The new “Man Isle” at Westside Market, dedicated to stocking stereotypical “bro fare,” has received quite a bit of attention. The LA Times, The Atlantic, The Huffington Post, Fox News, Jezebel, The New York Post, Yahoo!, The New York Observer, and The NJ Star-Ledger have all reported on the condom-bearing, hot sauce laden aisle, which also carries Doritos, razors, beef jerky, and a solid selection of deo. Our own Bijan Samareh also reports. Kind of.
As I depart my ship and land upon this strange island, one thought courses through my humors: can a brother get some food? I dock my ship on the shore of a rare patch of green called Riverside Park. Humans, clad in bare cloth, run with strange devices in their ear, along with dogs which they command through tiny nooses. I try to congratulate one female on such a Roman display of power, but all I get is a “get away from me you pirate freak!” How dare she call me a pirate! Pirates rape, pillage, and destroy. Explorers do that too, BUT we do so in the name of her majesty colonialism! Everyone knows the world would be a better place if it was Europe. And who let a woman out on her own? With a personal beast to command, nonetheless. I would call for a hanging, but my belly rumbles with dissatisfaction. To the nourishment.
As I walk through the streets of this strange city called “New York” (by the way, what’s wrong with York? Still a fine city if you ask me), enormous shrines to the gods litter every corner. The locals seem to practice some sort of polytheism in which each god has his or her own temple. Popularity lies with the ones named “Pinkberry,” “Five Guys,” and “Havana Central.” I believe the former two are gods of some sort of hedonism, as the worshipers stuffs their faces with meat and frozen cream. And “Havana Central?” I’ve heard of Havana, but all I know it as is a fertile land filled with soulless savages. Good thing we took their sugar. I finally spot a grand display of fruits and vegetables under a tarp labeled “Westside Market”. One step close to sweet gustation.
I grab some sort of apple from the display and take a hearty bite. Ah, you can it eat without slicing it, and finish by nibbling around the core, just like an onion! A man in a black garment with the Westside Market insignia accosts me (he must be pretty high ranking, as he wears some sort of skirt on which rubs the residue from arranging his spoils).