Friday, January 26, 2007

Two experiments

Today, I will have you try out a couple of science experiments for me, it being a weekend and all and you having some time off from your crime-fighting schedule. In the first experiment, we will, as the old dame said, do it with mirrors.

Basically, I want you to watch all your regularly scheduled television programs. But I want you to do it using a mirror. Hold a mirror up to your television screen and look at the mirror instead of looking at the screen. I guarantee that you will have a hard time recognizing your favorite soap actor, actress or home-breaker.

See, most humans are asymmetrical. For example, look at you. Your nose curves to the right, you have that mole on your left cheek with all that hair growing out of it and your right ear is kinda droopy. And everybody is used to seeing you that way. But if you look at yourself in a mirror, which I'm sure you usually don't, for obvious reasons, your nose will curve to the left, your mole will have migrated to your right cheek and the droopiness will be an attribute of your left ear. You will be an entirely new person in the mirror. Not particularly better off looks-wise, but different, nevertheless.

Studies have proven that people we consider to be beautiful almost always happen to be more symmetrical than the average human eyesore. In fact, it has also been observed that babies spend more time looking at symmetrical people than asymmetrical ones. Who the hell knew that when you were gazing at them with your adoring eyes, those tiny little crafty brains were busy estimating and comparing the eye-to-nose distances on each side of your face to determine your affection-worthiness?

But returning to the experiment, that is why, as you watch your television screen through the mirror, all the people in the box will look different. It will add some spice to your tv-viewing life and since the premiere of "Lost" is still a month away, I know how much you need it.

Secondly, I want you to watch this video : (link)

Now, check your own body for any physical changes. Did you just turn into a Mommy Tiger? I thought so. Please stop playing with your tail when I'm speaking to you. Also watch this video : (link)

Notice how the baby tiger flails his limbs around as he drinks from the milk bottle. That's because he is genetically programmed to kick away his siblings as they all try and compete for the privilege of suckling from their mother's teat. At least, that's what the inner scientist in me thinks and he could be wrong, just as he was wrong about orange juice being a great substitute for blood transfusions. But I will let the inner scientist within you make the decision for you.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Twitching eyelid

My right eyelid has begun to twitch in an uncontrollable and repetitive manner. It feels like a mosquito couple having violent but tender sex between the silky linen of my eyelashes. This is very distracting for me because for one, there are some things you just do not want to visualize, such as a pair of fornicating mosquitoes, plus the concern whether they are practicing safe sex, but primarily, it is a problem because it causes disruptions in my field of vision.

Since I consider myself to be an average person, living an average person's diseased life, I assumed that there would be hundreds, if not millions of people in this world who would be similarly afflicted by this malady of mine. And so, I climbed on to The Google to search for these folks and cry on their shoulder. Alas, I found merely one blog post. This guy. What was funny about this blog post is that some time in the distant past, the guy had written a blog post somewhat like mine, where he had complained about his eyelid twitching. And then after The Google found his post, he got a large number of hits from people who wished to learn more on the topic. But sadly for these people, the post contained not an iota of useful information either on eyelids or their twitching other than the author's documented history of eyelid twitching.

So then, compassionate person that he was, he decided to compile a post on eyelid twitching that would actually provide some rudimentary information on the condition. Kind of like the time I wrote an exhaustive post meant for the dissemination of goose-related knowledge to the throngs of goose-knowledge seekers that happen upon this blog everyday. But the guy's post appears to be a huge success, as seeing by the five hundred comments he subsequently received, all from people saying "wow I thought I was the only person who had a twitching eyelid". Talk about the ego on these guys.To be fair, there were also some people in the comments section expressing disappointment because as it turns out they actually had a twitching eyeball, which, again, is not something one would want to visualize if given a choice, but these were few and far between.

But coming back to the topic in question, it appears that eyelid twitching is called myokymia and it is a common condition caused due to excessive caffeine, lack of sleep, lack of vitamins or mosquitoes having violent sex amidst your eyelashes. I am not a coffee person, I take vitamins everyday, I slather myself with mosquito repellent and I sleep a solid seven hours every day. And seven more at night. So what could account for these twitches?

Then, compassionate guy goes on to tell me that my twitching could also be due to brainstem neoplasms, the treatment of which involves "lumbar puncture with examination of cerebrospinal fluid". I like the sound of that even though it sounds terrifying.

