Okay, here we are at Penn Station and the place I made mention of that supposedly has morphed into something different is none other than my own personal Fortress of Solitude, The Papaya Dog in Penn Station. I've heard from a source who's on deep background that the Papaya Dog is now some sort of hamburger stand. This is quite troubling and upsetting news. For over a year, this has been my personal sanctuary to retreat to when the going has gotten tough. A shelter for Gumby and I to reflect and drink giant glasses of beer for four dollars. And now all that may be gone. We'll find out soon.
Penn Station is packed with tourists in town for New Year's Eve tomorrow. God I can't wait for January 2nd!
Okay, here we are on the second escalator down. Look away from that man's chrome dome or risk retina burn.
As we approach, my mind is flooded with questions. What if there's no more Papaya Dog in Penn Station? Will my old friends still be working there? Will there be beer? And of course the most pressing question...
Why is Pippa undateable? And who the hell is Pippa anyway? Stay tuned for the answers.
Yesterday, Gene from the BBC, left this comment: “I miss the Fortress of Solitude that the Papaya is...” It made me realize I hadn’t been there in quite some time. It’s a good night to go, it’s Friday, it’s unseasonably cold outside (it’s supposed to snow on Saturday, to quote Gene again: UFB!) and it’s a perfect night to chill out at the Fortress of Solitude. This one’s for you Gene, so don’t blame me, Al! (I put a Neil Young song up as a consolation prize for Al!)
And we're off, just a short walk to Penn Station. It's not as cold as last night and no rain, which is a relief. However tomorrow it's supposed to go down to freezing temperatures and mixed rain and snow. I may have to bust out my winter coat for Cheeseburger Saturday Night!
Since we were just here last night, I thought I'd use a different entrance, so we have a little variety in the pictures.
Nice to see this fellow standing stationary on the escalator. Maybe people are finally learning, but I doubt it.
Hudson News, I think I'll stop and get a magazine to read at the Fortress of Solitude.
It's a crowded night here with people coming and going and standing around.
Wow, the Powerball is over 200 million!
If there's no post tomorrow, you'll know these numbers came up and I threw my computer out the window.
The Papaya sign is covered up with a banner, that kind of sucks.
I was a little afraid they took the Papaya Dog sign down, but here it is, behind the banner.
And here's our friend behind the counter, getting ready to serve up the ususal...
Giganzo beer and a hotdog with mustard (apologies to Britta and Kari, but I gotta go with mustard on the dog!)
Gumby's all settled in.
Here's the view from where I sit. I've already wolfed the dog down, so let's enjoy the magazine and the beer.
I got a copy of Life & Style. The cover story was about Demi Moore starving herself. Her arms aren't quite as scary as Madonna's, but they're getting there. The headline reads: "Starving To Keep Her Man." Personally I would've gone with: "Moore Is Less," but what do I know?
I'm amazed, I got all the way to page six before running into a photo of one of the Kardashians. The weekly magazines are obsessed with them. In fact I'm going to flip through and see how many photos there are of each Kardashian in this issue. Give me a couple minutes here. (Time goes by.) Okay, I'm back and here's the official Kardashian Kountdown: There's five pictures each of Kim and Khloe and Kourtney has four. So, there!
Here's a subscription ad with a cover from a week ago. Within the cover line a confused Kim Kardashian asks: "What Have I Done?" Well, Kim, from what I can see you've turned your massive tits and ass into a multimillion dollar corporation, but outside of that, you really haven't done a whole hell of a lot. Anyway, you go girl! And keep on going...a little farther, okay, don't let the door smack that giant-million dollar ass of yours on the way out. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
Further reading: MAD, Time Out New York and 365 Bars (I forgot I went there on the bar crawl, it came up on a Google search!)
After seeing the pop up photo of William Shatner in yesterday's post, The Duncester found a photo of Kurt Russell as Jack Burton in the 1986 movie, "Big Trouble in Little China." Beautiful "Separated At Birth" moment, Duncester, thanks for sending it in!
