Buffalo's Best Fiend

I was chilling out, waiting on the Bandit to drop off the papers for this weeks delivery when I saw our neighborhood Buffalo News slinger: a sixty year old woman chain smoking newps while cutting across lawns emptying her paper bag. I said ‘hello’ to her as she blew smoke from her nose on her way past my porch—a sexy trick—and she nodded with a grunt. See we don’t get the Buffalo News, although we are looking forward excitedly to this all-too-hyped "makeover" they are pushing down our throats. It has amazed me that every time I see that toilet paper it looks worse than the time before—picture blurry, wording illegible. One of the largest papers in the country (seriously, it is), with the most dough, pales in comparison to the quality of the Beast. And they have a woman Editor. So they are ahead of the times. They are unveiling the new look this month sometime. I’m sure you are all as giddy as I am, and I’m sure we can cover this a little further in coming issue’s.

This last Pushing excursion was the first I’ve endured with good weather—and I miss the cold. I say endured because with the warm air comes people. And I’m not too fond of people or the way they think. "It’s nice out for the first time: let’s drink!" Similar to the old "it’s Cinquoeoue DemAyeaeo: Let’s drink!" Or the "it’s the night before thanksgiving and they say it’s the biggest drinking night: Let’s drink." A mother fucker who needs a reason to drink is a bitch. I will get all bent up next Wednesday like it’s last Monday or that night that Sick and I were freestyling over a Derringer beat and he was eating strait garlic. So Hertel was stingy on the parking spots. People were everywhere. The hoochies were out full force, and forgot they’re gear at the crib. Flip Flops were in effect and it was barely fifty degrees. I would say something about the skimpy skirts, but they wear those when it’s snowing anyway. The Cat (my brother’s lady) came thru and she was dressed like she was going yachting after the visit to my house. I know summer is short, but relax. Let it come on it’s own. You can’t force Mother Nature or she will come back with a nasty, hate-filled vengeance. And she did, as it was cold for the next week-an-a-half.

I keep forgetting to write about this Mineo’s place up Hertel near Parkside. It’s a Pizza spot. Pizza makes me sick. I can’t even look at it anymore. Buffalo should be blown up so that the total of the world’s Pizza spots will diminish by half. Have you ever gone anywhere in your life and seen close to the abundance of Pizza spots that can be found on one block here (Broadway, Elmwood, Hertel)? Fuck no. Most people wouldn’t complain. I, at one time, would’ve been on of those complacent consumers, but my family has been ordering Bob and John’s for far too long. And that pizza sucks. They have single handedly ruined pizza for me. That pizza makes me sick. And it isn’t even just the pizza—it’s every dish they serve. And my whole family acts like this is the only spot for a pie. Which is crazy since, as I’d previously mentioned, Pizza places are far from sporadically placed in this city. Back to Mineo’s though; I’ve never eaten there so I can’t say much aside from the fact that we have been dropping papers there for months and have yet to see one customer or a worker in the place. Well, I’m lying. Cutler pointed out that three weeks in a row a ladder was seen. And on the ladder, directly behind the counter, was a crotch. Three weeks in a row. A crotch. That’s all. A crotch. No hello, no wink, no can I help you?, just a crotch. Peace.

Letters to the Evil Editors should be addressed to:
sic@buffalobeast.com