You know, the quality of life here in New York city has suffered greatly ever since someone decided it was a good idea to listen, and to take seriously, the mental diarrhea of a class of effete snobs.
Led by our Mayor-for-as-long-as-he-can-continue-to-pay-for-the-position, or as I like to refer to him, Reichsfuhrer Bloomdouche, this class of pantybunched little bedwetters have taken what was once a vibrant and delightful city, and turned it into a sterile preserve of their own, one which is now beginning to take on the character which is a reflection of their collective souls.
It's all so Brave New World.
The city looks modern, it appears to still be hip and happenin', it still has the outward aura of being New York, the Big Apple that Toddlin' Town, but this is surface glitz; just beneath all the new smoked glass and white concrete, below the thin veneer of sophistication which still clings to New York like barnacles to a rusted hull, lay a city with a weakening pulse, it's strength and dynamism sapped by a bunch of mostly-transplanted dickheads whose biggest wish in Life is to avoid seeing, hearing, doing, or allowing to exist anything that threatens to burst their bubble of self-generated conceit, and the phony, aloof, egotistic, haughty, dominated-by-affectation lifestyle that comes with it.
Brooklyn hot dog vendor chased from neighborhood by overbearing pompous asses.
The real problem here is that New York has been invaded by a mass of amorphous protoplasm disguised as human beings, which believes that it has the right to go through life without having it's delicate sensibilities offended in any way, shape or form. This Mass has learned the lesson that it pays to be an obnoxious bitch when it comes to things like keeping the peasants at arm's length, or removing what it considers to be "eyesores" -- you know, like keeping Manhattan free of the Native New Yorkers (the Proles), or criminalizing behaviors they can't abide -- by sheer force of whining.
In this case, the residents of a neighborhood that was, before the Real Estate Boom, the haunt of that rarest of citizens in these parts -- the Working Class -- work to keep it free from the disgusting and destabilizing influences of what used to be staples of New York City Life (the Hot Dog Vendor, the Itinerant Ice Cream Truck with it's festive loudspeaker blaring merry melodies, the Corner Candy Store) as if it were a matter of life and death, itself.
I wonder, could this hot dog vendor make a case that a neighborhood conspiracy to harass him via repeated 911 calls constitutes a restraint of trade, and could he force the City to reveal the names and addresses of his largely anonymous -- because that's what sort of cowards they are, hiding behind the anonymity of a call to 911 or 311 (the City Helpline) -- tormentors in order to sue their yuppie, pilates-loving asses off?
Because until someone actually does something that hits these limousine-liberal, pretentious and patronizing dipshits where it really hurts -- in their wallets -- they will continue to do stupid shit like this, and destroy a culture and way of life that none of them understands, but which they believe themselves with every grain of their supercilious cluelessness to be a part of.
To be a New Yorker. Which is something they aren't, and although they try mightily they can never achieve this exalted status.For if they could, a guy just trying to make a living selling hotdogs would not be considered a mortal threat to property values, on the same moral level as the heroin dealer, pedophile, or chainsaw murderer.
I mean, just imagine the tone taken by the few doofuses who were actually brave enough to be quoted in the article -- and you just know that Polly Prissypants and Reginald Scrotal-Torque only allowed their names to be used so that their uppity neighbors might confer some sort of status as minor hero or idol upon them, seeing them as someone "committed" enough to the asinine cause of removing Urban Blight and Saving the Children from the Perils of Street Meat, which so far as they are concerned, is the clear and present danger threatening downtown Brooklyn.
These are the sorts of people who protest and vote for "low-income housing" (so long as you build it somewhere far away) who then go out and gentrify ghettos, not because they believe the poor have a right to affordable housing, but because every talk-out-of-both-sides-of-your-mouth-and-rectum-simultaneously urban libtard can't get herself (it's usually a Her) into the best holistic salons, or their children into the tony private Pre-School Program without holding the "right" political positions.
They talk like socialists, but live like capitalists.
