 In the Community
Build Some Quaint Shit on Me
A Cape May ¼-Acre
Hey, all you lovers a' cutesy-pie Victoriana an' all that shit–I see you, walkin' past me with your sunburns and your goddamn beach chairs, eyein' up my "For Sale" sign like I'm some sweet piece a' ass at the far end a' the bar. "I wonder how much it's goin' for," y'say. "Ooh, imagine what we could build on it," y'say, all fulla wonder and shit. Now, I ain't no Johnny Einstein or nothin', but I definitely got an answer to that question, fuck-ass:
Build some quaint shit on me!
I mean, fer chrissakes, this is Cape May–the place is so goddamn quaint it makes your ever-lovin' asshole scream! Walkin' down the street is like havin' a goddamn copy a' Anne a' Green Gables crammed down your throat! Jeezus H. Christ, the houses are so fuckin' quaint you get a case a' the clap just lookin' at 'em! Gingerbread cut-outs. Jigsaw fuck-nots. Purple, fuschia, alla that shit–they're so fuckin' quaint, the carriage horses fill their shit-bags just trottin' past 'em. And so should you, pal!
Now, I'm probably goin' for a cool half-mil or so–at least, that's my guess, since all they did was come and hammer this goddamn sign in my back. But, way I look at it, that's a goddamn steal, pal!
For one thing, I'm right on the goddamn water. I'm a perfect place to build some quaint-ass piecea shit, where you can sit out on the porch with your droopy-assed wife, and stare at the sea with a glass a white fuckin' wine in your hand. Hey, I know the drill! Me, I'm a beer guy–Miller Lite, to be exact–but ain't too many beer guys can afford to shell out that kinda scratch.
For another, there ain't too many spots left in this goddamn place. They been throwin' up condos an' shit faster than you can say "asshole-fucker." You see a prime piece a' property like me, you don't walk past! That's pussy shit! You pull out your little phone there, dial the number, and go, "Hey, fuckshit–I'm in!"
So drive on down, park your goddamn Beamer, and check me out, ya crazy lil' fuck. 'Cause I'm ripe for the pickin'–and I'm perfect for whatever kinda shit you wanna put up. Personally, I really don't give a fuck what it is. Build whatever the fuck you want; it's a free country, last time I checked. But I'm a Cape May guy right down to the soil–I been here longer than the goddamn fishermen, for fuck's sake. So if you want my advice? Whatever you build on me: make the fucker quaint! |
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Landis Appeals to Lancaster Co. Tourists
July 8, 2008 –
Disgraced cyclist Floyd Landis, who last week lost his final doping appeal to the Court of Arbitration for Sport, is back in his native Lancaster County–and begging the area's many summer tourists to hear his side of the case. "I was waitin' in line at Dutch Wonderland... and this young fella walks up and goes, 'would you like to hear about French laboratory fraud?' " said Earl Wilson, 54, of Oilton. "I said, 'Whassat now?' I couldn't make heads nor tails of it."
 Landis, whose stunning win in the 2006 Tour De France was later marred by positive tests for performance-enhancing drugs, said that he was merely taking his case to the public. "If the CAS and the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency don't want to believe me, that's something I'll have to live with," he said, waiting for tourists at the Strasburg Railroad. "But the folks who visit [Lancaster County] are good, honest people. And they deserve the truth." Thomas Grale, tour manager for the Sturgis Pretzel House, said that Landis had been a constant presence at the popular attraction. "He goes straight for our visitors, and immediately starts explaining how he was 'wronged,' " he said, rolling his eyes. "Frankly, [the tourists] don't pay him much mind. After all, they're here for the pretzels–not some crazy bicycle-rider."
However, Maurice Suh, Landis' attorney, admired his client's tenacity. "He may have lost every single one of his appeals, but still he defends his innocence," he marveled. "It's that persistence–not epitestosterone, as some have alleged–that helped him win the Tour." Pittsburgh resident Terrance Hines, 49, who was approached by Landis at the Robert Fulton Birthplace, wasn't so sure. "I don't know what he's trying to accomplish by chatting everybody up like this. To be honest, I think all his talking just makes him look worse." |
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