...And then everyone said "Jabroni!"

A poem, an exercise in omitting letters.

Last night was too real. It was the kind of night that I can ONLY have w/ my best friend of 23 years because we flawlessly synchronize. Btw, if you can, please read this with the beat of “Worst Behavior” by Drake playing in your head.

Last night, I went out w/ my best friend Alberto.

What we originally intended to be a quiet night @ the movies became one of the most AWESOME one of a kind drunken adventures EVER.

We serendipitously met up w/ one of my college friends and had dinner/drinks.

I had 4 shots of whiskey two “Manhattan” cocktails, and 1 beer. So basically 8 shots of whiskey.

I also ate, this is why I didn’t get drunk.

Berto had 1 Cosmo,1 Black & Tan, 2 beers, and 4 shots of whiskey.

Then, we got the brilliant idea to go do karaoke.

When we arrived at “little Korea” we decided to buy more alcohol.

I was VERY tipsy and I literally stole a 375ml bottle soju ( 20% grain alcohol) from a food court. While Alberto was paying for his bottle of soju and a beer.

When Berto walked out, he told me the cashier ACTUALLY said something and that his words were, “Yo! Ya’ll niggas are the SHIT! Your friend stole that bottle and I only noticed because I happened to look at him when he walked out the door. Other than that, that was the MOST flawless theft I’ve ever seen” and then actually GAVE Alberto HIS bottle of Soju AND his beer for free. We basically saved $40 all because I wanted to be a criminal.

Ok….

Then, we cross the street and sit in the lobby of a karaoke place. We actually meant to sing karaoke there, but we realized two things:

1) No outside liquor allowed 2) 55/hr

soooooo, we sat in the first floor lobby and CHUGGED our two 375ml bottles of soju, which is basically Korean “light vodka”.

This is basically the point where we got trashed. Irreparably trashed.

We left and found a different karaoke spot.

We go in and get a room, and Berto and I start singing and dancing at the top of our lungs.

At one point, we were so drunk that eventually we started crying about shit we were talking about (The “only child” struggle. We have ALL the feelings, but NO one to talk to lol). Berto basically tells me “his goal for the night was to have one of our last great adventures before I become a father”.

After 4 hours of karaoke and a $100 and a $300 bill we were still adding shit to, I basically come up w/ the idea that we shouldnt pay.

Let me give you a description of where we were and why this was some shit that only two very smart Bronx boys could pull off.

-5th floor -We’re in a private karaoke room (which means that we can’t get out w/o being seen. Or so you’d think) -Bouncers all over the main room -Waiters everywhere -We were across from the bar and our waiter was also bartending.

Berto basically looks at me and says, “How are we gonna get out of here”

This is when YEARS of playing “Metal Gear Solid” paid off. I reply

“Our waiter will see us, unless we wait for him to focus his line of sight in the opposite direction and then move together flawlessly” and I stuff the bottle of whiskey into my bag btw lmao.

He said, “You’re crazy”

I say, “Follow me when I walk out”

Our waiter turns around, I open the door, walk out, Berto follows, we walk Up to the hostess, THANK HER, SHE WALKS US TO THE ELEVATOR (but we decide to take the stairs), we walk past security, and leave the building unable to believe we pulled that off w/o a hitch.

We then walk into a restaurant where the gay waiter then gave us our meal for free and thought that Alberto was cute.

After that, berto was FUCKED up, and I was drunk but not trashed.

We carry each other to the train station and make it onto the platform.

On the platform these two talking random ppl start talking to me and Berto. I actually don’t remember why but we had a random conversation. One of them was visiting from London. Whatever. Then we get on the train and start talking to even MORE ppl lol.

By the time we get home, Berto is passed out and I’m carrying him. I walk past a drug dealer and go, “Yo fam! You want this bottle of whiskey?” and give him the rest of it.

I get home, text my girlfriend, tell her I love her, and KTFO.

[Photo of Junot Diaz with a pen in his mouth]

