Tag Archives: Upper East Side
Valentine’s Day, Bitch.
YO it’s fuckin’ February I ain’t Punxsutawney Phillin’
6 more weeks of winter, bitch, that groundhog he BE ILLIN’
(I be illin’ too, so you ain’t hearin’ my inflection
I got a–WHAT WHAT–RESPIRATORY INFECTION)
AND all this homophobia–it gets me all emoshi
So I cannot watch The Bachelor or STRAIGHT PEOPLE IN SOCHI
This ain’t no time for hatred, go and coz beneath your covers
Cuz it’s Februrary, bitch, and it’s for MOTHER FUCKIN’ LOVERS
It’s the time to get real lucky (like with peens or like, vagines)
Cuz it’s fuckin’ mother fuckin’ FRIGGIN FUCKIN’ VALENTINE’S READ MO, YO!
Yo yo yo bitch welcome to my turf
It’s the greatest time of year
IN THE GREATEST PLACE ON EARF
Let’s all raise a glass, clap your hands, and shake a titty
IT’S NEW YEAR’S FUCKIN’ EVE right here in NEW YORK FUCKIN CITAAYYY READ MO, YO!
Equality, Bitch.
So I’m riding on the subway with my fellow Jews & goys
And sitting right across I see these gorgeous little boys
They were riding on the 6 train with this chick who was their nanny
(No, not cuz they’re Hispanic and this chick is Pakistani)
I heard her tellin’ someone she’s a nanny and a bassist
I didn’t make assumptions, bitch, I AIN’T NO NANNY RACIST
They were playing nice and quietly with little cars and boats
And dressed up so adorably in MATCHING MONCLER COATS
They were munching on some healthy snacks, a little veggie crudo
They looked like tiny 4-year-old MEMBERS OF MENUDO
As I looked into their gorgeous eyes and perfect dimpled grins
I whispered, “Motherfucker. THOSE ARE RICKY MARTIN’S TWINS.”
Bitch, I’m well-versed in celeb kids (I once saw Bronx Mowgli Wentz)
And Ricky Martin’s on the East Side SO THE 6 TRAIN WOULD MAKE SENSE!
Of course I kept real quiet (didn’t wanna seem a dork)
Bitch, that’s just how you roll when YOU ARE FUCKIN’ FROM NEW YORK
(Well, I’m actually from Cleveland, but I’m sayin’ that’s how I WOULD in fact roll, if I was actually from New York) (bitch)
And speaking of New York, there is no place I’d rather be
Than where these two boys and their dads can be a fuckin’ family
I looked right at these happy kids, how nicely they were seated
And I thought about some news of late and got real fuckin’ heated
I promised long ago I wouldn’t make this blog political
But this shit isn’t politics–BITCH, I ain’t hypocritical
Keeping anyone from marrying just really gets me fumin’
I told ya, it ain’ politics, it’s simply fuckin’ HUMAN
Folks comparing beastiality to people who are gay!?!?
If anyone’s unfit to parent it’s the ones who think that way
Politicians cheering Chick-fil-a, all in the name of God?
And what if Track or Trig were gay?? Or (more likely)Todd?
The best thing we can give this world, so far and above
Is to let us all live equally and openly with love
I left train and smiled at Matteo and his brother (Valentino. duh.)
Who on earth would keep their dads from fuckin’ marrying each other?
Bitch, I fucking love my husband, our bond is crazy thick
I’d SO marry him again, even if he were a chick
Love is simply love, gay or straight, New York or Boca
And for two people in love to wed? That vida sure ain’t loca
I walked home and I thought about how much I find it bothering
How anyone could question love and question loving fathering
NPH and David Burtka, Ellen, Portia, Cam & Mitch?
If anyone keeps them from marrying, I’ll fuckin’ choke a bitch
I got home and went online for just a little decompression
And I wrote this lil’ rap for you in true PASSIVE AGGRESSION
And I Google Image searched a pic of Ricky and his tots
And I found one from that very day! I’M LIKE GONNA PLOTZ
He was walking through an airport, kids in hand and standing tall
And I zoomed in on the boys AND THEY WEREN’T WHO I SAW AT ALL
They were acting like his kids, one on each leg so tightly latching
BUT IT JUST CAN’T BE SO! THEIR JACKETS AREN’T EVEN MATCHING
They had no designer clothes and no Evita paraphernalia
And they weren’t on the 6 train–THEY WERE FUCKING IN AUSTRALIA
So my boys weren’t Ricky Martin’s kids, as far as I can tell
But I’m sure they have gay dads–they just were dressed too fucking well
No matter who their parents are, why not let them wed?
I logged onto my Facebook, seems we all be seeing red
Other people’s love is good, please don’t be a hater
Don’t be a Scalia, be a Kagan or RUTH BADER
Let’s keep our fingers crossed that we will see the end of DOMA
And see some FAB new registries at Williams and Sonoma
And let’s all teach our kids to love, they hear what we’re impartin’
Do it for the greater good (and for Ricky Martin)
Word.
