21 July

A Day At The Office (Slight Return)

*****************************

I dropped by Walrus HQ Sunday night, just to check in. Most of the gang was there.

The Hermit was watching some political show, the talking heads on the TV were rambling about McCain and Obama as if the two represented totally different sides.

“I heard McCain was at the Yankee game today while Obama was in Iraq,” I said.

“Afghanistan,” corrected The Hermit.

“Same difference,” I replied. “Anyway, I’d rather be in The South Bronx instead of The Middle East,” I said.

“Obama can’t win without Hillary,” The Hermit said, twisting his cane ino the floor.

“Never gonna happen. Obama knows if he takes her on as VP those scumbag Clinton’s would have him killed the first month. Those power hungry hyenas called Clintons should be castrated, neutered and spayed, in that order.”

“He can’t win,” continued The Hermit.

“As if it matters,” I went on. “You ever heard of The Bilderberg Group? Bill Clinton is a member. So is Hillary. Them, the Bush’s, John Kerry… Those millionaire scumbags will continue to pull the strings, don’t worry. McCain, Obama, it makes no difference, either will do the bidding of the Bilderberg Group.”

“I’m a Democrat,” responded The Hermit, “And I want them to win. To win we’re going to need Obama/Clinton.”

“Sure. Like when Al Gore won but Bush was put in office? Listen, this government couldn’t give a rat’s ass what the people want. The people want cheaper gas and an end to the occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan. No Democrat can pull off either of those hat tricks. McCain is a scumbag who doesn’t make any bones about it, and Obama is trying to fool everyone into thinking he’s a decent guy when really he’s a power hungry social climber like Bill Clinton. Clinton gave us NAFTA, who knows how Obama will sell us out…”

“You voting for McCain?” Asked The Hermit.

“I’m not voting.”

“Then that’s a vote for McCain,” replied Walrus member Dave Kopperman.

“Really? How come it isn’t a vote for Obama?” I asked.

Nobody seemed to be able to answer that one.

Oliver Miller chimed in.

“I give Obama a B+, because I like his hair cut, and he wears nice suits. McCain gets a C – because he’s lived this long.”

With that Oliver Miller went back to grading chewing gum and soft drinks.

Mr. Catch-22’s introduced me to the newest member of the Walrus team, The Quixote.

“Who you voting for?” I asked the rookie.

“Well, let’s say Obama is “A,” and McCain is “B,” and Hillary Clinton is “C,” and John Edwards is “D.” Or, we could say that the Democrats are number 3, and the GOP’s are number 4, and then we could say that the Independents are number 7, I would say that A could be –“

“Well it was nice to meet you Don Quixote, you sure are a man of few words, I’ll give you that.”

I walked over to the corner where Mr. Catch-22’s was playing dominoes with David Zapanta.

“What’s up Longcipher? You a cabbie yet?” Asked Catch-22’s.

“Nah… Maybe this week I’ll actually get my license. What’s up Zapanta? You got any rolling papers on ya?”

“No. Besides, there’s no smoking in here. It’s a work place.”

“I think that’s only cigarettes. I was gonna roll up some expensive weed. Anyone wanna smoke?”

The Williamsburg Hipster raised a hand.

“I’ll partake,” he answered.

************************************

We stepped out onto the balcony. The Hermit followed us out.

“Give me a hit,” said The Hermit. “I gotta go write a song.”

I passed the joint to The Hermit.

“Your stuff is good, Hermit. If you ever want some trumpet on your songs, let me know.”

Just then Brant Miles walked out.

“Still smokin’ that weed, eh Longcipher? That’s why you’ll never be the high paid gun around here, ‘cause you spend it all on dope.”

“Actually, Miles, I spend it all on pussy, but you wouldn’t know anything about that. Men don’t have ‘em.”

Brant Miles grabbed me by the shirt collar.

“I’ll throw ya off this balcony right now, you hear me Longcipher!”

