coke dealer doing a deal in my apartment vestibule. I gave him one of those quizzical looks, sizing him up to see if he'd done that dirty little deed. You know, like you do when you played Heads Up, 7 Up in elementary school. He just shook his head. To which I replied, "get the fuck out!"

It was it this point that he hilariously spewed out some folksy neighborhood banter. Something along the lines of quote, "do you know who I am? I'm going to fuck you up. I live next door." Just some really funny, funny stuff.

Today is Monday and I still don't know which one of you rascally Gumptioneers pulled the heist. This will one day, no doubt, end up in one of those hilarious hidden camera shows. In the meantime, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get busy starting a Facebook group to raise money to buy me a new XBOX 360. Give generously and happy Monday!

I am looking for a new 2-bedroom apartment immediately in the Astoria / UWS /UES /Hell's Kitchen area for a move-in around February 22nd-ish or earlier. If you hear of anything, do be a dear and drop daddy a line, won't you?


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