Last week over at the fine blog, The Half Empty Glass, anonymous271 wrote a post asking what people were doing in anticipation of Hurricane Tropical Storm Irene. I jokingly replied I was getting a copy of Juggs magazine because the power might go off and then there’s be no internet porn. After I left that comment it got me thinking, “Who the hell buys printed porn these days?” You can get more than enough free porn on the internet. Check out this screen shot.
The more I thought about it, I realized I haven’t bought a porno magazine in years. I think they still exist and I thought that for tonight’s six pack, I’d go out and buy six porno magazines and check them out. I just had a memory of when I bought my first porn magazine. I was a sophomore in high school and had just gotten my drivers license. I drove to the local shopping center in Peoria and headed to a local book store called, The Book Emporium. In addition to books, they had a large magazine selection and at the end of the display were the “men’s” magazines. I already had picked up a copy of Rolling Stone to use as a cover for standing in line and I chose a magazine with the subtle yet provocative title of “Beaver Magazine.” I put it underneath my Rolling Stone and wandered around till there wasn’t a line. Then I charged up to the register, the woman behind it (who looked a little like the principal’s secretary in Ferris Beuller’s Day Off) rang up the Rolling Stone and kind of scowled at me as she rang up my treasured copy of Beaver Magazine. I paid and the magazines were just sitting on the counter for all to see.
“Can I have a bag please,” I nervously asked.
The secretary look-a-like smirked and slowly went to get a bag. She knew I was a nervous wreck and she was moving slow. Right as I went to put the Beaver Magazine under the Rolling Stone, I heard a voice.
“Hi Marty, fancy running into you here!” a somewhat familiar female voice said.
I looked to my right and there stood my next door neighbor, Mrs. DeYoung. I think I turned about 57 shades of red while trying say hi and cover up the Beaver Magazine. I wanted to vanish. She was staring directly at my copy of Beaver Magazine.
“Hi Mrs. DeYoung,” I said while the woman behind the counter sloooowly put my magazines in a bag. I grabbed the bag and ran out to the safety of my mom’s blue Oldsmobile. For years, whenever I would look at an X-rated magazine, I would think of Mrs. DeYoung, and that’s not the vision you want to have while getting ready to hand it to yourself, so to speak! I don’t want to be unkind, but Mrs. DeYoung resembled a female Dick Butkus. Right down to the moustache. Aaaaahhh!
Okay, I’ve cracked a sweat reliving that experience, let’s go out and see if we can find six print porn magazines. I hope Mrs. DeYoung doesn’t happen to be in Manhattan by any chance!
Very nice out tonight, a wonderful evening to go searching for printed porn.
There's two newsstands on either side of the entrance to Penn Station. I thought I'd check these two out first.
Nothing here, the closest is Playboy and Maxim but those are a little too porn-lite for what I'm looking for.
Let's see what the one on the right has to offer.
They must be owned by the same people, it's the same magazines in almost all the same spots. No porn here, let's go inside.
This guy is cock-blocking the evil escalator walkers with his bag. Good for him!
Let's check out Hudson News, they have a lot of magazines here, let's see if there's any porn to be had.
Nothing here but Lady Gaga, and I've seen enough of her to last a lifetime.
Here's a Hooters magazine. We're getting warm, so to speak.
And here we go, the old half darkened X-rated magazine racks. Lots of choices here.
And here's the first three porno purchases. Let's go downstairs and see if we can find three more.
This place has the most magazines in Penn Station. I'm sure we'll find some in here.
Here's some entertainment magazines, no porn here. St. Vincent? That was the name of my grade school!
Holy moley! There's a whole corner devoted to porn here!
Lots of XXX choices here.
And they are appropriately bagged up in a brown paper bag. Okay, let's go check out my purchases back in the privacy of my apartment.