“Go ahead, do me the favor!” I responded. “Save me the trouble of not voting come November…”

Brant Miles released my shirt collar and ran a hand through his hair.

“I gotta go. My new Ferrari just came in, I gotta go pick it up.”

And with that he left.

“Asshole,” said the Hipster. “Don’t worry Longcipher, had he tried anything I would have tossed him over the balcony too.”

“Great. Me and Brant Miles could die together – how perfect.”

“I gotta go,” said The Hermit. “I’m gonna write a song about a balcony.”

“Hey Hermit,” I called out.

“Yeah?”

“Make it a fire escape instead… They’re sexier.”

“Good idea,” he said, and then he was off.

          ***********************************

Inside Kopperman passed me a phone.

“It’s Melodie, from LA.”

I took the phone.

“Hey Mel. You famous yet?”

“Helloo, Edvard! Are you still happy with your home?”

“Needs a new ceiling.”

“What happened?”

“I fired a shotgun through it, a la Mingus.”

“Oh. Anywhoo, I just wanted to say hi.”

“Ok. And stop watching so many bad movies. LA has some good theatre too, ya know.”

I tossed the phone to Catch-22’s and said my goodbyes. Quixote was still going on about someone who was a number. Oliver Miller graded my pot based on the smell (he gave it an A +).

          **********************************

Outside HQ I saw a red Ferrari zoom by, followed by a yellow cab…

          ***********************************

Edvard Longcipher says “Batman was always for Fags.”

 

 

17 July

$52 Million a Month  (Good to Be a Blick Guy  Named Hussein)  

****************************************

No news is good news.

Especially after taking a drug test.

I still haven't received my hack license in the mail, nor have I received any notice of failing the piss test, either.

I’ve been doing a lot of blow and then following up with valiums to relax. The blow was supposed to help me “get crackin,” though it only makes me gamble on baseball and visit whore houses on the West side.

I stayed for four nights with an ex-girlfriend in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. She had a brick of the finest blond hashish and a balcony with plenty of sunlight. She also had a strange rash near her pussy, so I opted for hand jobs on the chaise lounge instead.

“Edvard,” she says, “All you do is watch baseball on my TV and drink my alcohol. The least you could do is fuck me.”

“Be quiet, woman. Can’t you see we’re in extra innings here?”

“But this is only the All-Star game!”

“That’s right. And I’m an All-Star... Now get me another Bloody Mary. And go see a doctor about that rash.”

          *****************************************

Walrus HQ was trying to track me down. I would get text messages from Dorris, The Grand Poobah Editor’s secretary.

“Call HQ.”

“Where R U?”

“Are you sending in a new column?”

Then she’d call my phone, leave messages.
Finally I answered, my sinuses burning from fine Colombian.

“Dorris… Glad you called. I need you to wire me cash. Tell __________ it’s for expenses.”

“Longcipher, ____________ is looking for you – says he won’t pay until you send in a new column.”

“Dammit Dorris, tell _____________ to read my contract! July is supposed to be my month off! I’m taking a sabbatical before embarking on my new career.”

“Did you get your license yet?”

“Truth is, I haven't been home in days. Maybe it has arrived, I don’t know… Dorris, I need cash. Send four thousand at once!”

“I can’t do that, Longcipher – you’ll have to send in a column and show receipts, you know that –“

I cut her off.

“Dorris – these people don’t deal with receipts! I’m working under cover with some of the most dangerous cocaine dealers in New York, and you want receipts??!! These people would slit my throat for laughs and you’re talking about receipts???!!!”

“Cocaine dealers??? What do cocaine dealers have to do with taxi driving??!!”

“Dorris – I’m a professional! Never question me again! Now tell __________ I need four grand at once, I want it deposited in my account by the end of the day.”

“______________ isn’t gonna like this.”

“Oh no? Tell him he can slash the budget for Guess The Rack… Tell him to take it from Pay Roll.”

“Longcipher, you know he can’t do that!”