You know, every renovated-brownstone-dwelling piece of crap in that neighborhood displaced at least one family of working class or "poor" people (in New York City, being Poverty Stricken is not so much a disadvantag, as it is a career choice). I guess the price they must pay, the burden they must bear, if you will, is that having gentrified what used to be a decent neighborhood of hard-working, middle and working class folks in order to adopt a certain, shallow lifestyle, they must assuage the guilt they feel deep down by doing something to "make it up" to those they have dispossessed and the the best way -- by which I mean the way that requires little more than speeches and a snotty attitude, which is the only thing these people are good for -- is to advance this nakedly stupid idea that they "care" about other people's health.
But they really don't. What they care about is being kept shielded from the provincial denizens they displaced when they overpaid for the old family brownstone in Carroll Gardens, or DUMBO (Downtown-Under-The-Manhattan-Bridge: by the way, that neighborhood, before you started attaching gay acronyms to it so that it would appear classier to those with more money than sense, used to be Brooklyn Heights. But without the acronym that makes it sound like a tony section of Manhattan -- Like SoHo, TriBeca, etc -- the rich snobes would never have bought any property).
Three generations of my own Family lived in Carroll Gardens and Boerum Hill long before any of you yoga-loving, radicchio-eating, fat-hating, dingleberries moved in, and I can tell you: you've ruined the neighborhood, no matter how sky-high the rents are.You've destroyed the character of the neighborhood because it represented everything you aren't, and reflected not a whit the stupidity you believe.
But, back to the guilt that causes this class of nosepicking dingbats to behave as they do.
They could never get away with this sort of tyranny by just telling the truth -- that they're intolerant assholes who want to be protected and segregated from people they find offensive, like any good, card-carrying libtard -- so they have concocted this entire regime about public health and the environment around their stupidity.
Hot Dog Vendors must be punished because they are contributing to the "epidemic" of obesity that causes people to die young, or suffer through expensive and painful health problems that saddle the taxpayer with added burden. In the Old Days, when common sense reigned, people who got morbidly obese simply died young, and saved the rest of us the trouble of having to care for them. Which, if you ask me, is a cheaper, fairer and easier solution to the "problem" than enforcing bans on soft drinks, cigarettes, and keeping people alive artificially so that they can go out and get stupid fat all over again.
But that sounds much better than the truth: we don't like you, we don't want to see you, with your flabby belly that hangs six inches over your belt, because we find you disgusting. So, it's for your own good -- and also to keep us from having to pay ever-increasing therapy bills -- that will take away your freedom to eat, drink, or smoke whatever you wish. Do we really care if we save your life, or improve your health? Not really; we just don't want to have to share space with you and your disgusting habits, you low-class fatbody.
And because these people have money -- Lord knows where it comes from, because most of them don't seem to actually do any work. If I meet one more "fashion consultant" or skinny, beanpost "model" living in a million-dollar apartment/brownstone again, I'll go on a shooting rampage -- they are especially favored by the likes of Bloomdouche, and his would-be successors on the democratic side of the isle, the equally disturbed Christine Quinn, City Council Speaker, and the legions of wanna-be's on the Council who find it easier to give in and pick up the check than to fight for fundamental freedoms.
But you know what? These folks are about to get their comeuppance, and very soon. For downtown Brooklyn is about to become the home to Atlantic Yards, a new arena built to house the New Jersey Nets, and as a forum for all sorts of other events (wait until the Circus comes to town and the Animal Rights protesters show up!). Pretty soon, these neighborhoods, now the near-private preserve of the clueless pantybunched, will be overrun by NBA fans (who have a history of rioting, and who largely come from a certain, shall we say, ethnic?, class that these folks fear more than cancer beneath that cloak of diversity they all brandish.)
Payback is, indeed, a cast-iron bitch.
The Arena will also bring them more traffic, more street crime, and yes, more street vendors, pushing everything from cheap Nets paraphernalia to, one can only hope, a good 'old-fashioned Sabrett's with mustard and onions, greasy shish-kebab, potato knishes, and all the Coca-Cola you could dream of.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it, you tyrants!
People like this are dangerous: today they chased a hot dog vendor from their neighborhood – some guy just trying to earn a living – tomorrow they’ll be banning political views they don’t agree with, demanding “The City” do something about rainy days (which will surely be another excuse for another massive tax increase) , burning books, and eventually, people, if not literally, then figuratively.
Mark my words.
Part I of this series can be found here.