So anyways, I have decided to take two vitamins a day now. I don't think I will puncture my lumbar because frankly, I did a cost-benefit analysis and the results concluded that at this point in my life, a twitching eyelid would be preferable to a punctured lumbar.

Friday, January 19, 2007


We didn't get that inch of snow after all. What we got instead was about a quarter inch of ice. As they say, when God gives, he tears away the roof and gives in bucketfuls (and God doesn't scrimp on bucket size). But today was not that day of roof-tearing and bucketful-giving. And it was lucky that today wasn't that day because even with the meager amount of ice God gave us, it was a fucking mess.

The commute to work was littered with the broken corpses of cars and trucks who were suffering the consequences of having made passionate love to each other's bumpers and mufflers. Especially on the ramps and bridges which, supposedly, are the first to ice over. Funnily enough, most of these accidents involved SUVs, you know, the kind that are supposed to be immune to snow and are able to drive through forests and cross rivers and climb mountains, or, if you're a Toyota truck, withstand attacks by the Loch Ness monster. The thing is, most SUV and truck owners believe that their all-wheel drive allows them to speed at will through rain and snow without crashing and sliding. But that's like an NBA player believing that he can safely walk on red hot coals. Sure, he's big and strong and can dunk a fantastic basket but that doesn't make the soles of his feet invulnerable to heat. Similarly, all-wheel drive holds absolutely no value when the time comes to brake the vehicle. If anything, the extra weight of the SUV makes it more of an uncontrollable missile than anything else on the road.

Still, it is quite hilarious to watch these SUVs nestling in the ditch as you drive past. Most SUV drivers have this incredulous, disbelieving expression on their face and you can actually hear the progression of their thoughts.

"Hello, where am I?"
"I'm still on the road right?"
"Where are all the other cars?"
"Am I in a ditch?"
"No way, I'm pretty sure I'm on the road."
"Why am I not moving?"
"Could I actually have...crashed? Is it possible?
"No, I'm still driving. I own an SUV."
"If I'm driving, why am I still in the same place?"

And then, gradually, comes the horrible realization.

"Hmm. looks like I crashed after all. Damn it, PennDot, what will it take you to salt the fucking roads?

That is when I wave at them and give them a thumbs up sign but sadly, it's not my thumb. Like they say, it's unacceptable to kick a man when he's down, except when he's an SUV owner.

Thursday, January 18, 2007


I cannot be entirely sure, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought I just saw a snowflake fall from the sky. If you are from the Midwest or the Northwest or Kilimanjaro, you're probably going, "Duly noted Sir, will that be all?" in that haughty high-society inflection of yours that I hate so fucking much. However, I would like to remind you that by this time last year, I already had a couple of pre-snowstorm blog posts, a couple of post-snowstorm blog posts and one nostalgic blog post about my near-fatal car-crash during my first ever snowstorm. And this year? Zilch. So this snowflake that I think I saw, well, that's a big deal now, don't you think?

And there are other people bemoaning the paucity of snow on the ground this year. Recently, I had a number of search engine queries asking me "why isn't it snowing in Pennsylvania" and "Why isn't it snowing in New England" and so on and so forth. I wish I knew, my friend. I also wish I could blame it on global warming and trust me, if I could come up with a theory convincing enough I would in a heartbeat, but the farthest I got is to where global warming melted the ice at the poles, thereby exposing the black pillared entrance to Jehannum which, as any theologian will tell you, sucks in all those life-giving storm clouds like a dessicated black hole.

I think I've been reading too much sci-fi today.

A couple of hours later....

It turns out that it is, indeed, snow. The weather channel opines that, "by tomorrow morning, it is not out of the question that there could be a slushy snowfall accumulation upto an inch."

It's as if the weather channel were gently placing its hand on your distraught snow-starved head and telling you, "You know, I really wish I could forecast more snow for you today but I am ethically obliged not to give you more hope than science allows me to, (sound of snow-lover gently weeping in the background), ok, there, there, how does this sound, by tomorrow morning's commute, let's say there's one chance in a million that you'll be seeing snow outside your window, (weeping intensifies in volume), oh damnit, what have I done, ok how about this, by tomorrow morning, it is not out of the question that there could be a slushy snowfall accumulation upto an inch."

