Flushing The Crankcase.
Spring has fucking sprung. We in NYC, supposedly, got us some nice 60+ degree weather coming. I'm moving in with my beautiful girlfriend in her beautiful apartment in her beautiful neighborhood next month. I'm 6-2. I've got broad shoulders, hard arms, a small waist, and a very tight ass. I feel like a 20 year-old. Also, I don't smell. Chicks generally dig me. Handsome gay men hit on me. My job is peachy (don't worry, I still hate the fucking ad industry). Since the season hasn't started yet, my Seattle Mariners are tied for first place. I saw the Heartless Bastards at Maxwell's last night, and they were fantastic. I have cool shoes/boots. There are two Simpsons reruns on every weekday eve. I haven't been shit on the head by a fucking fat-ass pigeon in a couple of years. My continuous desire to full-forcefully bodycheck every clueless dickwad who doesn't know how to walk on Manhattan sidewalks has ebbed. Somewhat. My strong urges to punch every man/woman in the face who rushes into the elevator before I exit aren't coming quite so close to metamorphing into actual clouts. The loud voice in my head that tells me to smash every bartender in the back of the head with the 6-8 dollar glass of 99/100s ice and 1/100s bourbon he/she serves me is a couple of decibels lower...
Question: does anybody out there know what the waiting period is for buying a gun in New York City?
(photo: old wall ad on Lafayette St.)
previously in copyranter is a fucking dick:
1. Advertising sucks SMELLY DICK.
2. Nemo the Goldfish.
3. The Human Trainwreck.
4. copyranter's new logo.
5. Catching squirrels in Washington Square Park.