Equality, Bitch.
So I’m riding on the subway with my fellow Jews & goys
And sitting right across I see these gorgeous little boys
They were riding on the 6 train with this chick who was their nanny
(No, not cuz they’re Hispanic and this chick is Pakistani)
I heard her tellin’ someone she’s a nanny and a bassist
I didn’t make assumptions, bitch, I AIN’T NO NANNY RACIST
They were playing nice and quietly with little cars and boats
And dressed up so adorably in MATCHING MONCLER COATS
They were munching on some healthy snacks, a little veggie crudo
They looked like tiny 4-year-old MEMBERS OF MENUDO
As I looked into their gorgeous eyes and perfect dimpled grins
I whispered, “Motherfucker. THOSE ARE RICKY MARTIN’S TWINS.”
Bitch, I’m well-versed in celeb kids (I once saw Bronx Mowgli Wentz)
And Ricky Martin’s on the East Side SO THE 6 TRAIN WOULD MAKE SENSE!
Of course I kept real quiet (didn’t wanna seem a dork)
Bitch, that’s just how you roll when YOU ARE FUCKIN’ FROM NEW YORK
(Well, I’m actually from Cleveland, but I’m sayin’ that’s how I WOULD in fact roll, if I was actually from New York) (bitch)
And speaking of New York, there is no place I’d rather be
Than where these two boys and their dads can be a fuckin’ family
I looked right at these happy kids, how nicely they were seated
And I thought about some news of late and got real fuckin’ heated
I promised long ago I wouldn’t make this blog political
But this shit isn’t politics–BITCH, I ain’t hypocritical
Keeping anyone from marrying just really gets me fumin’
I told ya, it ain’ politics, it’s simply fuckin’ HUMAN
Folks comparing beastiality to people who are gay!?!?
If anyone’s unfit to parent it’s the ones who think that way
Politicians cheering Chick-fil-a, all in the name of God?
And what if Track or Trig were gay?? Or (more likely)Todd?
The best thing we can give this world, so far and above
Is to let us all live equally and openly with love
I left train and smiled at Matteo and his brother (Valentino. duh.)
Who on earth would keep their dads from fuckin’ marrying each other?
Bitch, I fucking love my husband, our bond is crazy thick
I’d SO marry him again, even if he were a chick
Love is simply love, gay or straight, New York or Boca
And for two people in love to wed? That vida sure ain’t loca
I walked home and I thought about how much I find it bothering
How anyone could question love and question loving fathering
NPH and David Burtka, Ellen, Portia, Cam & Mitch?
If anyone keeps them from marrying, I’ll fuckin’ choke a bitch
I got home and went online for just a little decompression
And I wrote this lil’ rap for you in true PASSIVE AGGRESSION
And I Google Image searched a pic of Ricky and his tots
And I found one from that very day! I’M LIKE GONNA PLOTZ
He was walking through an airport, kids in hand and standing tall
And I zoomed in on the boys AND THEY WEREN’T WHO I SAW AT ALL
They were acting like his kids, one on each leg so tightly latching
BUT IT JUST CAN’T BE SO! THEIR JACKETS AREN’T EVEN MATCHING
They had no designer clothes and no Evita paraphernalia
And they weren’t on the 6 train–THEY WERE FUCKING IN AUSTRALIA
So my boys weren’t Ricky Martin’s kids, as far as I can tell
But I’m sure they have gay dads–they just were dressed too fucking well
No matter who their parents are, why not let them wed?
I logged onto my Facebook, seems we all be seeing red
Other people’s love is good, please don’t be a hater
Don’t be a Scalia, be a Kagan or RUTH BADER
Let’s keep our fingers crossed that we will see the end of DOMA
And see some FAB new registries at Williams and Sonoma
And let’s all teach our kids to love, they hear what we’re impartin’
Do it for the greater good (and for Ricky Martin)
Word.
Menstrual Man, Bitch.
If you’re livin’ with a lady, then you know there’s nothing worse
Than that one week of the month when she gets the fuckin’ CURSE
No matter what you say, there will always be a fight
For that week (and more) you’re wrong, I mean, ladies, am I right?