“Whatta ya mean??!! What good is it being Editor-in-Chief if he can’t do whatever the hell he wants with the money!”

“I can’t approve four grand for cocaine dealers, Edvard… I’m sorry.”

“Do you realize Obama raised $52 million last month? How the hell does he do that?! And where the hell does that money go, goddammit! That prick is embezzling, believe you me.”

“Edvard –“

“Where does it go, for chrissakes??!! Advertising??!! In the pockets of Executives??!!”

“Longcipher, I really don’t –“

“They’re all crooks, Dorris… Obama, McCain – We can’t win… I’m a fucking monk compared to these thieves… Four grand is a pittance compared to what Barrack Obama pocketed last month.”

“What does Barrack Obama have to do with your wallet??!!”

“Dorris… I should have been born half blick and named after an Iraqi… I’d be a candidate for President of the United States instead of a cabbie-in-waiting.”

I hung up the phone and snorted a rail of coke. I thought about all the whores Obama must be able to afford with $52 million.

That’s what I call Petty Cash.

          ****************************************

Edvard Longcipher is not sentimental. It doesn’t bother him at all how many of his pals have been killed.

 

8 July

Urine Luck! (AKA Do Not Drink The Blue Water)

            ****************************************

It was time to bite the bullet and go out to 31-00 47th Ave in long Island City and piss in a cup for the TLC. I may have passed that written exam, but I wasn't going to get that hack license until I passed the piss test, and if Chief Jay gave me a clean bill of health, then I'm not worried.  I trust him 100%.

Yesterday I took the subway out to L.I.C. and walked to 47th Ave. to find the _______ lab.

It's in the middle of nowhere next to loading docks and warehouses.

I went inside and signed in.

Two (not American) Indian women were behind the glass partition wearing white coats. They asked for my driver license and TLC receipt and a money order for $25.50. I handed those over and took a seat in the waiting room with a water bottle in my hand. As soon as I sat down I looked up and saw a sign that read:

"No Liquids Allowed in Waiting Room."

The water bottle went into my bag, and I sat and waited. More people filed in to the waiting room and I was beginning to really need to piss ASAP.

One of the Indian women came into the waiting room and called off a name. Then another. Two men got up and followed her around the corner. I continued to wait while my leg danced and shook from the pressure against my bladder.

The woman came back and called out two more names, neither was mine.

Hey hold on, sweetheart, that guy came in after me...

"Excuse me," I called out.

"Yes?"

"I really need to go... Can I just do this now?"

"Just wait. It won't be long."

And she and the two men were off. She came back in five minutes and called off two more names - though neither were Edvard Longcipher.

This cunt was gonna play games with me just because I asked. Just because I told her "I really need to go," she was gonna make me wait.

She came back five minutes later and called out my name. I jumped up and haven't been that eager to pee since my dog caught fire six years ago.*

We went into a room where there was another brown Indian woman in a white coat. She gave me a cup with a label affixed to it.

"Here. Use bathroom number three."

            ****************************************

Bathroom number three was spacious and notable for it's cleanliness. I closed the door and noticed the ocean blue water in the toilet. A sign above the toilet read:

"Do Not Flush. Flushing the Toilet Will Result in Automatic Failure."

            ****************************************

I peed in the cup, I handed it to a brown Indian woman in a white coat.

I signed a form.

She said that was all.

I left.

It was all very anti-climactic.

            *****************************************

I went home and rolled a joint as thick as my thumb.

            *****************************************

* I'm the one who set fire to my dog in the first place: It was an accident, I was free-basing, and he died a month later anyway after he fell off the roof of my building. It was a high rise.

I never liked dogs much anyway.

            *****************************************

Edvard Longcipher wants to party with FIA chairman Max Mosley.

 

 

2 July

The Big Day... No. 2 Pencils in Hand... Wanna Buy a Medallion?
(AKA BOR-GOTCHA!)