See what the weather channel did right there, it added a double negative so it could pretty much have said anything it wanted to without being dishonest, for example, it is not out of the question that you'll be getting such humongous quantities of snow that you'll get snowed in and have to eat your own family to stay alive. After all, nothing is out of the question.

If you like Sci-fi..

Go here and give it up for RobRoy, who's penned a damn good first chapter of his forthcoming (?) book. For the more discerning of my audience, yes, it also contains violence and brief nudity so go ahead and enjoy. This is RobRoy's entry for a writing contest where the winner gets a book contract and gets to live in a lonely house near a lake (no outboard motors please, thank you). Despite my not being a gigantic fan of sci-fi, RobRoy's writing grabbed me to the point where I am thinking of including more violence and brief nudity in my blog posts to make them more exciting. In case you do not have the time to read it right now, you can also print it out and read it while driving to work. Just remember one thing : do not drink and drive. And also, give his entry 10 stars because I would really love to swim in that lake.

Saturday, January 13, 2007

The Saints

Yes we lost. And it is heartbreaking. And I did wish Reggie Bush would break a few ribs on his first contact with Sheldon Brown. But now that the Eagles did lose, I am all for the Saints going all the way. They are a gutsy team. And New Orleans is a gutsy city. So go Saints. I am behind you. Eat those Bears / Seahawks next weekend. And I will provide the Sriracha sauce.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Bad Idea

The road to the Subway is horrible. Apart from all the 90 degree turns, it is ridden with potholes. Especially one particular spot where the car's left wheels go into a pothole, and then the right wheels, then the steering wheel comes off and you have to guide the car using brain waves. They haven't fixed this road up for the past year. This is what I think happened, and it is an educated guess on my part, that the PennDot, the Pennsylvania department of transportation, dug up the road while constructing a highway bridge over it and then did a sad job of filling it back up. And then the local township said to itself, hell, the potholes weren't our doing, so why in the name of sweet Jesus should we rebuild it? At least, this is the conversation I would have had with myself if I had been a government employee.

So no one filled up those potholes for a year and in the meantime the pile of steering wheels on the pavement grew and grew. And it was especially hard on me because as you know the Subway is the only eating joint in the vicinity and so I have to navigate this road every single day. Finally, one day, I decided that I had had enough of coffee cups falling off the roof of my car. So I went on the internet and looked for the website of this township and found that their website actually had a pothole reporting form on it, how about that? So I filled up this form and added my own biting invective in the text box where it said "Other Comments". I love it when websites have an "Other Comments" box because that is like the owner bending over, unbuttoning his pants, handing you a wooden rod and asking you to whack away. And so I did, and it unburdened my heart and it felt like an elephant had just removed his foot from the wooden chest of my happiness and walked away.

And it worked man, it worked. A week later, there were repair crews all over, whistling at women and shoveling gravel into those potholes. And although I felt a bit sad while saying goodbye, I knew that filling those babies up was the right thing to do.

Soon, cars, which previously had to slow down to navigate that section of the road were racing past and breaking the speed limit. And now, everyday, I have to spend hours on end waiting for a break in the speeding traffic that could allow me to get the hell out of the Subway parking lot and back onto the street. So all in all, sending that email appears to have been a mediocre idea. The only glimmer of hope in all this is the near-certainty that Penndot will be along soon to dig up the road again. After all, Pennsylvania IS the state having the worst roads in the USA.

Update : Apparently PA only has the 2nd worst roads in the country.

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Bar Leeches

For the past couple of weeks, I've been doing a lot of bar hopping because the wife has been away on vacation in India and a guy's gotta eat and food doesn't just grow on trees and even if it did I would have to go and pluck it and since I am a late riser, all the short people would already have been there and cleaned out all the low-hanging branches and I would have to go find a ladder, etc, so fuck all that, I just went to a bar.

Also, it's football playoff season and when you are watching your team play, it is a much more enjoyable experience with other people around you just so you can share the joy when a player on the other team breaks a leg or gets paralyzed from the waist down, nah I'm just kidding, what am I, a savage? No, we like it when they can get off the field without a cart.

