Miss me?

I know I've been removed from our blogging world.
But I've been busy trying to bring you the best of whatever. (which would make a great album name... perhaps a Ben Folds greatest hits.)
In any case I have only one event to report today as the rest of my life is poorly recorded.

I have evidence of Boston's best Erhu player in action.
This feat was particularly difficult as his crazy, probing eyes look like they can see everything at once. So I inconspicuously took out my phone as if to make a call, pointed in different directions as if I was trying to find reception, and snapped the photo in motion.

The gentlemen isn't really moving wildly like the picture makes it seem.

The pancakes, Tony. Where are they?

Where can a man find a short stack of pancakes around here?
Are you telling me Don Antonio-Alvaressi III, mob boss extraordinaire doesn't enjoy a simple diner classic?
I know this town is over run by twisted politics and murderous mobsters out for blood, but why do they get the last say as to who can put a pancake house in the spot of ANOTHER fancy Italian restaurant.

I'll tell you, boy, this town has another thing coming if they think they can take breakfast away from me.

NEWS BULLETIN: Hasselhoff-ollage!

I will be updating you on how my mail prank unfolds. I have printed out 50 labels return addressed to Villa Francesca and have bought the envelopes. I've been working on what to put inside.
Thus far I have the aforementioned Hasselhoff picture with a message,

Viva la Villa Francesca!
- Hasselhoff

What do you think? What else could I write?

I think I'm going to begin by sending one letter the first day, then 2 the next day, then 10, and then the rest. Similar to Harry Potter, how he receives his Hogwarts letters through the chimney. You remember! Don't play dumb.
What would you do with 50 pictures of Hasselhoff falling from your chimney?

Hasselhoff collage?

Hasselhoff-ollage?

D@ddy$ l!ttle g!rL!!!!!!!

I get many emails from a variety of people. A lot of them are really good friends.
Sometimes I don't even know how good of a friend.
Many are sincerely looking out for my well being.
"Your Fone wasn't working!" my BFFL Mary Williams said, "I wanted too tell U how I RefreshMyLifeWithViagraPro!"
and Maria Taylor told me all about, "GrandpaFu_ckingSome Sl_ut inth Ebutt!"
I'm glad I have such good friends. It's like Christmas everyday.

At work today I folded linens. I fold really particularly. I am very exact.
A gentleman (a douche bag) told me I was being a woman.
I said, "No. I'm just really anal."
I then quoted a good friend's mother, "Better to be anal then get it."

P.S. I drank in the middle of the day.
Unfortunately I'm of the stereotypical Caucasian population who get tired when they drink.
It gets better.
I'm listening to Paul Simon, eating mayonnaise, and hating on minorities.
Could I get any whiter?

P.P.S. I'm not doing two of those things. Can you guess which ones? (I'll give you hint. I don't like mayonnaise.)

Immaturity in action

This does lead me to my next order of business -
Tell me of your most successful pranks.
I'm on the search for pranks I can feasibly execute in and around the North End vicinity.
I'm looking to mail one hundred envelopes addressed to a fake place. All of them will subsequently be returned to the return address - Villa Francesca! All one hundred envelopes will be stuffed with flyers such as, "You've been Hasselhoffed".
What else should be inside these envelopes? Bologna? Mayo filled condoms?



A God among men?

Bane

Feel free to prank call this number as willy nilly as you feel.
(617) 367 2948

This is the number to the restaurant below me. They play music really loud until one in the morning every night.
If you want to call and leave the phone off the hook for a while, that's cool.
If you want to ask them if their refrigerator is running, be my guest.
If I had a gun, would I shoot the douche bag owner with the greasy hair?

Suckling the Cash Cow: Plenty of teats for everyone.

You're being hustled. This may come as a shock to you, but I have the facts on my side.

I know you think I'm lying because what good are facts nowadays, when cold, hard propaganda works twice as well? I'll tell you because I love you and I know I don't tell you that often but it's called hard love. Learn to love it. Learn to hard love it.

Sometimes I peruse the North End website looking for interesting trivia about my place of residence, namely to see if the North End was created as a tourist trap, like an amusement park where there are no roller coasters, only expensive snacks, lost tourists and long lines for the bathroom. To my surprise it was not created for that, the fact that it is now is only coincidence. Here are actual photos posted on their website of which this reproduction and distribution is probably illegal.













We have architectural structures. Walls included.


North End's best male burlesque dancers. They piss raw meat.


The camera dropped accidentally.

Here we have Secret Tours of the North End. Just kidding. Here we have Secret Tours of the North End.

For just $30 you can see the North End as it should be seen. Secret Tours advertise as "Unofficial, Unauthorized and Unconventional." All these words mean only one thing, "probably a scam". It's titled "Secret" leading me to believe it's secret for a reason. Either the tour group is itself very stealth like and inconspicuous, or the tour is pretty boring. For example you can, "Re-live the Great Molasses Flood of 1919."
...Many people died. They're not living anymore, never mind doing it again. That's just inconsiderate.

In conclusion I'm starting my own North End Tour Group truly reminiscent of the attitude of the North End. It'll start in my apartment where we'll take shots of cheap vodka and everyone has to put $5 in. We'll play music way too loud (no, not Frank Sinatra! Did Revere listen to Franky?) and piss off the lady with the heavy Italian accent across the street. Someone will start a rumor that the cops are coming and then we'll run to Bova's Bakery at 2 a.m. "BOVA'S!!" We'll stumble out and a paid actor will puke in the middle of the sidewalk, where Paul Revere once rode his horse! Eventually we'll end up in a penguin-like huddle in front of some apartment where the rent is totally not worth what you pay, smoking an entire pack of cigarettes. Just in time for someone to realize it's minutes before the last T.