Pseudo-New Yorker

Legal humor here.

“Okay. Deegan sucks. Riverside sucks. Bruckner sucks. FDR sucks. Bronx River sucks. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Well, if we don’t reach Van Courtlandt Park by midnight, I’m turning into a fucking pumpkin. You deal with that.”

“I think I’ve had just about enough of Pachelbel’s canon, thank you very much. And, yes, I would rather listen to the rantings of Glenn Beck.”

“The final refutation of the automobile or the final refutation of New York? I think it’s a matter of prioritizing your variables.”

“Yep, petals on a wet black bough, that’s about the size of it.”

“You know what makes me feel good? Knowing that we’ve got the biggest damn grille in the whole damn crowd, that’s what makes me feel good.”

“We’re lemmings, but we’re lemmings with seventeen-speaker, Blaupuntk sound. And that takes the edge off.”

“Then the camera backs up, and it’s like cars everywhere, nothing but cars, like life is just one great traffic jam of the soul.”

“Okay, name seventeen starlets you’d like to fuck who are left-handed.”

“Damn it. We haven’t moved in an hour. Far Rockaway never seemed so far.”