Magazine:Cheri Price: $11.99 Some of the cover lines: “Slut Alert! Madison Parker F#@ks 2 At A Time!” “Jesse Jane Gets Off On Dirty Boxers!” “Butt Sex Beauty Kristina Rose Crams Her Ass With Giant C*ck!” Random paragraph from the article titled: “Carol—Pinch Between Her Cheeks” Jugs. Hooters. Sweater meat. Headlights. Bazookas. Tits by any other name would still look as sweet and feel as nice. We’re a little obsessed with boobs here at CHERI. T.M.I.“I like hanging out by the urinals best...guys stand there, unzip, and take out their cocks! I want to cram all that sausage into my mouth.”
Magazine:Naughty Neighbor Price: $11.99 Some of the cover lines: “Jessica—Sex is her new favorite pastime.” “All Ages • All Types • All Amateurs” “Bush Baby—Hairy Teen” Random paragraph from the article titled: “Candy—Brooklyn, New York” Job Status: Unemployed. Age: 20. Bras 34D Panties: Mostly commando. Anal: Sure! BJs: Swallow it all. Diddle: Hardly ever. T.M.I.“I don’t mind if the guy wets a finger and works that in my butt while we’re screwing, but he’s not going to put his dick in there!”
Magazine:Penthouse Forum Price: $8.99 Some of the cover lines: “Unfaithful And Loving It: How I Survived My First Affair.” Monique Alexander’s X-Rated Makeover!” First sentence from a typical Forum letter: “It all started when I first saw Anika walking across the parking lot next to her building." T.M.I.“Dan likes fucking my ass more than he likes anything else.”
Magazine:Over 50 Price: $8.99 Some of the cover lines: “Grannies Go Gay!” “Phyllis & Friend 59—We’ve Eaten Miles of Pussy!” “Corrine 57, Dalia 57—Dick! Pussy! We can’t Decide!” One look inside this magazine is too frightening to be believed. It does prove one thing though, gravity is all too real!
Magazine:Juggs Price: $8.99 Some of the cover lines: (Mulitple exclamation mark alert.) “Brunettes Only Issue!!!!” Cory Emerson Pop slut Slop Tart!” Random paragraph from the article titled: “Hailey” Although she’s beautiful to behold and her rump is as round as a man could desire, she snaps her gum too loud when she’s talking and she burps, loudly, in the middle of sentences without excusing herself. T.M.I. Once the attractive young bassoon player blew his load all over her hand, he keeled over and died on the spot.
Magazine:Beaver Hunt Price: $11.99 The title of this magazine brought back visions of Mrs. DeYoung and I had to flee the store immediately.
MAD commenter and quote supplier, rr, sent in this photo of the Manhattan skyline after Tropical Storm Irene pranced through the city. The photo is by Inga Sarda-Sorensen. Thanks, rr, it's a beautiful photo!
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Bonus Cartoon By Jaws!
To go along with today's theme, Jaws sent in this cheesecake cartoon. Thanks Jaws!
I’ve decided to introduce a new feature here at MAD and I’m calling it, “Six Pack.” What this will be is me going to six different places and getting the same item at all of them while doing a little comparison of the product and places. I thought I’d do the inaugural “Six Pack” at Penn Station, because I’m feeling lazy and don’t want to go too far away tonight. And tonight’s “Six Pack” item is going to be beer. How fitting, huh? And I’m not going to go to my Fortress of Solitude, because it’s a sacred place and doesn’t belong in a stunt post like this. And also, I thought I’d give Al a break!
And here we are, Penn Station. A familiar sight here at MAD.
It's a crowded escalator but no one's walking or pushing on it tonight. A good sign!
I thought we'd stroll around the first level and see what we find.
Look at this, a delicatessen. I bet there's beer in here...
And bingo was his name!
There's a nice little seating area to watch the world go by as you drink your beer.
Gumby's all settled in.
Time to drink beer number one.
Don Pepi: A Deli of Distinction. Yes, it's all that...
And a bag of chips. Time for beer number two.
Must. Avoid. At. All. Costs.
Where there's pizza...
There's beer.
