Broken Hearts, Crushed Dreams

Warning: This is not a happy story. Consider yourself four-armed.

Okay, so today I had to go down to the courthouse to do a filing. Now aside from giving respect to my boy Danger P. Moynihizzle, the main reason that I volunteered for this plum assignment was that it offered me a prime opportunity to procure some of the gods' own ambrosia. What what? Clearly ima talkin' bout tastycakes.

For those of you who have never had the opportunity--nay the privilege--of sampling this fine delicacy, you are missing oh my god out. Let me a-splain.

A tasty cake is when you are walking around Chinatown and you give a Chinaman $1 to fill an iron honeycomb with a mess o' pancake batter, and in return he gives you a waxpaper bag filled with 15 heavenly scrumptions. Then you eat them all in under 15 seconds and feel nostalgic the rest of the day.

Since the courthouse is but a frog's hop from prime tastycake territory, I figured that an afternoon of pastry reminiscing was practically in the bag. I mean, how many times have I walked through Chinatown and NOT been able to find a tastycake stand, come rain or snow or winter's chill? Never times, that's how many. Well, watch out world because I THOUGHT WRONG.

I came out on Canal, dollar in hand, ready to pay tribute at the temple of Oriental baking, but there were NO CAKE STANDS ANYWHERE ON CANAL STREET. I actually walked all the way from Baxter, to the Bowery, and BACK to Broadway, without encountering a SINGLE tastecakery. Meanwhile I was enduring the taunts and jibes of EVERY OTHER POSSIBLE TYPE OF VENDOR mocking me with their non-delectible goods. Chicken gizzard on a stick? Genuine Leather only $5? WE'LL KEEP YOUR PANTS UP??? Actually a store, and man I wish I were wearing pants today, but NO TASTYCAKES.

Not cool Chinatown. When have I ever not been there for you? In the dark days of my Elizabeth Street-riddled youth I bought every Asian knockoff and imported crapnack you waved at me, and this is the thanks I get? Now I have to sit in my office eating plain pasta with melted cheese, dreaming of days gone by, (AND WEEPING), because SOMEONE 'just doesn't feel like it tonight'? Bullshit. From now on you are on notice, C-Town. You better get your ass back in shape for next time, or else ima call Moynihizzle and we gonna TEAR SHIT UP. And let me tell you, you do NOT want to get on the wrong side of that motherf*cker. Brutha be crazy.