But usually the give and take of fan happiness merely includes group slogan shouting, high fiving, or in the worst case scenario, helping other people off the floor after they've fallen from their chairs in ecstasy. There's always one guy who keeps doing that. Always one. But apart from these humanitarian exchanges, usually when I go to a bar, I keep my distance away from my fellow barflies because the thing about bars is that they serve alcohol and when people get alcohol inside them, they turn quite garrulous and excessively chummy and then the natural reaction for them is to grab the coat collar (or the spaghetti strap) of the person next to them and chew his or her ear off. That is why when I'm in a bar I like to pretend that I'm a foreigner and cannot speak English and I do a great job pulling it off because as it turns out I am a foreigner.

But, sometimes, the percentage alcohol by volume of the person is so high that it pierces through his, I won't say xenophobia, let's call it xenoreluctance, and when that happens, you're in trouble. For example, last weekend, as I was sitting in a sports bar watching the Cowboys game, wearing my brand new Eagles Jersey, this guy walked up to me and yelled in my ear, "You guys are gonna LOSE tomorrow". The capitalization of the word "Lose" was intentional and meant to convey the additional increase in decibel level for that word. And then he unzipped his jacket and showed me what was inside and underneath was a New York Giants jersey. Since I was also mildly buzzed from the beer and thus, more prone to expletive release, I yelled at him, "No Fucking Way, buddy".

He looked confused because I guess he wasn't used to foreigners swearing at him and walked away, apparently miffed. I felt a bit bad because I didn't know whether I had hurt his feelings or not. Miss Manners says Giants fans are also people, after all.

Which is why when I found myself sitting next to him at the bar after a few minutes, I took the uncharacteristic step of voluntarily starting a conversation with him because, you know, I'm getting old and I do not derive as much pleasure from hurting people's feelings as I used to.

"So what do you think about tomorrow's game?", I asked him.

I wasn't sure if he would recognize me through his beer goggles.

"Gonna be a tough one", he replied. Apparently he did.

"What's the deal with Eli", I asked him, instantly regretting my decision.

He launched on a detailed explanation of what the deal was with Eli. I listened patiently and then after convincing myself that I had paid off my dues, went back inside my shell and to my chicken wings.

"You guys are gonna LOSE tomorrow", he continued.

Goddamn, I thought we'd already gone over this, I said to myself. I began my nodding routine, the precursor for complete ignoring. In the meantime, I had also realized, to my dismay, that the guy was a shower head, one of those people who are quite generous with their saliva during a conversation. And I was eating.

"I like that ad", he said dreamily. That horrible car commercial with the people dancing and singing to that Sound of Music song. I opened my mouth to say something.

"Fuck Duke", the guy suddenly yelled.

Apparently a Duke basketball game was on.

"You got something against Duke?", I asked.
"Yeah, I'm from Seton Hall and those bastards at Duke never gave us respect."
"Hey, I have a friend...", I began, but got cut off.
"They never gave us respect. They come up to you and they do not give you any respect. You've got to give people respect, you know what I mean?", he asked me.

I did not know what he meant. I still don't know what giving respect means. I'm sure it means something because people here seem to be big on getting respect from other people.

"Look at that guy, he looks like a woman", he said, in a tone of considerable loathing. Evidently, he was having a hard time coming to terms with the long hair of a Duke player.

It was at this point, fortunately, that food appeared in front of him. It was a plate containing four slices of cake, a strange thing to order in a sports bar, but maybe it's a Seton Hall thing. He began to eat, thereby putting his saliva to better use.

Just as I was beginning to think he was done for the day, he again jumped up and pointed at the screen.

"Dammit what is with the long hair? Hey buddy, why don't you get a haircut?"

I noticed that the channel had switched to a women's basketball game. Regardless, I let him continue with his rant. Then, a stroke of luck.

"I gotta go to the bathroom", he said and left. There was still a slice of cake remaining in his plate.

"Is this seat taken?", someone asked me.

"Nope, it's all yours", I replied.

The bartender walked up and cleared away the cake. The leech was gone.

