Guy finds girlfriend’s Backpage post

Rested my laptop, walked out of Starbucks on the corner of Fifth Ave & 49th Street and to my shock/surprise, in the middle of the chaos that is Manhattan -at 6pm- a hot girl (possible part-time model) jumps out of an Uber cab and bolts for the next one.

Seconds later, as the camera pans back to the street, out comes a brownish guy, from the same vehicle. He’s chasing that girl. From the looks of it, his body language tied to a foul mouth, you’d assume they’re fighting over his tiny penis.

Don’t ask me how the tiny penis got into all this. Stay with me, it gets better. I’m back onto my iPhone 5s (Gold) and searching for the closest Fedex Office, as I need to send a pair of shoes to a close friend back home.

Alright, I don’t know how but somehow the generic street noise numbs and I begin to hear the couple yelling foul and, my curious bitch instincts act up, strategically placing me yards away from the aforesaid relationship debacle.

I’m enjoying the yelling and public scene. It’s net neutrality free drama. Here’s where the conversation takes a whole new dimension.

The guy yells out, “I know about your back page listing BITCH!!!”.

*Gulp. A shiver runs down my rectum.

For those who’re naive and innocent unless proven in court, Backpage is where men go to find whores. Most of these girls are foreigners trying to make it into NYC by soliciting their genitals for rent money. Or in other words, these are your conventional strippers/prostitutes gone tech savvy. They are currently developing an app for the Apple watch- abled to send vibrations directly to your cock (fuck the cute hearts).

I can only imagine. Wait. Actually. I can’t imagine what’s going on in this guy’s head on finding the love of his life (who probably slept with him once- minus the head or anal) is fucking Manhattan for cash.

*Here’s a billion dollar idea. Feel free to develop it and send me equity. Paypal/Uber for whores. Fuck you if it exists.

Here’s the thing. NYC is a bit crazy like that. Men and women are casually dating 3-4 people at a time. Imagine the STDs going around. Phew! Phew!

I’m not taking sides here but that dude got fucked over. The moral of the story. If you think you’re getting serious over a chick, search for the brunette with a dimple on her lower abdomen on Backpage.

By the way, shipping a pair of shoes through Fedex is three times the cost of the merchandise. Fuck, right?

Five coffee shops of NYC

Fuck. Where does one begin with the elephant in the room? No, really. A fucking elephant. Could you imagine an elephant in the room? I bet the elephant would be wondering where the napkins were cause it had to clear some snot from it’s trunk.


Betty, would you be a sweetheart and please hand Dumbo some tissues *in a British accent even though this article is geographically 7 hours away by flight.

The task [fuck, I just called it a task, like it’s job and I’m going to receive money at the end] of pinning down the best coffee shops of New York City.

To be fair, in the beginning I was super excited. I was packing the essentials for New York including an iPhone armed with Instagram filters.

Coffee porn. Well, come to think of it, anytime someone calls out for a cupping session- all I think of is boobs and possibly my hands in the same frame.

Mmm… Yeah! Right, where were we? So coffee! Yeah!

I can see coffee connoisseurs go “ugh.. phew phew ugh” over my sexual innuendo *all while pressing up and from beneath the tip of their nose using an index finger.

Argh. Those snooty bastards.

[*Quick! Imagine a bald guy (shaved head on true account) dressed hipster-ish get on a plane from Toronto (visualise CN Tower and Skydome) and land in NYC (visualise Manhattan skyline). Cut to a scene of him strutting around Manhattan & Brooklyn’s different coffee shops across a big city in stop motion.]

Clearly you understand my deliberate desire to procrastinate over this piece.

3 weeks in New York and I only managed a bean foreplay. Therefore, for the sake of this piece and argument I renamed the article to reflect only coffee shops I managed to visit before overdosing in a hyperbole of caffeine.

Here are the coffee shops of NYC you shouldn’t miss. Obviously I will be revisiting and adding to the list.

Birch Coffee

The owners Paul & Jeremy are two cool blokes as they were able to -architecturally- retain the immediate environment into their coffee shops.

Birch Coffee 2

Birch Coffee 3

Blue Bottle Cafe

The one at Williamsburg is where the best coffee has been had.

Blue Bottle Cafe

Gasoline Alley Coffee

A tiny little spot. Avoid taking your laptop. There’s no WiFi. Amen.

Gasoline Alley Cafe 2

Gasoline Alley Cafe

Gregory’s Coffee

Mr. Gregory was inspired by his father who ran diners in NYC.




Joe The Art of Coffee

Want to become a pro barista, Joe offers classes.

Joe The Art of Coffee 2

Joe The Art of Coffee

OST Cafe

Go to the one on 12th street.

