Today, I saw Palmer, Brice, Hamilton, and Hayden heading over to the new McCarren Park ice skating rink to play mid-work day, re-purposed hockey using umbrellas as sticks and an old vegan donut as a puck. So I stepped onto the ice with my Jason mask and asked to be goalie; when they all nasally said “sherrrr deeeeed” in unison, I took off a skate and decapitated them. End of story.
Today, I thought I saw a pilgrim from the Mayflower wandering around Brooklyn but it was actually Quaid who dresses like that all year long for attention who decided not to go back to the Midwest for Thanksgiving. So I stapled his fruit roll-up limbs to a wall and began firing 20lb rock hard frozen turkeys at him with my giant slingshot. End of story.
Today, I saw Ace, the 29 year old, Gorton’s Fisherman bearded skateboarder turned Ye Olde Brooklyn Blacksmith from Nebraska walking through Park Slope in his Upper Middle Class homeless costume. So I went to Ace Hardware, bought a nail gun and fastened him to the center lane of the BQE. End of story.
Today, I heard Terence the 32 year old fluorescent lightbulb-legged gentrifier say he was going to start pogo-sticking to his apprentice cupcake icing job to reduce his carbon footprint. So I left my Timberland footprint on his sunken-in, inbred, red bearded face. End of story.
Today, I saw 38 year old Mason the gentrification coffee shop latte foam operations manager sailing his paper boat – which is one of his self-absorbed resumes with a list of made-up hipster job titles – along a Bedford Ave curb. So I hid in the sewer dressed like Pennywise the Clown from ‘IT’; I dragged him in by his Bob Barker microphone arm; snapped his neck and sent him on an underground raft tour of Brooklyn as a pack of rats chewed on his meat-less Olive Oyl physique and sang Row Row Row Your Boat. End of story.
Today, I saw Colby, 28 and Tanner, 30 having a gentrification play-date sleepover on the rooftop of their $2500 studio they scored in Bed-Stuy. So I pissed on their virtual campfire i-Phone app; zipped them up in their free-trade biodegradable sleeping bags and beat them unconscious with a Direct TV satellite dish. End of story.
Today, as I was pissing on an urban, sustainable, hipster radish garden in Nieuw Bozwik, I saw Baker typing up a raving Yelp review of a tofurkey panini he had at Sawyer’s “Real NY” Deli that still has the ‘Hector’s Auto Repair Shop’ sign in front. So I dragged him by his windshield wiper arms to an A & S Pork Store in actual Brooklyn and ran his bearded Spin Doctor face through the cold cut slicer. End of story.
Today, for election day, I saw Terence the tattooed fishing rod wearing an ironic Ed Koch for Mayor shirt even though he was a 7 year old Play-Doh sculptor in Wisconsin back then. So I flung an ax into his communion wafer chest and asked him – “How am I doin’?”. End of story.
Today, as I was gazing out my window watching real Brooklyn kids bomb terrified hipsters with eggs, I had a great idea. So I filled a pumpkin with quick-dry cement and smashed it over the skull of the first spatula-physiqued, 1862 facial-haired, $5.84 cup of coffee drinking, rent-raising, Brooklyn-pussifying, hipster piece of shit I saw. End of story.
Today, as I was throwing bricks at bearded 30 year old mid-day skateboarders, I saw Grady and Xander getting signatures from local, organic transients to petition the city to install bike lanes in all NYC cemeteries so they can do authentic and zany haunted Halloween tours for the “vibrant creative types who have helped Brooklyn flourish”. So I made a rope out of their Converse shoelaces; tied each end around their Vienna Sausage-like necks and threw them over a telephone cable like a pair of sneakers. End of story.