Hey, thanks for the link. I should have corrected the thing before you quoted it, becuase it turns out Toussaint is from Trinidad and Tobago. Dammit, way to blow my big break.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
Because some hack with a grade school education made me.

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped all the trains and buses in New York
And picked me up in a taxi...

POWER TO THE PEOPLE.

Look for ... the union label. Or something.

POWER TO THE SUBWAY PEOPLE.

Look for ... the union label.

I remember when Mom used to sing me to sleep with that song. And yes, I'm aware that the song wasn't written until I was 27. Mom and I had a... special relationship.

I saw the best Mahnolos of my generation destroyed by walking, exposed to salt and slush, dragging themselves through the muffin-smelling streets at dawn looking for a union rep to kick.

I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as union thugs costing a major metropolitan center millions of dollars in lost revenue every day

Roses are red
Violets are blue
The trains have all stopped
So walk your frigid ass to fucking work bee-otch!

More with the William Carlos Williams theme:

I have shut down
the transit system
of your city

that you were
probably planning
to commute to
work with

forgive me
I am
such a hack
and so greedy

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
(Unless you can retire at age 55)
Rage, rage against the TWU and their stupid fight

for RWS

this might be
the worst time ever
to visit New York
City

Yaron - brilliant.

New York City - December 2005

Urban Commuter
You are well and truly fucked -
fuggedaboutit.

Bus Driver

Sure, I make more than an NYC Cop
but cops get to shoot fuckers like you.
... and get away with it.

The Union Man
Not by Wallace Stevens

One must have a heart of winter
To regard the workers and the tourists
Walking for hours on streets crusted with snow;

And have been an asshole a long time
To behold the retailers getting shafted,
The Christmas spruces bare in the distant glitter

Of the busiest shopping week of the year; and not to think off any Misery in the sound of the coughs,
In the sound of millions of steps,

Which is the sound of the commuter
Grabbing his crotch and yelling, “I got yer eight percent raise right here!”

It is the listener, who listens in the snow,
Hearing no public transit and considering the union as the
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

To retire at
Fifty

Sounds real
Nifty

Except for the masses
Who pay the taxes

And have to keep working
On diesel fumes choking

Wishing Mike, George & Co.
Had the guts to go Patco.

Ace and pal Allah want to go to the show
But the trains are not running; there's no way to go
Never fear, Ace exclaimed, the show's in our head
We'll imagine the best scenes, and perform them in bed

Under the wide and starry sky
Had to walk - there ain't no ride
And since my spare tire is wide
I sit me down for a bit.

This be the worst you've done to me
(But) taxpayers of this fair city
Are screwed for all eternity
"cause of the government t*t

apologies to Rob't. Louis Stevenson

The Wm.C.Wms. parody at Daily Lunch: It's better than the original.

That was funny, Sandy.

Who drives this train I think I know.
His fat ass is not in there, though.
He will not see me walking here
Or feel my feet frostbit with snow.

My baby boy must think it's queer
To stroll so far when the train's so near
Amidst the blares and frozen scum
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his rattle a long shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the BLEEP
Of angry fares as tempers break.

The city is dank, cold with sleet,
But I've Santa's promises to keep,
And miles to walk before I sleep,
And miles to walk before I sleep.

The Rime of the Stranded New Yorker

It is an ancient New Yorker,
And he stoppeth one of three.
`By thy rotten teeth and crazy wandering eye,
Now why the hell dost thou bother me ?
The Subway's doors are closed up tight,
And I am late for work;
Thou stupid get, my feet are wet:
May'st be a friggin' jerk.'

He holds him with his skinny hand,
`There was a train,' quoth he.
`Hold off ! unhand me, grey-beard loon !'
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

The pedestrian he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear ;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The crazy-eyed New Yorker.

The bus driven by an overpaid TWU goon toward the Bronx.

`And now the STRIKE came, and it
Was tyrannous and wrong :
It struck with its outrageous demands,
And made us walk along.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor car nor bike ;
As idle as a transit employee
Upon a holiday strike.