Beer number two is served in a Don Pepi bag. This guy sure gets around!
On to beer number three. What do you get when you cross this place with Donald Trump's bank account? Rich Cappuccinno. (There's about three people out there that are laughing now.)
They have bottled beer in here.
And a railing and chairs where you can sit.
The view's not much though, let's see what one of the lead stories is in the New York Times.
"Reality Show Ricochets Through Brighton Beach." God I hate this world.
Did I mention that i really hate this world? Oh, good.
Okay, yesterday in the comments section there was some comments about walking down the escalator as opposed to standing there and riding it down. I addressed it in the comments section and I’m going to write about it here as well, because as I explained to a commenter, I’m an obsessive nut about a lot of things and that escalator is at the top of my list.
So I understand that some people are in a hurry, especially at a place like Penn Station. People have schedules and if they don’t get to their platform on time, they miss their train. So you see people running and trying to cut corners to get to their destination. But I’d like to make a point and I think I’ll do it in pictures. I had to work late tonight and they want me to try and get in as early as possible tomorrow, so I don’t have much time to do anything tonight, so this is a perfect night for this. We’ll be there in a second.
Okay, here we go, off into the night in search of an escalator. The excitement never ends here!
And here we are at Penn Station. Now let's go look at something.
Okay, there's the escalator and there's some jackass yammering away on a cell phone. Let's forget about him for a second, no matter how hard that is to do. Yeah, say you're running late for a train or you need to use the bathrooms in here or you're jonesing for an Auntie Anne's pretzel, why wouldn't you run down this escalator and push people out of your way to get where you're going? After all, you don't have time to "dick around" like some of us and you have places to go and people to be. You're an important person and you can't waste time riding this thing while standing still. I totally understand except...
THERE'S A HUGE FUCKING STAIRWAY RIGHT NEXT TO THE ESCALATOR THAT IS FOUR TIMES AS BIG! God, I hate typing in all capital letters, but sometimes a point has to be made and I can't sleep until it's understood. Okay, tonight they're working on the stairs, so it's not the best of nights to make this point. But if you're in a hurry, why wouldn't you run down this ample space instead of knocking into people riding the escalator who aren't in a hurry? Yesterday, a commenter called people who stand and ride the escalator "lazy sows." Well a lot of nights when I ride that escalator I've just come off a twelve hour shift at work and I just want to ride the escalator and not have some asshole push at me, even though I'm standing as far to the right as I can. In a hurry? Use the stairs!
Another commenter (and one who seems like a nice person whom I'm not giving attitude to, just making a point here) said that you save time walking on the escalator because it's faster as it's moving and the stairway is stationary. I understood that point and decided to give it a test. I rode the escalator down and timed it and it took exactly twenty seconds for the whole trip, standing still. Next I wanted to try it walking down and see the time I saved, but since the stairs were closed it was too crowded to do it.
But the up escalator was wide open, so I decided to walk up and time it. It's the same distance as going down, so away we go!
And boom, here we are outside. And it was quicker. It took just six seconds to get from point A to point B. So we saved 14 valuable seconds by walking the escalator. Maybe that's important to you to get to your destination 14 seconds earlier, but personally I'll take the 20 second ride anytime and take a queue from my friend the Chillmaster and chill the fuck out for a few extra seconds. Why the fuck not?
While we're here, we may as well check out the greeting cards here at Duane Reade. In the past they've had some suspicious cards in this store.
Fuck you Ziggy! I'm just trying to make a point here!
You can't sleep? Well, I think you're in the wrong aisle...
You need to be over here, my dear, next to the beer. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
Okay, I had to work late and I’m pretty fucking beat. Since I didn’t go anywhere last night, I figure I should make some sort of an effort to go somewhere tonight. But it’s after one in the morning and I’m fucking tired...I think you know where this is leading, sorry to ruin your Saturday, Al, but it must be done. Oh I’m also going to scan in the “16 Beers” article and I’ll put it below tonight’s photos. I don’t know if you’ll be able to read it, but we shall see. New York and the rest of most of the country has been one big stinking steam bath, I'm hoping its cooled down a bit, let's go see.