Listen, when you use a word of hate ironically – like, and your defense is “I’m not racist, how could you ever think I’m racist??” I want you to imagine owning a gun, but never buying live ammunition. You only purchase blanks. Ok? And say sometimes when you hang out with your close friends, you take out your gun, which they know contains no live ammunition, and you shoot it at stuff, and you think it’s funny. And maybe the first time you do it, they’re like “Shit. I mean, I know those are blanks, but that’s kind of fucked up,” but your argument is, “But I can’t really hurt anyone! They’re just blanks!” And over time they just get used to it and find it kind of funny. “Oh, that Cliff, sometimes he takes his gun out and shoots some blanks, but he doesn’t really mean anything. It’s just funny! You know how it goes.” Now, imagine that over time, having received the acceptance for your actions from your friends, you decide you can start firing blanks around people you’ve never met. In mixed company. You’re at a dinner party one night, you’ve had a few, so you go “Hey, wanna see something cool?!” and those who are your friends at the party know what’s coming, so they’re prepared, but then the people who don’t know you, they see you whip out a piece and go “Oh shit, I’m going to die, it’s everything I feared,” but your friends explain to them it’s not a big deal, there’s nothing to be afraid of, “Cliff wouldn’t hurt a fly,” so they eventually, begrudgingly, don’t say anything about it, don’t call you, Cliff, a fucking asshole. “Fine, it’s kind of ridiculous, but whatever.” Something like that. And then you are at a large public place. A concert, an open mic, where you and your friends are outnumbered by the rest of the audience. And maybe someone pushes you or gives you a hard time, so you decide, just to give the guy a taste of his own medicine, to pull out your gun, and fire some blanks. Give him a real, real visceral jump. And everyone around you feels threatened, unsafe, about to be part of something they were always on some subconscious level afraid would happen, but at the same time hopeful it would never happen because our society’s getting smarter and more considerate of those around them. And then some other people, who after seeing it happen, feel relieved that you were firing blanks, but also feel empowered by your choice to fire a weapon in a public place, and choose to do the same thing. Do you get it yet? The fact is that derogatory remarks, whether used sincerely or ironically, and ammunition, whether blank or live, still creates the same environment of discomfort and fear every time it is used. So cut the shit.

A new startup called Paribus, launched at TechCrunch Disrupt NY, wants to help online shoppers get money back when prices drop. 

Today’s consumers know that prices change more often on e-commerce sites than they do in brick-and-mortar stores. Amazon alone makes roughly 80 million price changes every day. But what many don’t realize is that there’s actually a way to get money returned to you when those online items go on sale. 

The majority of major retailers offer some sort of price match guarantee, but it’s often a hassle for consumers to take advantage of that option.

Brooklyn-based Paribus wants to solve that problem by tracking the price changes associated with your online purchases, then following the given store’s specialized procedures to file a claim on your behalf if the price drops. To do so, the system first requires that users authenticate with their email provider, like Gmail, Yahoo Mail, Hotmail/Outlook, or iCloud, using the Paribus website. 

This gives the startup the ability to scan your inbox looking for the receipts associated with your online purchases. The idea, explains Paribus co-founder and CEO Eric Glyman, is to basically offer a “set-it-and-forget-it” type of service for online shoppers. That is, after you authenticate with your online accounts that first time, it then just works automatically to save you money.

(Source: TechCrunch)

It’s been working great for me so far! You can try it out for yourself. It’s free! (Only for US-based retailers for now)

You can SIGN UP OR READ MORE ABOUT IT HERE!

Homunculi

Artificial human beings, created by the will of another, given life through a false soul.  Homunculi are beings created in the image of humanity, yet never given the true sense of life, of being, of existence, through a soul.  There is no blood coursing through their veins, there is no beating heart in their chest, only symbols, metaphor and imitations. And yet they walk, hidden and unnoticed by the greater population, blending into the background, always on the peripheral, always on the move.

The Artificial Man

Homunculi are created out of longing; be it the desire for knowledge, the grief of loss or the yearning for companionship.  They are composed of blood and clay, mock flesh, molded around bone, an iron nail in each hand, foot, their chest and forehead. Fire is kindled in their chest, their heart, which beats and pulses inside of them.  

But all this is nothing without a soul.  And so the creator creates an imitation, a false soul. Some take these souls from wraiths, others create facsimiles, and others still split their own soul to give their creation life.  But no matter the source it breathes life into the body.  And yet, no matter how they are created they are incomplete, possessed of lingering thoughts and emotions not of their own.

Empty Soul, Empty Lives

Birthed out of yearning, given a hollow soul, crafted from mud and bone, the homunculus is an empty creature.  Often they are abandoned or otherwise lose their creators, some choose to flee, but they always feel lost and alone.  They exist on the fringes, scrounging and scavenging for food and money, only to pick up and move along, seeking something they cannot explain.

The homunculi are individual, so few and distant that they have no culture.  They take from the cultures they live in, create some degree of stable identity, but as a whole they do not share a common ideal.  The closest they come is the understanding of that nameless, nagging melancholy that binds all of them together.  Some embrace this misery, believing themselves inhuman and empty, while others think that if they can overcome their sorrow they may transcend, become human and become their own person.

Physical Appearance

Homunculi are bound by their memories inherited by their false soul, taking the general shape and appearance of whoever their soul is derived.  As a homunculus lives and gathers memories that are their own this appearance can subtly change but there are always shadows of the original soul within them.

Beyond their general, human appearance, homunculi are also bound by their memories on how they operate.  They eat because humans eat, they can see despite their eyes being made of clay and can’t see in the dark because humans cannot see in the dark.

All homunculi are made of clay or a similar material, shaded with paint or dye.  As such, at first glance they appear human but upon further inspection one notes a subtle, wet sheen to their skin at all times.  Their eyes have a dull, flat look to them, and in the back of their throat one can see the subtle glow of candle flame.  Homunculi cannot grow hair but many choose to wear wigs to hide this fact.

Homunculi Names

Homunculi take names based on their memories or those assigned by their creator.  Some discard their old names and take up a name based on their perceived purpose or goal, to embody what they are, rather than who they came from.