Last weekend I was feeling adventurous so I ventured across the Greenpoint Avenue Bridge to (gasp!) Queens. Below is a map indicating the area I checked out.
This disorienting no manâ€™s land (nestled between the Long Island Expressway and Newton Creek) is known by several names. Some call it Long Island City, others say it is Sunnyside. I have created my own (very) off-color moniker for this â€˜hood, as you will soon learn.
Anyone who has had Greenpoint History 101 will tell you that Neziah Bliss was the driving force behind my neighborhoodâ€™s development. In 1838 Mr. Bliss shelled out the dough to have the land surveyed. The result of this endeavor is the grid-work of streets that riddle Greenpoint to this day. As a consequence, the Bliss name is venerated here; he is Greenpoint nobility.
What a number of people do not realize is that Mr. Bliss was also responsible for development in adjoining Queens. This includes the area I perused yesterday. This parcel of land was once called â€˜Blissvilleâ€™ (in honor of its founder). After inspecting his namesake neighborhood I humbly recommend that it be rechristened â€œPissville”. This is because it is friggin’ nasty.
If I had to describe Pissville in one sentence this would be this: take the worst features of Greenpoint and Long Island City and cram them into the armpit that is the Long Island Expressway. Pretty sexy, huh? Follows are some highlights from my Pissville experienceâ€¦ with PICTURES!
WELCOME TO PISSVILLE
When I reached the apex of the Greenpoint Avenue Bridge the first two businesses I laid eyes upon were two shuttered storefronts. One was clearly a bodega, the other was more ambiguous; it had an orange awning with the word â€œCirclesâ€ emblazoned on it. â€œThat has got to be a titty barâ€ I mumbled to myself. When I got home later and googled the address (36-21 Review Avenue) I discovered that I was correct. (The previous link is NSFW — Ed. Note.)
I failed to take photo of this fine establishment, but suffice it to say that it looked like the kind of strip joint where the dancers probably wear control top thongs to keep wiggle and jiggle to a dull roar. If Medusaâ€™s face could turn oneâ€™s person into stone— or if the god of the Old Testament could convert heathens into glorified saltlicks, the sight of this place is more than enough to give anyone (not wearing a hazmat suit) a raging case of herpes. Valtrex, anyone?
FPUCKED YOUR MOTHER
After being greeted with the promise of tits and ass, I thought to myself: “This place has personality.”
And it is not a very nice one.
I do not wish to suggest that I find Pissville unlikeable. Even though Charles Bukowski is one of my favorite authors (to make metaphor), I sure as hell would not want him as a next door neighbor— if you know what I mean. But if you were to locate Mr. Bukowski (READ: Pissville) safely on the other side of Newtown Creek everything would be peachy keen. That way I can savor its unique charm (and/or some anonymous person’s boast of defiling my mother) whenever the mood suits me.
Kenny does not appear to be a very popular guy…
but “Joe” is clearly missed by many. May he rest in peace.
Amusingly enough, Pissville (as laden with garbage and foul language as it is) was strangely bereft of dog shit. That said, I did not go away empty handed.
Although it is not discernable in the above photo, the author of this signature shit used an inter-office memo as toilet paper. Perhaps it was a disgruntled worker from Kenny’s? This turd taco can be found at 51-26 34th Street.
And here is a little something I discovered across the street from this shit sandwich…
A BIGASS CONDOMINIUM BUILDING!
- This ‘nabe is appointed with little more than a bodega and a titty bar.
- The sidewalks are covered with garbage.
- Someone residing here claims to have done dirty things to my mother. This dude must have the longest schlong on the east coast ‘cuz my mother resides in New Mexico. I am not sure what “pucking” is, but I bet it is something so nasty that even a crack whore charges extra for it.
- This building is not located anywhere near a subway station, and…
- under the right conditions the area probably reeks of exhaust fumes (from the L.I.E.) and the putrid stink from the waste water plant across Newton Creek.
Who do I make my check out to?