Holy shitballs, it's hotter than a sack of stolen diamonds shoved up Satan's asshole out here! Let's get to some air conditioning pronto!
And here we are, the oasis of Penn Station. I hope it's cool in there.
And here's some jackass pushing everyone out of his way as walks down the escalator. And there's stairs about two inches away. But at least this way we get a lovely look at his bald patch he's trying to hide with his dread locks. Lovely!
Bonus "16 Beers in 16 Bars in 16 Hours" Time Out New York Story!
Yesterday a few people said they'd like to see this story, so I scanned it in. If you squint real hard and put on a pair of magnifying glasses, you just might be able to read it.
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R.I.P. Amy Winehouse
I slept in today and just found out she died. Say what you will about her personal life, she was a great singer, songwriter and musician.
Okay, I’m still hungover from yesterday at Mars Bar kind of tired tonight and don’t really feel like doing anything for tonight’s post. I think those of you that have been following MAD for the last few months know where this is going, so it’s off we go.
And here we are at Penn Station, a familiar stopping point here on MAD.
Everyone's standing still on the escalator which is nice.
I have to check the Duane Reade to see if things have improved in their greeting card section.
Okay, this shit is getting too personal in here! I'm going to talk to a manager the next time!
Okay, not far to go now...
And here we are...ahhh, I feel better already!
My friend serves up the dog...
And I retreat to my table in my Fortress of Solitude.
I let Gumby have a tableside seat tonight and that pleased him.
Dog gone, so now it's time to enjoy the beer...
And do a little drawing to relax.
A collective shot of tonight's artwork.
An obligatory Papaya Dog mirror shot and I'm done. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow, after dark.
I’ve written before that I’ll never blog about my night job because I don’t want to get dooced and have to try and find another one. A lot of you don’t even know what I do to pay my rent and bills. Let’s just say what I do is about a half a step above a shit-shoveler, although on bad nights it can be a step below. When I came in, today I thought that due to a job we had to get out, I thought I was going to be stuck here till around six in the morning. But things happened and now I’m getting ready to go and it’s around 12:30 in the morning. And I’m dog-tired.
I could just say, “Fuck it,” go home and put up a couple videos or something, but I feel I owe it to you good people that come here and read this everyday to at least go out and try.So that’s exactly what I’m going to do, go out and try. Let’s see where the night leads this weary soul.
And here we go. It rained earlier and it's a chilly night for a mid-May evening/morning.
The sign says: "Walk this way," so I do.
Must...cross...street...
How odd, I feel like I have no control over my body. I pray I don't shit or piss my pants, that would be truly embarrassing.
Penn Station...I must enter...I don't know why...
Good Gods...I'm walking down the escalator...something I have railed against in the past...I shove past the blonde on the left and...
Head towards the second escalators. Must go down...I have no idea why...I just know I have to follow my impulses.
Okay, here we are at Penn Station and the place I made mention of that supposedly has morphed into something different is none other than my own personal Fortress of Solitude, The Papaya Dog in Penn Station. I've heard from a source who's on deep background that the Papaya Dog is now some sort of hamburger stand. This is quite troubling and upsetting news. For over a year, this has been my personal sanctuary to retreat to when the going has gotten tough. A shelter for Gumby and I to reflect and drink giant glasses of beer for four dollars. And now all that may be gone. We'll find out soon.
Penn Station is packed with tourists in town for New Year's Eve tomorrow. God I can't wait for January 2nd!
Okay, here we are on the second escalator down. Look away from that man's chrome dome or risk retina burn.
As we approach, my mind is flooded with questions. What if there's no more Papaya Dog in Penn Station? Will my old friends still be working there? Will there be beer? And of course the most pressing question...
Why is Pippa undateable? And who the hell is Pippa anyway? Stay tuned for the answers.
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