Suffrage for the Fish People?

Tough commute today.

Usually, traveling up here to The Old Central Park from the abandoned shipping container on Canal St. in which I live only takes two hours. If both of the Midtown ferrybarge crossings are operational and I don’t have to wait in line for the Trebuchet Express Parabolic Being DelivererTM, I can make it up here even faster, and with less soreness, to boot.


Not so today. I boarded the 40th St. Ferrybarge and waited for us to begin the very short hop across the Midtown Rift to 43rd St. We were exactly halfway across when I heard Fish People surfacing on every side of the boat. They held signs and wielded megaphones.

What did they want? Equal rights. When did they want them? Now.

The Ferrybarge was caught right in the middle of the latest Fish People Suffrage rally. Yawn.

Now as you know, the issue of Fish People voting rights is extremely complex. Those who advocate universal suffrage for the Fish People tend to point to our alliance during the war against the Dolphins. Many Fish People served nobly then. Opponents, including those in the administration, point out how delicious Fish People can be when battered and deep-fried.

Usually, I’m in the middle on this one, advocating voting rights for Fish People of only the undelicious species. That’s the fairest solution for the most people/ beings.

But after today I’m ready to fry them all up. A little tip for Fish People protest organizers: don’t block the Ferrybarge route! You’re only alienating those whom you’re trying to persuade to not eat you!

Try not to die,

Nonymous

News from around the globe

Hey all,

Well, I was going to focus on local issues today – maybe talk about last night’s fight. What a stunner! I never guessed half a dozen kittens would be able to defeat a Canadian Lumberjack/Gladiator in close combat, let alone actually separate the poor beast’s head from it’s plaid-clothed body. I lost some money on that one. I think most of the credit should go to the kittens’ trainer. They said it couldn’t be done: training cats to smoke PCP. He showed us!

Anyway, I’m not going to talk much about here today. A postman arrived in town earlier with news of goings on in the outside world. In case you missed it, here’s what he had to say before he was burned at the stake due to King The Donald's suspicion that the postman was a spy from KevinCostneristan (formerly: Indiana).


News from around the globe

Paris: Residents protesting the city’s seizure by a marauding pack of Land Orcas were eaten by a marauding pack of Land Orcas.

London: Rise of second empire going well. Gin supplies solid. Tonic supplies also solid. Navy intact. Slaves bummed out.

Tokyo: State-of-the-art, rickshaw-based public transit system was shamed when rickshaw arrived at its destination 12 seconds late. Driver later took his own life. Reason: schoolgirl panty supply dangerously low.

News from other parts of the Federated Territories of Americaland

LA: Everyone still alive is still a douche bag like always.

Chicago: Every day for last month has been attacked by giant ALFs.

Boston: Is still determined to ride out The After Times in a manner at least as stylish and sophisticated as New York. When they heard Manhattan had been soaked by turpentine rains, Boston officials hastily sprayed their city’s buildings with turpentine.

Canada: Population culling efforts going smoothly.

And that's all we know for now.

Try not to die,

Nonymous

Anyone in need of a good artist?

Hello again everyone.

Well, I swear I have a lot of great post-apocalyptic news to share with you and I will share it soon. I hate to start out this blog with a request for a favor, but, welp, that's what I'm doing.

A friend of a friend of mine, Tucker McCokey, is stuck in one of those Artist/ Undesireables Holding Lofts over across the East River in Williamsburg*.

Now, as you know, King The Donald is making life rather hard on the artists, what, seeing as how they're completely useless in The After Times and all. But Tucker assures me he was not really an artist in The Before Times and that he just pretended to be one to get laid.

If anyone out there is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, I've attached on separate squirrel skins his coverletter and his resume.

Can anyone help him out?

Try not to die,

Nonymous


* I just walked down by the river a few minutes ago. Great news: it's not on fire today! So get those fishing rafts moving and go catch yourself some sealicanths!

Welcome to the first Blog of the After Times!

Hello all and welcome!

I hope this note finds you and yours well, and your kingdom free of lice, snakes, acid dust, locusts, frog storms, Komodo Dragons and the inedible and less delicious species of roaches.

You might wonder what you’re reading right now. Well, obviously you’re reading text written in blood on the skin of a dead squirrel that’s been nailed to a tree in what they called Central Park in The Before Times – that much is obvious – but you might wonder at some deeper level what you’re reading*.

Well I will tell you – remind you.

By my count, it’s been almost ten years now since The End of The Before Times and that cursed Napalm Frog attack that signaled The Beginning of the After Times. If you recall, in those free-wheeling, foot-lose and fancy-free Before Times, a favorite activity of many was blogging. Remember that? I blogged. Perhaps you did too.

Rather than spending our days huddled outside the former Natural History Museum, hoping to make a meal out of one of the delicious and easy-to-hunt blind dinosaurs that seem to reanimate there each morning as we do now, in The Before Times we’d simply order up a Portobello wrap and blog about our day whilst sipping fine coffee spiked with liquor.

I miss blogging a lot. So guess what? I'm gonna start doing it again! This is my blog! I am once again a blogger! Do you hear me Gods? I’m going to blog now, and unless you come down here from Valhalla to rain fire upon me, like you did last Tuesday, you’re not going to stop me!

So again: welcome readers! Check back at this spot periodically. Whenever possible, I will nail to this tree entertaining and insightful posts on squirrel skin, velociraptor skin, zombie skin, Olsen Twin Clone skin or whatever other kind of skin is trading cheapest at The Great Trading Post at the corner of Duane and Reade Streets.

In The Before Times, my blog dealt with a great variety of subject matter – politics, sports, art, music, nightlife and delicious, delicious food. This After Times blog will do the same. Whether it’s commentary on the wisdom of King The Donald’s unsavory poisoning of Archbishop The Hoff via hemlock-tainted raccoon burger or my take on the Brooklyn Undeads trading their star pitcher and a left fielder to the Staten Island Irrelevants for a semi-trained white tiger and a five-gallon bucket of fluffernutter, you can be sure I’ll have something to say.

So stay tuned, readers. It’s gonna be a wild ride.

And remember: try not to die today!

Nonymous

*If you are wondering what you’re reading on this deeper level, congratulations on not catching this last winter’s brain-wasting disease and surviving last spring’s undead baby seal invasion, in which many unsuspecting citizens suffered brain damage due to violent exposure to what the seals called “the revenge clubs.”