Manhattan has turned into a corporate mausoleum.
All the discount stores I relied on to keep me alive are being exterminated. Are the parasites from outside NYC who moved here really willing to pay twenty bucks for something I used to get for five at a discount store? They deserve to be bled. Bleed them dry.
A bit of a tour of what I saw.
At the Staten Island Ferry terminal, a glimpse of our Soylent Green future:
They left out Press *00 for Fuck You.
Such cliché, so dated:
Come and pay full price, suckers:
Some things are Just Wrong:
This explains everything:
Who the hell would wear this shit:
Ask the people lining up for the iPhone 6 weeks early:
Given the kind of car this is …
… it should have $$$$$ painted on the side.
Because it’s not Moe or Larry:
The weirdest sex toy ever …
… an inflatable Dalek. OK, so it’s not a sex toy. For normal people. Who would never buy an inflatable Dalek.
What Manhattan feels like to me these days:
Dancers trying to make a hard buck:
Union Square Park:
This would be a good place to jump to kill yourself …
… but only if you can land on a crowd of rich parasites.
One of the parasite hives:
Yeah, go ahead, do it:
This is another thing That’s Wrong:
This is Also Wrong:
I have no idea:
Oh for fuck’s sake …
… where the hell can someone even drive that monster in New York City?
If you can’t see the price, here it is …
… now you can say “For fuck’s sake!” too.
After all that, do you think Morgan Freeman gives any fucks?
He does not.
Because this one is wax.