Till a great Communist, called the Unionboss, came through the snow-fog, and was received with great loathing.

At length did speak an Unionboss,
About benefits and raises ;
And if Toussaint had a Christian soul,
He would surely go to blazes.

The ancient New Yorker inhospitably fineth the pious Communist Toussaint.

`God save thee, stranded New Yorker !
From the TWU employees, that plague thee thus !--
Why look'st thou so ?'--With a 1967 State Law
I fined the UNIONBOSS.

Subways, subways, every where,
And all the gates were latched;
Subways, subways, every where,
Nor any train to catch.

The Strike suddenly breaketh.

On the streets pedestrians grumbled on,
Still Spitzer made no call:
But at a million bux a day and no sympathy from real working people;
The strike finally went down like Gyllenhall.

And now, all on my own subway,
I stood on the smelly crowded train !
O sweeter than the smell of maple syrup,
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To ride together on the train
With this godawful company !--

He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn :
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.

Sandy,

That was awesome! I bet you stuffed that one down your pants before you posted it.

What happens to a union contract at Christmas?

Does it buck up
And let the trains still run?

Or fester like a sore loser--
And then try again when the Holidays are over?

Does it stink like a subway car?
Or crust and callous over--
like a pedestrian's feet?

Maybe it just sags on all of society
like a heavy load.

Or does it implode?

I kinda think this one stands on it's own. Without my retarded transmogrification.

In Neglect

They leave us so to the way we took,
As two in whom them were proved mistaken,
That we sit sometimes in the wayside nook,
With michievous, vagrant, seraphic look,
And try if we cannot feel forsaken.

Leave tranportless thy brownstone home, and walk,
Without thy train, athwart the moony sky-
Apart- like fire-flies in, ok, it's not night. Ahem.

And wing to other blocks another freakin mile to the office goddammit it's 20 degrees out here!

Valiant laborers
do your testicles shrive?l
The spittle flies at you...

shrive?l

Damn! That Valu-Rite vodka will fuck you up.

Ooops! I forgot...

2)The Second Rule of the "Ace O' Spades Lifestyle" is that you don't blame it on the "Ace O' Spades Lifestyle".

(But, I'm pretty drunk...)

I met a traveler from an eastern land who said
"Two infinite metal rails extend
underground into the cavernous darkness where
thousands like ants descend into the bowels of
rapid transport and then are disgorged again
But not today, oh not today, today the transport
halls lie silent and above there is loud cursing and
lamenting and groaning o'er the white-crunched snow
and bitter cold. But naught is heard but the answering cry, "We are the transport union, look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair." Nothing else remains.
Round about the metal trails, boundless and bare,
The myriad stranded passengers stretch far away.

THE NYC WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS
BY SEGWAYNYNY.COM

'Twas the week before Christmas,
when all through the City;
Not a person was stranded,
Because we were all busy;

The money was flowing,
and the buses were movin;
The trains full of shoppers,
For the Holiday Season;

When up to my wondering ears did I hear
the TWU could destroy all the cheer,
They stopped all the buses, and shut down the trains
and they caused our City. nothing but shame.

The City was stopped
by the TWU,
As they told all their drivers
to strike against you.

They wanted respect
and funds for the new
But didn't seem to care
about me or you;

The MTA and Mayor Mike
tried to avoid this terrible strike,
But Mr. T with Rosa Parks quotes,
wanted to be the man with the most.

The workers rejected and told them to settle
As the City played 'hardball'
And threaten them with Rikers

As the Christmas, Chanukah, and Quonset
all approach. We look to our leaders
to give us the most.
Including the Segways, which are not jokes,

It is terrible to think that some wanted to squeeze
When they should be giving in order to please.
The hourly laborers and working class greats
Could have spend this Christmas with regrets and hate,

For the union which stood as a union of all,
has now turned around to forsake us all
Let's hope that the TWU has taken its licks
and will settle for Peace in 2006

OK FOLKS, IT'S
Back to Work
and Merry Christmas

From Segway Owners in NYC and supporter of smart urban transportation choices