Somehow every time I sit at a bar, I am accosted by a leech. A couple of weeks ago, I was enjoying a quiet evening with zambezi in a bar in Jersey and a leech attached itself to us. This time it was a Jamaican woman and I won't say it was zambezi's fault, but it really was his fault because he began talking to her about what was wrong with the New York Knicks and about the problem lying with upper management and the Knicks having too many people playing the same position and all that talk was like showing a lettuce farmer a cartload of fresh manure and it made her spread out her roots like a banyan tree and then she made herself comfortable among us. She had one of the most irritating habits I've ever observed in any human being, basically after every sentence, she would stop and look very amazed at what she had just said and it was as if she was trying to transmit that amazement from her face to yours through sheer facial muscle exertion and honestly, what she was saying wasn't really very amazement-inducing at all. But basically, I had not driven 200 miles to spend my Friday night listening to a Jamaican woman babble on and on about the New York Knicks and look amazed so it was making me extremely frustrated. I don't know what zambezi was thinking at that point.

But the final camel that broke it's own back was when we finally extricated ourselves from the conversation and went outside in order to smoke, she goddamn followed us there and that was when zambezi finally told her, hey it's been great talking to you, bye bye. And we went back inside and took her drink and placed it ten blocks away from us. Sometimes you have to be cruel in order to move on with your own life. Oh and by a strange coincidence, this woman was from Seton Hall as well. And so is zambezi. Goddamn Seton Hall people.

But I think my worst experience with a leech was when I was accosted by a Jesus freak in a TGIF back when I was in New Hampshire, and it wasn't even a friday. For about two hours, yes, two hours this guy tried to convert me to Christianity. Only after I had promised him that I would at least try to attend church this sunday would he let me leave. Obviously that event had a lot to do with my eventual conversion to sado-masotheism. Sorry Jesus freak, no wings for you this lifetime.

The Odor

They now think that the foul odor detected in Manhattan yesterday might have originated from New Jersey. Who would have guessed? Here's what you've got to do from now on, New York. Turn your air conditioners so they face towards Jersey. Got it? Towards. Not away from.

And New York, if you are really interested in finding out what the fuck that odor was, this is what you need to do : Cruise along the section of the New Jersey Turnpike that lies between New Brunswick and Kearny, keeping your car windows open. Not only will you manage to find your odor in the odor cocktail that accompanies this stretch of highway, but in case of a future odor attack, you will be able to tell your friends exactly where it originated from.

You are welcome.

Monday, January 08, 2007


I am aware that these were all somebody's grandmothers and grandfathers and aunts and uncles and mothers and fathers but goddamn, this is one of the creepiest websites I have ever seen.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

The Dallas Cowboys suck but then you already knew it

It wasn't just that the Dallas Cowboys lost today against the Seattle Seahawks in a wild-card playoff. It wasn't that they lost inside the final two minutes of the game due to a fumbled field goal snap that would otherwise have given them a victory. What was so special about this loss was that Terrell Owens had a mediocre 2 receptions for 26 yards. Terrell Owens, as you know, was responsible for the massive chutyagiri that happened last year which fucked up the Philadelphia Eagles 2005 season. And what was even more enjoyable was Terrell Owens coming forth in the post-game press conference and talking about returning to Dallas next year and moving forward and hello Owens, my son, let me tell you a story. There was a little boy who grew up to be Terrell Owens and he played for the Philadelphia Eagles for a year and then he fucked them over and went to Dallas and played for the Dallas Cowboys for a year and then he was canned. And they all lived happily ever after. My God, how I love that story.

Although I did feel bad for Dallas quarterback Tony Romo who fumbled the snap. Regardless of how passionately I hate the cowboys, I do have a soft spot for Romo. And he was so very humble during the press conference and took all responsibility for the loss and he cried and so sweet were his tears from an Eagles perspective but if you were to look at him as a human being, you had to feel some sympathy.

Tomorrow the Philadelphia Eagles play the New York Giants in a wild-card playoff. Hopefully tomorrow will bring as much joy and ejaculation to Philadelphia sports fans as today did. I will be in Chickie's and Pete's, the same place that is so friendly to messy-eaters and I will be sporting a brand new Eagles jersey. This jersey has some amazing winning properties, as proved by today's Cowboys loss.

Fly Eagles Fly
On the road to victory
Fly Eagles Fly
Score a touchdown one two three
Hit 'em low
Hit 'em high
And we'll watch our Eagles fly
Fly Eagles Fly
On the road to victory

E A G L E S Eagles

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Google query of the day

"so I remember enjoying it when I quit, that makes it even worse now, A, remembering how mental I was to throw that away and like doing it. "


Anyways, I hope you found what you were looking for.

