Crime is down in Trenton Time to Buy!

The Grand Duke of Stirling, Joseph Santiago, keeps telling us that crime is down, crime is down. So why, then, are almost all of the cherished restaurants and their patrons gone from the city? It's because what most people want is MORE FREAKIN' CRIME, right? The restaurants may be dwindling, but that doesn't mean this city can't feed you what you need.

Here are some Chef Specials you missed over the last couple of weeks*:

Special One: "A good old beating/Robbery"

This little baby can be served up any time of the day, hot or cold. The price, negotiable, sometimes you forget where you put your purse and it costs whatever you got, sometimes you'll be so happy to be pounded into the ground that you'll give them your car. These little delicacies were served up on November 19th, November 26th, twice on November 29th and December 1st, and twice on December 3rd.

Special Two: "Armed Robbery with two sides of beating and a topping of pistol whip"

MMMMmmm, this is just so goddamned good, we just can't seem to keep it on the shelf. Quite a few servings of this were spooned up to citizens and non-citizens in past couple of weeks. Let's see, November 25th, November 28th, November 29th, December 1st, thrice. If you are really lucky they will deliver it to your own home, which they did twice on December 4th. We even have drive thru, one customer was all set to sit down to a knife tapping on the window of her car when she realized that the light had changed and she had better move on.

Special Three: "Beating A La Mode":

Just a plain good old fashioned roundhouse medium rare, with a sprinkling of boots to the head. This is just what you need for a perfect snack on the go! This is also quite a rarity. Unfortunately this little ditty has been in very short supply around here. The Chefs do not like to get their hands dirty.

And these are only the advertised specials.

No reservations taken. First come first serve.

But hurry, supplies will not last, Crime just keeps going down.

G Spot on the Downhigh out!

*No coupons. These offers are not available in Stirling, NJ.

Trenton Police Director Position A Hobby?

I've been reading a lot lately. Yeah, I can read. And this friggin' Santiago runt is getting a little tiring. Hey, Mr. Police Director, I'm sorry there's no friggin' Conference of Police Directors you can head up, so you can go galavanting all over the country, like that other midget mountain, who hired you does, while Trenton stews to shit. And Trenton is stewing to shit under your watch, pal.

Your reasons for not living here? Many. I know the truth because I live here and I'm proud of it. And you want to be proud too. You want the truth? I'd say you couldn't handle the truth, but I think you can. But you can't laugh at it, and snicker with your buddy Dennis Gonzalez, while concerned citizens are asking you questions at city council. The real truth is ugly.

Is it because of the violence? Well, crime is down (as you say), but bloodletting seems to be on the rise, or at least keeping a steady pace these last few years.

Is it because somebody sent your wife computer porn? It was likely breast enlargement or enlarge your penis stuff. As an aside, that shit works. I'm a 44DD and I hang 10 now. Woohoo! I never want to leave the house!! Pal, who doesn't get porn? In fact I would say there is a high possibility that you have beat the bishop to Triple X a few times yourself.

Is it because somebody, a hardworkin' Crip or Blood, sent you a threatening letter? Are you not in charge of a bunch of guys who carry guns? I get dirty looks and "Whaz poppin'" glances on an almost weekly basis from my local friendlies, and all I got is myself and some good Canadian lumber that shoots left, and I live here!

Let's see...the unions gave you a hard time about your pension? Whatever. Get over it. You got your pension, that's all worked out. But still you'll quit if you have to live here.

Did you not read the name of the position when you applied? It did not say fry guy at Mickey D's.

You want the truth? It's simple. You just don't have it anymore, and maybe you never did, you and your goddamn shit PowerPoint slides. What is that? Do you think you are some corporate executive? Your brand of bullshit wouldn't fly in the corporate world, even if you invented the the CockofthewalkBerry. Though, I think you could really stand behind something like that. You and Captain Sleepy could sell alarm ringtones to augment it (your ringtone would utter "crime is down! crime is down! crime is down!" and his would just be some hardcore snoring).

Hey! I got a Powerpoint Presentation for you!

Slide 1
"Fuck you!"

Slide 2
"FUCK OFF"

Slide 3
"ITS OFF TO FUCKOFFITY LAND FOR YOU!"

So take your pension, buy something sexy, and stop wasting my money and embarrassing me with your disrespect, and get the fuck out of my town!

Please.

G SPOT on the Downhigh!

My domicile is Trenton, What Else?!

I've been reading the papers recently and a lot of people are up in arms over people who make their money here, but don't live here, even though they's s'posed to. Well, they're not living here very much anyway, or in some cases not at all. Who loses in this scenario? They do, of course!

