"Let's get rid of New York" - The Randoms (featuring Boogie Nights actor John Doe)

"I just love New York City! Where else can you get a fresh bagel at two in the morning?!"-Adolph Hitler

I was originally supposed to write an article about The Cobrasnake, his headband, and all the club kids that he shoots with his Polaroid. At first I thought it was sure to be a challenging assignment, but then I remembered that it was retarded instead.

Look at him and remember that he does that on purpose and it gets him attention and the more attention you pay to him the more successful he is. And even though, according to this Wired article, he's supposedly from the West Coast (it also claims that he's 20 years old, and a contestant on Extreme Makeover, so believe what you want), the REASON he's successful is your city.

Your city is the first place I ever saw human feces on a sidewalk. Virtually everything cool that happens in your city happened in the Midwest first. New Yorkers are second only to Philadelphians in general ugliness and hooting monkey noises. Speaking of, your newspaper is now touting the Golden Metropolis that is the City of Brotherly Love as your next borough. Good luck with that.

Seriously, fuck New York.

I realize that there is nothing new or original about bashing New York. I realize that hundreds of people, each and everyone better than I am in every way, have said every single thing there is to say on the topic.

And yet here I am.

Here I am to ask you when was the last time your fucking city had a decent band. A band that wasn't just mincing around in front of the mirror in Andy Gill's panties lip-syncing to "How I Wrote Elastic Man" (and, let's be honest, ripping off English music is as bad as liking soccer). What have you got besides Joy Division tribute bands, shitty hardcore, and people who took Liquid Sky seriously? Not a fucking thing since the Devil Dogs broke up.

Here I am to say thanks for giving the world Ray Romano's unique outlook on life. Thank you for the endless parade of whiny, insufferable Jews/Italians/WASPs/junkies. Here I am to say: 700 Sundays.

Here I am to commend you on your “pizza,” that folded-up wad of Bounty topped with hamburger grease and a dollop of Crisco. Fuck you and fuck your Ray’s Original.

Here I am to say that your hair looks stupid, I hate your fucking boots, the publishing industry is the cultural equivalent of Big Tobacco and that, once I start running things, your fucking Neighborhoodies will earn you very painful and very public death.