Unfortunately, the Lucky Dog Guy had to leave New Orleans because of runing afoul of some minor league muscle. Having learned some prudence because of his philosophy background, he left temporarily for what he thought were safer parts. However, the mores of the new places were quite opaque to him. This necessitated a steep learning curve.
And, oh my gosh, he wound up in New Jersey! Or should I say Noo Joisey? Anyway, he searched in vain for sales opportunities in the mobile weiner business, but hot dog carts were heavily unionized and in that bed of infidelity and bad manners: New York City.
Still, for the Heart of Darkness, New Joisey was not bad. The Italian food was good, as long as one doesn't question too closely its origins. There was, however, a lot of things to learn.
Upon approaching a ravened big-haired miss, the Lucky Dog Guy started with the con line: "Missy, I bet I know where you got your shoes!"
"What you tryin' to do, you big toid?," she demurely replied.
She scolded him for his lack of body art and has absence of a tan, but soon realized that he was a foreigner. This categorized him: she directed him to the nearest Home Depot, where casual laborers find part-time jobs not in the visible economy just by lurking out in front.
Unfortunately, this was not work that our Lucky Dog Guy was philosophically equipped to do. New Jerseyites were in thrall to the hot dog barbarities that seemed to emerge like primal ooze from the self-aggrandized Big Apple, but at least Coney Island was merely a place, not the name source for what passes locally for righteous hot dogs! [It is Detroit, a place more in Stygian darkness than New Jersey that calls sausages on buns "coneys"!]
Anyway, Our Hero finally found his niche: selling cannolis on the Boardwalk in Atlantic City. The Big Rollers were his best customers, followed by Guidettes. Life can still be good, y'know. Be sure to try the ricotta, sweetened whipped cream, pecan, and chocolate shavings ones!
And, oh my gosh, he wound up in New Jersey! Or should I say Noo Joisey? Anyway, he searched in vain for sales opportunities in the mobile weiner business, but hot dog carts were heavily unionized and in that bed of infidelity and bad manners: New York City.
Still, for the Heart of Darkness, New Joisey was not bad. The Italian food was good, as long as one doesn't question too closely its origins. There was, however, a lot of things to learn.
Upon approaching a ravened big-haired miss, the Lucky Dog Guy started with the con line: "Missy, I bet I know where you got your shoes!"
"What you tryin' to do, you big toid?," she demurely replied.
She scolded him for his lack of body art and has absence of a tan, but soon realized that he was a foreigner. This categorized him: she directed him to the nearest Home Depot, where casual laborers find part-time jobs not in the visible economy just by lurking out in front.
Unfortunately, this was not work that our Lucky Dog Guy was philosophically equipped to do. New Jerseyites were in thrall to the hot dog barbarities that seemed to emerge like primal ooze from the self-aggrandized Big Apple, but at least Coney Island was merely a place, not the name source for what passes locally for righteous hot dogs! [It is Detroit, a place more in Stygian darkness than New Jersey that calls sausages on buns "coneys"!]
Anyway, Our Hero finally found his niche: selling cannolis on the Boardwalk in Atlantic City. The Big Rollers were his best customers, followed by Guidettes. Life can still be good, y'know. Be sure to try the ricotta, sweetened whipped cream, pecan, and chocolate shavings ones!
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