So don’t bother with affection, you’re just wasting all your doting
Cuz we’d rather be alone with our Chipotle, gas, and bloating
And though I do want that burrito, I’m not trying to brag
But I really don’t get moody when I’m on the fuckin’ RAG
Now, please don’t be mistaken, thinkin’ that’s so advantageous
Because lately I’m convinced that menstrual symptoms are contagious
I have lots of detailed evidence, I’m sharing just a kernel
I’MMMA publish all this shit in the New England fuckin’ JOURNAL
It’s a medical wonder, but to you I will confess:
That when I get my ladies, my man gets the PMS
I think the estrogen just floats around and does a little switchy
I get the zits and bloating and my husband GETS THE BITCHY
Don’t get me wrong, he is a dude, all manly and testicular
But on that one week he’s stubborn and he’s so crazily particular
He’s perfect all the other weeks, with hardly any flaws
So I’ll put up with all this shit UNTIL WE MENOPAUSE
I could tell so many stories cuz the instances are ample
But here is just the latest–I’M ‘BOUT TO GIVE YOU AN EXAMPLE:
Last weekend we went out of town to see our good friends marry
Our flight was Friday evening when the traffic can be hairy
We planned to cab it straight from work which was already quite darin’
But we couldn’t miss this wedding MAZEL TOV TO BEN AND ARYN
So Friday morning when he left for work, my guy knew he’d been meaning
To drop of his enormous load of dirty damn dry cleaning
‘Twas seven in the morning and of course he had supposed
That the cleaners would be open, but bitch, they were fuckin’ closed
Hong’s Cleaners is his favorite, whether April, June, or March
He goes there all year long because he LOVES THE WAY THEY STARCH
He passed by 5 other stores because their starch is “reprehensible”
So he brought that shit to work, he’s a doctor AND SO SENSIBLE
So the patients that were crying that their cancer really hurts
Were prob’ly thrilled to see their doctor AND HIS FUCKIN’ DIRTY SHIRTS
I should mention we’ve no laundry bag, so don’t misunderstand, NO
He had his shirts all free and loose: DRY CLEANING COMMANDO
But of course he came up with a plan, never once forgetting
That he wasn’t going home that night, but flying to a wedding
He’d hop right in a cab, we had a flight and we would catch it
He’d meet me with his dry cleaning and like a WIFE I’d fetch it
I drop it with my doorman who’s all, “Someone come and getting it??”
I yell back, “YEP,” jump in the cab, already regretting it
I say, “Let’s call the cleaners, not leave shirts there in obscurity”
And he’s like, “NO! WE HAVE TO WAIT ‘TIL WE GET THROUGH SECURITY”
I sigh, “OK” and didn’t say, “THAT MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE”
Cuz all these years have taught me YOU CAN’T REASON WITH THE MENSE
Now the best thing you can do is get a menstrual one some grub
Like the baller that I am I got us in the DELTA CLUB
At this point PMS was really getting kinda scary
So I go straight to the bar and get my man a bloody mary
When your man has PMS and he starts to get real colicky
Get him something spicy, pickled, and REAL alcoholicky
I snuck away to call the cleaners and I left my guy alone
(With 3 packets of Nutella and some HUMMUS IN A CONE)
So I go look up the number thinking Google’d be of help
But I couldn’t find Hong’s Cleaners there, NOT EVEN ON YELP
Nervously I searched and searched and then to my surpriser
HONG TEAM CLEANERS! THANK YOU SO MUCH, TRIP ADVISOR!
The guy answers the phone and I can’t understand a word
English isn’t his first language IT’S HIS MOTHA FUCKIN’ THIRD
I say my last name and address maybe six or seven times
I’d repeat what he yelled back but THERE AIN’T NO WAY THAT IT RHYMES
We go back and forth for minutes and now both of us are yelling
Who’d be picking up our clothes? There really was no way of telling
The chances it’d be Hong you’d think are looking rather slim, huh?
But otherwise he would have brought his LAUNDRY TO A SIMCHA
I look back at my guy who was three bloody marys deep
We stepped aboard the plane and went to MOTHAFUCKIN’ SLEEP
We had a lovely weekend, danced and drank the wine of Bacchus
We celebrated Ben and Aryn, OMG you guys, SUCH NACHES
We got back home that Sunday, took the bus from LGA
And we walked home from the bus stop and passed Hong along the way
They are always closed on Sundays, but my eye did catch their awning
And my jaw dropped to the ground (but I pretended I was yawning)
Their phone number was on it, though the digits were quite small
I knew that wasn’t who I called–UM LIKE NOT EVEN AT ALL
The shirts weren’t at my building, so who had them was a mystery
But I would crack this case, THANK YOU IPHONE CALLER HISTORY
I snuck on my computer and I got the fuckin’ hookup
Hong “TEAM” Cleaners, THANK YOU REVERSE FUCKIN’ LOOKUP
Now as far as my guy knew, there were no problems all along
And I’ll never ever tell him that I got the WRONG HONG
Within two fucking blocks how many Hongs could there be?
Well bitch, I learned the hard way that the answer here is THREE
I tracked the cleaning down and the next day went and got it
I took the plastic off and swiftly placed it in the closet
And he never had to know about this tiny little hiccup
And I went back to his Hong and signed his ass up for FREE PICK-UP
He got dressed today and said, “This starch is weird”, OH?? IS IT?!
I just told him to back off because AUNT FLO IS HERE TO VISIT.
word.
Jap Rap 