"I used "The Whizzinator™"
            - The Mexican guy who sat next to me during
            The test, on how he passed the TLC urine test.

            *********************************************

Sign in for the exam began at 9 AM, but people were there earlier than that, at __________ taxi school, in L.I.C.

When I arrived there was already a line around the corner. I was eating a banana, handling a hot coffee, and not ready for the standing around that was about to commence.
I began talking with a Muslim guy.

"You know why the guys who look like me are always with the ear piece on while driving the cab, talking to someone in a language you can't understand?"

"Why?"

"Cause they're speaking to another seasoned driver who knows the roads. He's telling those guys where to go."

Sonofabitch.

            ***********************************************

Once we were signed in we were told to sit in one of the classrooms, and from there we would be moved upstairs to the exam room where there were two (2) moderators waiting for us to file in.

Twenty rows of desk-chairs, (the kind that are attached), and the rows begin to fill up fast.

We were told to bring only two (2) No. 2 pencils, our driver license, and nothing else.

All cell phones were to be left downstairs, along with any coats, hats, etc.

            *************************************************

We were handed sheets of paper to fill out, the kind of fill-in-the-bubble ones most remember from High School. The kind where you fill in each letter of your first and last name, date of birth, social, etc.

Two large blick gentlemen entered, along with one young white chick. They were the moderators from TLC. There were now five (5) moderators in the exam room.

Tension was high.

Pencils were being dropped left and right.

People kept asking dumb questions;

"What do I put where it says name?"

"Is this my first time taking the exam? They're asking me here..."

"When they say 'date' do they mean 'birth date?"

It's amazing how stupid humans can be. And these same stupid animals want to drive your mother to the store. Hallelujah.

            **************************************************

I was sitting next to a Mexican guy named Jose. He said he needed his hack license because his family owned a medallion cab, and he needed to be able to drive it. He works on Wall Street full time, but this was a family thing, and those medallions are worth $500,000.

The medallion is affixed to the top of the cab - it's what makes it a legal TLC approved taxi. The owner of the medallion can lease it out, or drive it themselves - whatever they want to do with it. Jose's family had one and they took turns driving it. That means they made all of the money off the meter (not having to pay a garage for the lease fee), plus had an investment worth half a million dollars.
Medallions, baby.

            ****************************************************

The blick guys came around and checked everybody's Driver License. They wanted to look at my picture, look at me, make sure I didn't hire someone to come in and take the exam for me (they did this with everyone). They wanted me to sign my name exactly as it appears on my Driver License. By the time we got through the Gestapo tactics it's 11 'o clock. The exam finally began.

The exam itself was just like the practice test. The English part of the exam was first, and that was Monkey Proof. Even the severely stupid can pass that part.

The map questions were not so difficult - they seemed more so at the Practice Exam.

The fifty questions, multiple choice - I just felt good about it all, that's all I can tell you. The questions weren't so complicated. And I knew my shit.

I handed it in, and I proceeded to Atlantic City where I stayed for five nights at the Borgata, playing blackjack, chopping rails, a little craps, some raw whores, some raw meat, live music (I saw The Jew Fighters - Pretty good) - I ripped tubes with four (4) pit bosses, had lunch with an arms dealer from Haiti, almost got arrested on the Boardwalk for disturbing the peace (Walrus HQ wasn't answering the phone - it was 4 AM at the time) - I smoked an ounce of NYC Super Diesel in five nights and drank over two hundred bottles of beer while eating mostly bananas and plums and pure sugar cane. I slept some - here and there - but mostly I debauched myself, my mind, my soul, my heart.
Some people get guilty after a night or two.

I never do.

            *****************************************************

ADDENDUM

            AS OF WEDNESDAY, JULY 2, 2008, 1:15 PM, EDVARD LONGCIPHER HAS OFFICIALLY PASSED HIS TLC EXAM. HE SCORED AN 88.

            ******************************************************

Edvard Longcipher feels that the blick is the superior athlete.