I’m told by The Joanster, who I see has embraced her inner Brooklyn by incorporating urban artistry into her vast repertoire (ah, brings back memories of seeing “Breakin’ II: Electric Boogaloo with my Mom at the Oceana Theater on Brighton Beach Avenue), that “nobody knows how to flog a dead horse better” than me.
Baby, I could flog live dinosaurs if I’m given just cause, and speaking of dinosaurs, how many of youse remember when Hairboy went on (and on…and on…and on) about New Jersey’s 127 miles of beautiful sandy beaches?
Well, gentle New Jerseyites…while all of New York’s pristine and sparkling beaches — including my beloved Coney Island — are slated to open this Saturday in time for the Memorial Day weekend, “munitions experts” are feverishly working to rid New Jersey’s 127-miles of sea and sand of “explosives” and “World War I-era military munitions that were pumped ashore during a beach-replenishment project last year.”
Peeps…did you read that closely? EXPLOSIVES! In the sand! Gee, that don’t sound like much fun.
I particularly delighted in this part: “People are banned from digging more than a foot into the sand and are not allowed to use metal detectors.”
Sorry kids…looks like you’re gonna hafta Wait Till Next Year (hmmm, I wonder where I’ve heard THAT before).
Oh, and in his comparative treaty about beaches, Hairboy admonishes to “Be watchful for floaters coming from Sheepshead Bay.” Ironic, that, since a reader just today inquired: “Elisson tells me you’re the expert on explaining Coney Island Whitefish. So, what’s the deal?”
Without going into too many deets, and trust me, I am no expert, here’s the dealie, my good man: Coney Island Whitefish are disgusting, revolting, abhorrent little floaters (the non-caca variety, iffen youse catch my drift) that have a tendency to find their way up the legs or down the groodies of ones swim trunks, or hanging over the bridge of ones nose when they come up for air after a dip in the waters.
And yes, the thought has occurred to me more than once that in order to bait unsuspecting and potential bennies and lure them to the promise of pristine Cape May beaches, only to make life utterly miserable for them once there, Jerseyites will embark upon covert operations to dump mass amounts of the secondhand little buggers into Brooklyn’s slightly less rank than Jersey’s waters.
Sabotage! I swear, I wouldn’t put anything past Jersey peeps.
So, to you Jerseyites planning to trek down to the beach this Memorial Day weekend, unless you want to have munitions experts also collect your detached extremities from a vast swath of polluted sand, I’d rethink those plans a little more carefully.