OST Cafe 2

OST Cafe

Toby’s Estate Coffee

The easiest spot to make new friends. Sit at the communal table and throw abundant praise on your neighbours handwriting.

Toby's Estate Coffee 3

Toby's Estate Coffee

El Beit

Love this spot. The cupping session was a fun surprise. No pun intended.

cupping 1

cupping 2

El Beit

Screen Shot 2014-08-26 at 1.04.48 am

No metrics were harmed in the making of this article. Ok thanks bye. *Awkward silence followed by the sound of crickets.

How I was caught shoplifting


With nothing on the cards for a sunny Sunday afternoon, my mother announced a trip to the local mall. I was in the 3rd grade that year. A few Nintendo games aside, a toboggan [a long, light, narrow vehicle, typically on runners, used for sliding downhill over snow or ice] sitting beneath boxes of unused stuff in the attic, there wasn’t much I had on my to-do list.

*At the time, internet was in it’s nascent stages. Selfie, Facebook, Twitter and the term “social-media” didn’t exist. Neither did girls-gone-wild.

Within minutes, my mom had my sister and me in the backseat. Window-shopping, eating a Double Big Mac at McDonald’s or the skin-covered chicken at Swiss Chalet and loitering around between toy and sports aisles made for an adventurous evening with my sister and mother.

Post Sears, Wal-Mart and Loblaws, we’d head to Toy’r’us on pleading and begging [which my mom would try and avoid knowing I’d create a scene and embarrass her for not letting me have either Batman figurines or Nintendo games].

For your information, I had, in class one stolen my classmate’s pencil and on my mother’s knowledge of such behaviour received a massive thrashing. Earlier that evening, on interrogation, I had turned blue and come short of an alibi.

*Quick tip if you’re going to attempt and lie through your teeth- mother’s parental instincts can look into the depths of your soul. Tread carefully if you may.

I felt guilty and ashamed that night as if it was the end of me. The next day, I returned the stolen pencil, promising myself to never ever steal or lie again.

But today [the 5th grade], a few years later from the rare-pencil incident, I was at the mall, forgotten of any such behaviour, standing eye-to-eye with a pack of baseball cards. I wanted them so badly [in my defence, all the kids at school were showing off their collection and I badly needed to feel “in” or cool or accepted, I guess].

I had wiped the slate clean only to have it re-written this day. I inched closer towards the rack, eliminating any distance between my chest and the set of cards. I pulled a few packs down in each hand and made a b-line for the bathroom. Clearly, I hadn’t thought this through as I wasn’t a thief or a shoplifter by profession.

I closed the bathroom booth door behind me. As I sat there, with my pants down, staring back at the pack of cards, a trickle of sweat ran down my back.

This was it. The moment of truth. I was going to shoplift these packs of cards. My brain began to work in overdrive, shelling thoughts of getting caught or walking away from the whole episode scot free.

I made up my mind. On quickly unwrapping all the packs, I disposed of the covers in the bin and shoved a fist-full of cards down my underwear. On pulling my pants back on, I could feel the stiff cards poking up against my crotch.

No pain no gain, right.

With all the courage left in me, I walked out of the booth and then the bathroom. I could feel the sweat on my palms as well as an accelerated heart-beat between my chest.

By now, some sweat off my crotch had rubbed up against the cards making them soggy. I suppose a few cards were going to be sacrificed in the process but I didn’t let that worry me then.

On strolling around for a bit, I fixed my stride and found my mother between an aisle for cushion covers and sheers. I made my move and began to walk over towards her, thinking I had successfully gotten away with shoplifting baseball cards. Only a few strides later, two elderly men, in their mid-thirties, cut me off by the perfume section.

I looked up in utter dismay and shock. Fuck. I was caught. Now what? They told me they had been watching me from CCTV cameras. They requested for my parents, and upon seeing unidentified men crossing paths between her son, my mother walked over and listened to the entire episode patiently.

Disappointed by her son’s stupidity, my mom began to apologise and begged the undercover mall security personal to forgive me. She reiterated this was my first time.

*We all know how true that was.

As I watched the sequence of events unfold in dismay, I slowly pulled out the baseball cards from my underwear and handed them over to one of the men without ever raising my head once.

One of the men, closer towards me, got down on a knee, while the other continued to talk to my mom, and with one hand around my elbow told me of the consequences and the fact that I was in so-much trouble. But he was going to let me off this once because he could see that I had been humiliated and shattered forever.

Once the men were gone, my mom looked at me in a way I had never experienced before. It’s a look that I will never forget. It was of momentary-lost-faith and forgiveness and paternal-instincts factor [unable to describe exact emotions].

That evening, we had McDonald’s for dinner and the incident has never been brought up in the last 25 years.