Livin in the city of Tren'on comes with many privileges. Name one? I can name more than one!

The Secret Rules and Regulations of Trenton:

Section 1: Motor Vehicles
I can ride my ATV/Dirtbike/Scooter/Donkey/Car on any paved, or unpaved surface I feel like.
Subsection:
1.1 Operator of any of the above does not need a) License b) Registration c) Insurance.
1.2 Operator does, however, need a helmet. A helmet replaces registration and insurance.
1.3 Operator does not need any type of lighting on vehicle, unless there is a Lunar eclipse.
1.4 Operator must pop wheelies, blow stop signs and laugh wholeheartedly if pursued by law enforcement.
1.5 If operator cannot prove ownership of above mentioned transport, then possibly someone else can.
1.6 Operator can only tint everything. Even license ID. If they can't see it, you ain't doin it.

Section 2: Community Events
Any and all "Light the Night" celebrations can and should end up with a beating of a civilian of your choice.

Section 3: Litter
Littering is compulsory. Just plain ole tired of carrying it? Drop it! Keep your ride clean by usin' the garbage cans God provided for us: the sewer drains!

Section 4: Noise
4.1 Music: The more excessive, the better. Any time, any where.
4.2 Dogs: canine homies are encouraged to bark their fool heads off day and night (and for the record, leashes are optional. Dog poop questions? See "Section 3: Litter" above.)

Section 5: The Media
Any "award-winning journalist" of a local newspaper (said "award" being for "Best Journalist Among Other Journalists Who All Suck and Like to Blather On and On and Never Stop, Even When They are 'Beugois' and Like to be Puppets Award") can say whatever s/he wants, even if it makes no fuckin sense. Said "award-winning journalist" will still get paid, but may have to supply his/her own paper to write on. Said "award-winning journalist" may go back to his/her home at night. That home not being here.

Section 6: Law Enforcement
The Police department is run remotely from another town, allowing for citizens to make own rules, and perform for Video Surveillance Cameras, which may or may not catch said performance because they are substandard.

Section 7: Oh yeah, Crime is down!

So there are some great reasons to live here. It's why I do.

G Spot on the Downhigh

Canada Goose or Illegal Alien, What's Worse?

Hey! I'll start out by saying, Canada Goose or Illegal Alien, what's worse, is pretty much a toss-up. They both leave their shit everywhere, they both live in flocks, and they both speak a language I cannot begin to understand.

Living in Trenton is best described as a medium security penitentiary. That's why I'm trapped here: I can leave to do work detail and shit, but I have to be careful what areas I pass through, in case I get shanked.

Trenton is an acquired taste, kind of like a sweet pain. A sweet pain is one that hurts, but just enough to make you feel alive; in fact it kind of feels good, like a sore back after a good work out.

The Canada goose has some pros: They can fly. They actually look pretty damn good, nice coloring. They can nip the fuck out of you if you get close. Got to admire that, Trenton!

Now the Illegal Immigrant has some pros, too: They will work cheap, and under the table, saving you money and taxes at the same time! Usually they are short so you can keep a lot of them in one place in case you need them, like a cupboard or fridge, or back of a pick-up truck, with your lawnmowers. And I've come to realize that them speakin' another language is really no fuckin' problem at all, because I don't really give a shit what they have to say anyway.

Now for the cons: The Canada Goose shits everywhere all the time, and it takes over parks and lakes like crazy. They also make a lot of noise.

Illegal Immigrant cons: they don't shit everywhere, but they also can't fly. They do, however, take over the streets with their illegally registered vehicles, which the local VPCA is working to straightening out.* And they do make a lot of noise, having fun and playing loud music, spending quality time with family and friends, and having cookouts and picnics, and doing all the stuff that we used to do in the 1950s. Fuck, how the fuck do they find the time to have fun?! That really pisses me off. I mean, they work 72 hours a week or more, and they walk around with shit-eating grins on their faces. I make twice as much as 5 of those guys in any given week, and I might put in a solid 20 hours of work in my 37 hour week. What the fuck is up? I need to do more investigating on this, that is a for-sure. Somehow I got to get myself on the that Illegal Train of Happiness.

So in the end, which would I choose for my neighborhood? Tough call, since they both don't pay taxes. In the end, I would rather have illegal immigrants, since the Canada Goose is a protected species.**

G Spot out!

______________________________________________

*Kudos to you ma fa's. It's about time somebody stood up and kicked people who have nothing, in the balls, when they most don't need it.

** According to the president of the civic association mentioned above, "THESE PEOPEL [sic] ARE HERE ILLEGALLY AND HAVE NO RIGHTS." Caps are for emphasis, and belong to the president of the association. No rights. No rights!

