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Now it's the Poles. Men like cinder blocks. Men like pit bulls. Anchors. Anvils. Unshaven. Grizzled. The Poles. Bellowing. Shouting out stinking clouds in the frozen air of 3AM from mouths obscured by pushbrooms. "Scwieckzy!! Bwo ho ho!!" Alcohol. Solidarity. Scratch tickets. It echoes off the pavement and phone booths and parking signs. They congregate, these old men, smashing walls with their hands. Heaving their mass against corrugated security curtains drawn tight over sleeping bodegas. Laughing bitterly while spilling crappy beer from paper bags, which leaks to the curb and collects. Pissing Poles. Fighting Poles. Singing Poles.

These are men ready at every moment to stuff sausages past their splitting, swollen lips and guzzle booze until they are worms. Men ready to fight and to stop things with their faces. To fall down. Every head is scarred and blunt. Heads like sledgehammers. Fists like mallets wrapped in cured turkey skin. Chapped. Cracking. Fingers like the toes of gorillas. Fat tubes. Dried-out horsedicks. Nails full of nameless shit. Cigarette stains. Blisters. Callous. Burns. Scars. Cigarettes. Emphysema. Shitfaced. Barking. Walrus. Punching. Bomber jacket. Reeboks. Pain.

Let us pile rocks on their shoulders and build train stations.

And the young ones are cubist, albino eels, undergrad 3D art school renderings of eminem, skinny tracksuited geeks who'll kick your face and curse, racing ridiculous four-cylinder hip-hop fuckmobiles back and forth along Manhattan Avenue. GTi's, Civics, the Ford Focus--anything cheap. Why is it that American pop culture passed through the prism of Eastern European interpretation results in something undeniably 99-cent Store? "Raper of your mother!" they will yell. "White dog!" Et cetera.

All while kicking.

And the girls. Sweet God. Riding shotgun. Designer jeaned asses bouncing above the ground effects like cotton candy. Blue eyes. They have the Strange Face. And somehow these supermodels behind convenience counters become the bone thin women with the disappearing rumps, the odd ponytails-and-bangs combos, and the menthol cigarettes.

Still, I'd hit that. Scwieckzy!!

Date Written: March 20, 2005
Author: Dick Vomit
Average Vote: 4.5333

03/29/2005 Partytime (5): The first two paragraphs are classic. And really I love all of this except the prism line and the final line, even though I'd hit that too. So maybe I do like the final line. Hmmm. So five it is.
03/29/2005 Ewan Snow (4): Even though I'm not crazy about the one word sentence thing, and I thought the last sentence takes away from the short, it definitely is packed with memorable images. "Alcohol. Solidarity. Scratch tickets." Solid four.
03/29/2005 qualcomm (4):
03/29/2005 Moe-Ron (5): I'll give this a fiver, lil' buddy!
03/29/2005 Jimson S. Sorghum (5):
03/29/2005 Mr. Pony (5): This is true. This happens where I live. This is accurate and also true.
03/29/2005 Mr. Pony: Let us pile rocks on their shoulders and build train stations.
03/29/2005 qualcomm: the tone was a little melodramatic. i tell you this to explain why your fives are wrong.
03/29/2005 Mr. Pony: The melodramatic tone is one of the reasons I gave it a five. Behold, everyone, as qualcomm's head blows up!
03/29/2005 anonymous: The tone was a lot melodramatic.
03/29/2005 anonymous: doy
03/29/2005 qualcomm: to what end? did you want to make your narrator seem like a douchetard? if so, why? it only makes his very true observations about these polacks less convincing.
03/29/2005 anonymous: in your opinion, sir.
03/29/2005 qualcomm: which is my opinion? that it makes your narrator an asshole or that an asshole narrator is less convincing than a non-asshole narrator? or both?
03/29/2005 Mr. Pony: BOOM, ladies and gentlemen!
03/29/2005 qualcomm: disney, can you do something? i think the rid has hijacked pony's account.
03/29/2005 Phony Millions (4): Worked for me; only thing that I also like was the prism-pop culture business - all of the sudden I was reading the Village Voice and didn't want to be. Why Poles, I wonder, author?
03/29/2005 Phony Millions: sorry, I meant also 'didn't' like.
03/29/2005 qualcomm: author lives in greenpoint
03/29/2005 Phony Millions: ahhhh.
03/29/2005 Ewan Snow: Author, perhaps you should try knitting for the the Poles. Huh?
03/29/2005 anonymous: k.
03/29/2005 Jimson S. Sorghum: Explain further why the melodramatic tone is a problem. It does sort of read like def poetry jam. But I think that works, no?
03/29/2005 Ewan Snow: Ah, Jimson, we don't say "no?" anymore. Didn't you get the memo? And yeah, Def Poetry Jam sums it up. I don't know, but that is what bothered me about this one. The images themselves were great, but I wasn't crazy about the presentation.
03/29/2005 qualcomm: the only way i think a melodramatic narrator would work here is if he's supposed to be an object of ridicule. i just don't get that feeling from this. for example, the tone/rhythm of "Men like cinder blocks. Men like pit bulls," sounds all blue collar tough guy, as if the narrator were presenting himself as someone who might have to compete with the poles' cinder-blocky pit bullishness on some level, maybe for good paying jobs at the construction site, or in bar fights.
03/29/2005 Dylan Danko (4): I think I agree with QC although I did enjoy the tone. There's a Studs Terkel quality to it or maybe it's Jimmy Breslin who the fuck knows. One star off for failing to mention cankles on those polish broads.
03/29/2005 Phony Millions: Studs Terkel! Yeah, but QC liked this enough to give it a 4, which is pretty damn generous from that star-miser.
03/29/2005 Litcube: Those first two paragraphs are awesome with special fucking powers.
03/29/2005 Klause Muppet (4):
03/29/2005 Blister Buddy (5): I had a hangup in the first 'graf,' here: "Men like cinder blocks. Men like pit bulls. Anchors. Anvils. Unshaven. Grizzled. The Poles. Bellowing." I'm applying "Unshaven. Grizzled.," to the "Men like..." phrases instead of "The Poles." It wasn't until I wrote this that I saw that there should be a break there between the noun and adjective pairs (or should there?). The second time this happens is fine with me, though, since it's more histerical, maybe?

You know what though? This is so good. There's this kid who's like 13 or 18 and sells coke near where the Author lives. He IS the P3 kid, and the Author doesn't even know that, I bet.

ALSO, qualcomm, if it helps, I read this in a Ridiculous Russian accent the second time, and it makes up for all your (and my) complaints.

03/29/2005 Jon Matza (4): etc'd the etc but wasn't etc
03/29/2005 TheBuyer (5): read it in the accent for sure. Good one Ricky, I am liking.
03/29/2005 anonymous: Thanks, TheBuyer. Though I'm not sure who this Ricky character is.
03/29/2005 John Slocum (4): Excellent! Enjoyed reading this. I thought the force lost some momentum towards the end of the second paragraph, but much to love.
03/30/2005 Litcube (5): Dick, this was Osim.
03/31/2005 Templeton Dink (5):
04/1/2005 Daphne: Stuffed-cabbagetastic!