PS : By the way, this refers to the fact that someone typed in the above sentence into Google, got this blog in the search results and came here. You know, just for those who are not aware of what a google search query of the day means.

Friday, January 05, 2007


Emusic. I don't understand. Why won't you subscribe? It's very cheap. You will get to try out tons of music you didn't even know existed. Check it out. Emusic. It will even lower your bad cholesterol without affecting your good cholesterol. You need that good cholesterol.

Messy Eaters

There is a bar in downtown Philly I visited last Sunday, called "Chickie's and Pete's", that boasts of having "a washbasin in the center of the room for messy eaters". I don't see any benefit in having such a washbasin for messy eaters. And my opinion on this topic was vindicated by the fact that during my entire time there, I did not see a single messy eater avail himself of this opportunity to wash himself up at this basin. After all, if someone were a messy eater, would this person actually get up from his table and use that washbasin, in the process, broadcasting to the world his inability to transfer food safely from the plate to the mouth? I think not.

Or for that matter, if a bar proudly advertised itself as having "special window seats for people with a flatulence problem", would you openly patronize these flatulent-friendly seats?

Actually I'm not so sure, knowing you, you probably would, if you were really gassy.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

The fat envelope

When I crawled into my cubicle on 2nd January 2007, also known as that day in history when the three wise men finally left Bethlehem, leaving behind a manger strewn with empty beer bottles and burger wrappers, after all the birthday presents had been opened, detested and regifted and after Mary and Joseph had realized that the picnic was over and now it was time to change baby Jesus' diaper again for the twentieth time inside the goddamned freakin' hour, I thought I knew exactly what those good folks had gone through during that hallowed period. It was Back to Work time.

It was then that I saw a fat envelope lying comfortably on my chair, addressed to me from the company. Hallelujah, I expostulated, raising my face to the heavens and giving the baby Jesus a look of gratitude as he lay on the miniature manger scene I had recreated on my desk out of toilet paper and nail clippings. It was Christmas bonus time! Maybe it would still be possible for me to accomplish my fourth quarter earnings goal of not owning fewer liquid assets than I had in the third quarter.

Fingers working feverishly, their dexterity seasoned by numerous encounters with their owner's bursting bladder, the envelope was opened and the contents of the envelope retrieved. Strange and bizarre non-monetary things appeared to be nestling inside. Things made of plastic that looked incredibly like a pair of cash-strapped hand-cuffs. There was a long rectangular slip and two circular ring-type things. Also, a piece of paper containing instructions in English, Spanish and the language of the fair croissant.

I followed the instructions carefully, exercising that same exemplary work ethic that makes me an outstanding employee. Rolling the rectangular slip and joining it together, I then attached the two circular lids at its two ends and presto, I had myself a plastic pen stand. Hey, a do-it-your-own-goddamned-self pen stand, just what I had needed for this holiday season, what with all my homeless pens and all. Into this newly assembled pen stand I now proceeded to stuff my broken dreams. Then, I took the baby Jesus out of his manger and finger-flicked him into the trash. He will, in all likelihood, grow up to be a troubled young man, quite possibly turning into a Marilyn Manson fan.

Where is this society headed, you ask yourself, when you cannot even trust fat envelopes placed on your chair during Christmas to bring you holiday warmth and cheer?

Update : No actual babies or Saviors of all mankind were harmed during the compilation of this blogpost.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Happy Back to Work Day

Wishing You and Your's a warm and merry Back To Work Day. Here's hoping that this week will see you want to kill fewer people than the same time last year.

Next year, before you embark upon your holidays, always remember to freeze your bank accounts, change your ATM password and swallow it. Tie that ribbon around your thumb right now so that you will not forget.

Hello New Jersey, I think I know you a little better now. Although I still am not a huge fan, I have begun to see what other people see in you. You are akin to that dense unshaven armpit, providing, like only you can, all the comfort and warmth the lice clinging to your curly locks so fervently desire. Shave off all that hair and the lice will have nothing to hang on to. Now it is difficult for me, a self-avowed hermit to appreciate the mental safety-net of life in a tightly knit louse society, but I realize that there are other people who do. Someday, dear Jersey, when I am tired of my lonesome suburban existence, I will come crawling to your fetid streets for company and solace. You will accept me now, won't you?