Busting a Sag with my Roast Beef Bag

I'm all for this saggy pants legislation. It can't arrive soon enough as far as I'm concerned. I'm not into letting my pants fall down, so you can see my underwear. That shit is for the birds. I don't even wear pants, I just walk around in my underwear. Not shirt, no shoes, no SHIT!

Legislate that! If some overweight slob at the beach can wear a speedo, that is covered by his gut and looks like he slapped a bag of chicken to his crotch, I can style in my boxers, my briefs, my boxer briefs.

I think these kids should take the next step, it's been long enough. Bust the sag, and let it out. All out.

Trenton City Council knows how to rock the shit! They don't screw around with litter ordinances or residency ordinances or any ordinary ordinances. No They are extraordinary, above the pile. Steaming with great ideas. I'm definitely behind them on this busting a sag thing. That don't take no balls.

Like the Grinch's heart that day on the cliff, grow some. Let it all hang out. Pull up the back of your pants, and then drop 'em, display what you really need in Trenton. A set of big ones!

My boxers are sweet, they come with a set of curtains, and when it’s show time I just pull the strings and voila! You got it: full on frontal nuttage. How you contain them is up to you, string, lace, cellophane, glitter, bandaids, a couple of spoons.... Do it your way.

So let’s get on with it. Cut out the sag and show your ballbag!

G Spot on the Downhigh!

Dead People Shit too!

I used to think Trenton had it all, that we we knew everything. But no, no we don't. In fact I've just found out that we possibly know nothing. Well, nothing about the afterlife, anyway. Seems that the sophisticated and well-heeled city of Camden recently undertook a study.

What are the results of this study, you ask? Dead people do indeed take shits!

Now, that is spending your hard-earned tax dollars the right way! Possibly only cities that are run as federal corporations can afford such awesome undertakings.

And did Camden stop there, just with a conclusion? No, No not at all. They took action, and they blew through the red tape. They installed a "Johnny on the Spot!" And now people who have died in the last 100 to 150 years, who have been laid to rest in the cemetery on Mt. Ephraim Road in Camden can drop a dusty deuce without having the rest of their gimpy friends watching.

That rocks!!

Dougy, why didn't you think of this? You still have time. Can you imagine the benefits of having a crap-can for tomb dwellers in our fair city ? It might possibly mean a busy month cleaning up, but somehow I think it would release the stench of our past.

Camden has it all over us. Who would have thought of placing a "Johnny" in a cemetery, and leaving it there for three years? Wow, that takes balls and determination.

Come on Trenton, stop lagging behind! And to you lucky dead fuckers in Camden, let me know if you need any reading material, I left you behind a Trentonian, and a Trenton Times but that is so you can wipe your ass,

G SPOT on the Downhigh

A Man Making a Difference

To all you dicks out there sitting on your dirtchutes, there is a man in Trenton that I hope runs for mayor. He lives on Olden Ave. He is the owner of an awesome outdoor fitness center.

Sy's Gym. He has one curling bench, a bench press, and a few hundred pounds of weights. Oh, and a sign that says "SY'S GYM," and a mirror, to check out your pecs as you rock through your workout. And it's also handy if some mongo decides to sneak up behind you while you are doing your curls.

Sy is out there early in the morning, before 7am. Kicking ass. He could have stayed inside. He could have kept it to himself, but he decided to share his gym with the world. Lots of people dream, they think about doing things. But Sy did it. He is doing it. And his is a clean establishment. Today I drove by and he was standing out front wearing his work garb, and sweeping the street in front of his gym. Well, I guess he was sweeping his gym. Which is a lot of work. Because Sy's gym is the streets of Trenton, which is a pretty fucking big gym. Hey, it is how Arnold started and look what he has done.

If Sy takes a break from pumping iron, I will offer to be his campaign manager. And it is good that Dougy is not running again, since Trenton is tired of his old ass. Hey Dougy it's the 10th Inning, your team lost about 10 years ago and you forgot to go home. Step aside, Bro. Sy is comin' on through.

Sy has two things going for him, he can likely benchpress every one of you motherfuckers out there, and he get this, he (unlike the mayor) actually lives every day in our fair city. He can handle the heat, yes he can. You try benchpressing 250 lbs in the noonday sun, while sucking in exhaust, and looking at the shitcloud that is emanating from City Hall. Yeah you try it, because you can't do it.

There is only one SY, and he belongs to Trenton, and with broom in hand, he is cleaning the streets one rep at a time!

FUCK YA!!

G SPOT on the DOWNHIGH!

