After three days of freedom, the fugitive baboon from Six-Flags was caught on a Howell horse farm
Posts in category Jersey Humor
The Snooki Song – Parody of Tik Tok by Ke$ha
New Jersey Shore parody, its pretty funny…almost as good as Jersey Shore Kids
The Garden State Parkway: The Long Road Home
We have all heard the saying, “All roads lead to Rome.” Well, maybe we all haven’t heard that. Because really, who uses sayings like that anymore? People like my grandfather do. But he doesn’t matter because he’s a senile hardcore Republican who believes I’m a communist because I think universal health care just might work. When he goes in for his cataract surgery and finds out I stopped paying his insurance premiums, then we’ll see who wants universal health care, won’t we? Am I right? But I digress.
Anyway, the saying is derived from a time when the Roman Empire was so vast, that it was believed every road in the world eventually led to Rome. Well, not every road actually did, and ancient people were dumb. But that’s where the saying came from. I mention the Roman Empire’s expert road construction to build a comparison. We in New Jersey draw several parallels to the Roman Empire. First off, Jersey arguably has more Italians per capita than Rome. Secondly, Rome is the birthplace of pizza, whereas Jersey has perfected it. Thirdly, the guido- blowout-haircut is eerily similar to a Roman officer’s helmet.
Lastly, New Jersey has a kind of inverse of the “all roads to Rome” saying. Here, it’s more like “One Road Leads to Everywhere Else.” And that road, my friends, is dear old Route 444; The Garden State Parkway. Stretching from exit 172 in Montvale, at the NJ/NY border, all the way down to exit 0 at Cape May, the 172.4 mile highway is the central artery of New Jersey travel. Roughly 250 million cars use the parkway every year. And with junctions to every major highway in the state (like Rt.80, Rt. 72, the turnpike, Rt. 17, 78 and so on…), as well as exits to towns that I’m pretty sure only exist as a name on the Parkway sign (I.E. Swainton).
So with exits to practically everywhere in New Jersey, the Garden State Parkway is the concrete and asphalt version of the North Star. No matter how ass-backwards-lost you are in Jersey, if you can find the Parkway, you’re never really lost. Granted, the road will slowly eat away at your bank account thirty-five, fifty cents, or a dollar at a time. But these tolls are what pay for such roadway improvements as the 15-lane Driscoll Bridge. Why is this Important? Because it’s the world’s widest bridge. Not the state, not the country, but the world. Illinois had the World’s Tallest Building with the Sears Tower in Chicago for a while, but were one upped by the Petronas Towers in Malaysia, then Dubai crushed everyone’s dreams with the really, really, ridiculously, unnecessarily tall Burj KhaLifa (Dubai Building.) But no Malaysian or Arab has yet to pry the widest bridge title from Jersey and its parkway. You’re welcome, America. Thanks to New Jersey we’re still number one with something. It’s not education, or healthcare, or employment, but it’s something.
So next time you’re stuck in bumper to bumper traffic between the Oranges trying to make it to Seaside, sit back, breathe deep, and really appreciate the scope of the road. The road that really does lead everywhere.
By Dan Ferrara
Ode to the Jersey Diner
It started last night with a bottle of scotch
Quite a few beers, and Jäger shots
One or two Tequilas, con mi amigos
And topped it all off with a glass full of Old-Crow
Slurring my speech, and cut off from the bar
My friends and I headed out to the car
They asked me to drive, and I knew should not
And they felt the same, after I puked in the lot
I handed over my keys, and we went on our way
To where and for what, no one could say
“I have an idea,” I said with a stammer
They waited for my brilliance, they knew I was hammered
“Before my stomach started acting so rude,
I was about to suggest we acquire some food”
(I’m sure I sounded much less eloquent than this,
But the message got through, or at least the gist)
We made the first left, and then drove down to the right
A red neon sign, beckoned in the night
To me, no vision ever seemed finer
Than the flickering lights of my hometown diner
I stepped out of the car and fell to the floor
“Damn it Gravity, you win once more.”
