by Anonymous*: Glug glug glug? Both Walter Benjamin and Hannah Arendt believed it so, yes, but throughout the 1960s and into the early ’70s, I was a HUGE Beach Boys fan, thus I vastly prefer “Chug-A-Lug” (Chug-A-Lug). To those who disagree another term at the Gravesend School of Doo-Wop might be in order. “Fuck that, Pops— I have a gub” ya’ll reply? I’m hardly shook. This is still BK All Day: who doesn’t have a gub? Sometimes in Rockapulco, Queens**, large aquatic mammals wash up on shore and we wonder, hmmmmm… how would that taste grilled? A similar question arises every time I peep this silver finned devil mounted on the wall. Much respect to The Creator, of whom nothing is certain— a trick nearly as impressive as the getting up itself these days, when everyone wants to tell ya’ll everything, constantly, no matter how little they actually know. So tell us Great Sages of the Blogidad: is it street art, graffiti or… dinner?
* Caz Dolowicz was born on Sands Street in 1923. A retired New York City Transit Authority Tower Operator, today he’s wearing black ankle socks with his Air Max 95s, so what? He does not want your peas, your rice, your coconut oil, nor all arrogance of earthen riches although he will be getting jerk chicken on Utica Ave later— see ya’ll there?