FUCKIN A!!! Trenton Gets New Motocross Track

The zipper almost exploded off my pants. Instant hard on! Damn, the new "Greenwood Race Track and Obstacle Course!" Who read my mind?!?! I first experienced it from my car. But shit, I don't want my insurance to go up (wait, just joking...what insurance?), and the quad (which is also fully insured...ha!) really gives me the sense of bein' king of the road. That's what I'm talking about!

I beat it home, grabbed my quad, gassed it up where we all do (shhh...at the Sunoco on 29), popped a few wheelies, tossed a few birds at the PoPo and the scowling neighbors, and I was on my way! Off to the Greenwood Race Track and Obstacle Course. Dats a CRUNK course! The first few sewers were nothing: I hardly got air. But the next two, I didn't even see them, as they were covered in crankcase oil. Guess a few unluckies broke their rides. Some people like to have caution signs where the hazards are, but twist that noise up your dirt chute. Trenton Transpo is keeping it real: balls out, no prisoners! You want a caution sign? Well, here's a quarter call your mommy!

One of the things I really like about Trenton, besides this new awesome Greenwood motocross, is that people here are really helpful. My machine stalled after one of the hardest jumps and I had trouble getting it going after. Sometimes I find it helps to swear at it, but this time something new worked. This guy came out of the bushes and he pointed a gun at my ride, and, what do you know? It started right up. Helpful people! I mean if you are going to put in a wicked motocross track, you had best do it in a nice area of town. In any other area, some dick would have offered to help push. Screw that. Wave your firebreathin' magic wand, make my ride go.

Lovin' it in TRENTON!
G Spot on the Downhigh

Trenton Wants You & They want your Garbage!

I'm not kidding. I think it is a town ordinance. I'm so glad I'm in Trenton. No need to waste precious time looking for a pail; the streets are my pail. The whole city is my pail!

I love to throw crap everywhere! It's kind of a hobby. Yeah, it is one of my favorite past-times.

Whether I'm walkin', drivin', or just plain sittin', I can toss, throw, pitch, whip, and/or slam my consumer excrement anywhere I want! I love litterin', it makes me happy. The freedom makes me happy.

Sometimes I pull up in my car, and I open my door and I drop out my Mickey D's bag. I make sure to drive over it when I pull away. If I have empty bottles of Hennessey (and who am I kidding? I always have empty bottles of Hennessey!), I play street bowling with them. It can be a lot of fun. First, get your ride up to speed, and then try to drift -- that is, slide sideways while still moving forward -- and when you get close to the corner, slam that beotch down the open sewer grate like you are tossing a grenade into Saddam's coffin! The sound of the shattering glass is better than any opera! Try it! It will set you free!

Lots of time, littering is just a casual part of life. So there are a lot of gentle tosses from my moving car, mindless releases as I walk, and a drop and roll if I'm sitting. I don't like having garbage on me, or in my car. And I think that it gets absorbed into Trenton's soil because it's usually gone the next time I drive or walk by, so it has to be good for the earth. It kind of upsets me when my stuff is gone, but just when I'm about to scream a primal F at the world, some other dude will bust the street with his own gunk!

I don't like when people give me the hairy eyeball or say things, like "Hey Don't litter!" I don't say, "Don't Breathe." or "Back off, dick. " No, I just look at them, flash a V and toss some more crap out of my car. Hey, if you haven't got the balls to live free it's not my fault. Get your own hobby! I'm just doin' what comes naturally.

So let's keep up the good work my fellow/and Girla Trentonites, let us build our piles high and proud!

G Spot on the Downhigh!

If I Gotta Have a Snowman, He Can't Be White

I'm working on my car, and this forty-something white dude who looks like he was covered in wet dough and then sprayed with WD40 comes staggering down the street. Before I can even think, "When will this mongo come drool on me with some bullshit story trying to get some cash out of me?" this dusty mongo is already on me. He is right in my space. He looks at me, all wide-eyed, like Marlon Brando with a bug in his mouth, and blurts out, "Want some of this?!"

He unfolds his clenched fist, and there, in a messy ball of plastic baggy, is a bunch of oddly colored pills. "Want some of this? Only 20 bucks!"

"Do I want some of what?! Get your stinkin' face away from me, you friggin' stinky, sweaty mongo! I don't want your drugs. You are so stoned you likely mashed up some Flintstones chewables, soaked them in paint thinner and carried them in your ass crack for the whole day!"

Mr. Obviously-Not-From-This-Neighborhood (or Mr. Hey-Look-at-Me-From-a hundred-yards-and-see-that-I'm-stoned) looked at me like I was the one who stood out.