I picked myself up, my pride almost gone
And walked in to order, it was now nearing dawn
The vinyl bench squeeked as we went to sit
It sounded like a fart, and we laughed because of it
All four of us ordered, “Taylor-Ham Egg and Cheese,
A side order of fries, and some onion rings please”
As we waited for food, a thought had sprung up
I sighed and drank from the ice water cup
“ The girl at the bar, with the black hair and red bow,
I was with her all night, why did she go”
My friends, started laughing, one almost choking on ice
“we told her you had crabs, you know, like lice”
Why the hell would you do that! To me, your buddy?
“I really don’t know, we just thought it was funny.”
I let out a laugh, for it wasn’t a crime
And all of us knew I’d get him back next time.
A moment passed, and the food came to the table
I started to eat, my stomach now stable
Another Saturday night passed, in our standard fashion
With a whole lotta booze, but not much compassion
And the one place we come, who forgives this behavior
A true Jersey diner, my late night savior
By Dan Ferrara
I’m Not Bitter
I’m not bitter. Like many of us here in New Jersey, I am a die-hard Jets fan. I made the 667 mile trip out to Indianapolis this past weekend to support Gang Green. Despite drawing first blood, including an 80 yard touchdown pass from Mark Sanchez, the Jets fell to Peyton Manning and the Colts. But I’m not bitter. Really, I’m not. Fifteen weeks into the season, any hopes remaining of entering the playoffs were lying on the floor, wretched in the fetal position, dry heaving, while bleeding from the wrists. The pulse was so weak, even the Jet’s coach Rex Ryan said the playoffs were a no go.
The hopes however, were not dead. They were just on life support. Week sixteen rolled around, and something happened. The Miami Dolphins, Baltimore ravens, and Huston Texans all lost. The Jets were put then put in charge of their own life. Like the Right-to-Lifers rallying outside of Terry Schiavo’s hospital room, the Jets refused to pull the plug. A win against the Colts (Yeah, it was a win. The fact that Peyton Manning didn’t play in the 4th doesn’t take that away. It was still a 14-point win. Not that it matters, because I’m not bitter) and a final win against the Bengals put the Jets in the wildcard seat.
Skip forward two weeks. After making Chad Ochocinco cry, and the Charger’s kicker Nate Kaeding shank three field goals, the Jets were off to the AFC championship game in Indianapolis to face the Colts for the chance to go to the Super Bowl.
Like I mentioned earlier, I drove 11 hours to follow our boys from East Rutherford out to Indy. (On a side note, I discovered both Pennsylvania and Ohio look exactly the same in the dark as they do in the light. Because either way, there is absolutely nothing to see.)
Now, we already know what happened. Despite a valiant effort, the Jets came up short. The Colts won 30 to 17. Now I can handle a loss, because I’m not bitter. I can even handle seeing a certain fan hold a sign that read, “New Jersey Loves The Colts.” I can handle that, because I’m not bitter. I won’t tell those Jersey Colt fans that there is a special place in Hell reserved for traitors. I won’t say that, because I’m not bitter. So what if the Jets’ defense is statistically still the best in the NFL, and even if the Colts shut out the Saints, the Colt defense would still be statistically lower than the Jets. So what if the Colts capitalized on a 15 yard facemask penalty. The penalty was complete garbage, but I won’t dwell on that, because I’m not bitter. Yeah, both Shonn Green and Thomas Jones are better than Joseph Addai will ever be. But I’m not going to yell that at the Colts fans, because I’m not bitter.
The point I am trying to get across is that I can be a gracious loser. The Jets made it further than anyone ever expected. They proved they are a legitimate threat to any team in the league, and a rookie quarterback gained valuable playoff experience. Overall, I am extremely happy with the Jet’s season, and next season could be even better. I wish the Colts luck in the Super Bowl. And if while playing the Saints, Jonathan Vilma just happens to break through the Colts offensive line and bury Peyton Manning, I’ll only smile a little bit, because I’m not bitter.
By Dan Ferrara
Loading ...