If I'm going to buy drugs, I ain't buyin' them from no stoned white dude. That's like buying a half-eaten sandwich from a fat man: there has to be something wrong with it.

Hey, when I want my drugs, if I want my drugs, I want some style, some pizazz. The guy selling them has be cool. He can't be stoned; in fact, he shouldn't even have the drugs on him. He should yell something at me while I'm driving through, and when I'm not looking; something discreet (as discreet as a yell can be), like "EEEER!" Then when I pull over to talk, he should send me down the street to his buddy, who is even cooler; he'll be a dude wearing a long tee, and a gold rope, properly dressed for the deal. Smart decisions, proper attire, and networking. That's what I appreciate in a business man.

If that white guy ever comes back to my neighborhood I'll have him arrested. If you are going to sell drugs, have some class: lift your head up, show me some respect. Trenton don't need no cracker spreadin' his crumbs on our beach!

Yours,
G Spot on the DownHigh!

People Are Jealous of Trenton

I play hockey on Monday nights in Philly, with a group of guys from 20- to 70-years old. I'm always bragging to them about Trenton. There are things we have here that you can't get anywhere else.

I was not aware of one of them until the hockey guys started telling me about how hard it is to get landscapers to give them estimates and even harder to get someone decent to do the work.
I said, "What about the men on bikes?"

"Men on bikes?!?!" they exclaimed together.
"Yes," I said, "You know, the men on bikes." I thought they were playing with me, with their stares of disbelief, as I'm originally from Canada and not as well-versed in the ways of the American Suburban Jungle. They just stared at me, urging me to continue with their eyes. I said, "We don't have them in Canada. But in Trenton there are these guys that ride around on bikes, and tow lawnmowers, and keep chainsaws in the bike carriers and gas cans in their free hands."

They said they had never heard of such a luxury.

I said, "Where I live, there are armies of men on bikes ready to do anything at a moment's notice. Quite reasonable too." I now had their undivided attention.

Having the undivided attention of my hockey buddies does not happen very often. Actually, the last time it happened was my first year of playing with them. We were eating deer steaks and filets in the parking lot after the game, barbecued by Hunter Danny, or Serial Killer Danny as I affectionately call him. I would come home stinking of deer juice and my wife would ask me what I had eaten. "Well, some deer sausage, some deer steaks, deer jerky. Lots of deer." I could see this was unnerving to her, for a number of reasons, and not just because of the way I smelled upon my return home. She told me, "My dad hunts, and the deer you're eating is out of season." The next week I went back to play and talked to Serial Killer Danny as he barbecued. "So Danny, where do you get this delicious meat? Do you freeze it from hunting season?"

Danny looked down at me through his thick glasses, brushed his straw hair aside and said, "Glen, I live across from a UPS Depot, and the trucks hit a lot of deer, and if I can get to it while it's still warm, I butcher it."

I said, "So if it's still warm..."

He interrupted, "And if the eyes haven't glazed over." So I moved over to where the boys were chowing on some deer burgers, and told them that they were eating road kill. They all told me I was full of it. So I called Danny over. By the time Danny got to the part about the eyes glazing over, the boys were chewing much slower.

Alright, off topic. Sawry. I described to the guys how, in Trenton, we have these dudes that ride around on bikes, and they pull their lawnmowers behind them, while juggling a gas can in the free hand. And they charge like 10 bucks for a decent mow. When I told them about the guy who actually towed a wagon on a rope behind him with two lawnmowers mounted on top, like a bike Semi, the hockey boys were were drooling. Here they were begging to have their lawns mowed, and I was living in the Mecca of Lawnmower Men.

I told them that here in Trenton, not only can we get a quick landscaping estimate, but we can't keep these eager fellows away. In fact, one time I was working in the backyard with a few contractors on our garage, and this huge, muscle-bound, Mr. T-looking mofo walked right into the yard, and up to me and said, "I'm here to mow your lawn!" And when I kindly declined, he stepped closer and said, "I'm going to mow your lawn." I looked him over, and at 250 pounds of solid muscle, and wearing a shirt that had been borrowed from the Incredible Hulk in the middle of his transformation, I realized he was made to mow lawns, and who am I to stop a man fresh out of prison from doing what he likes? He mowed the lawn, a few rocks, some stumps and part of an old fence which we didn't really didn't need anyway, for all of twelve dollars.

My astute hockey buddies were impressed with this. They want me to organize a convoy of these Bike Riding Entrenpreneurs to come to their aid in Philly. But I don't think so: the Bike Men are Trenton's, and I'm not sharing!

Detroit is Motown, Trenton is MowTown and it's my town!