The Bronx vs. The Hague

Hey, the Hague. Ya think you’re better than us? I bet ya do, don’t ya? Well, here’s a newsflash: ya ain’t got nothin’ on the good people of the Bronx. Zero. Zilch. In fact, believe me when I say the Bronx has got you pasty Netherlanders beat. In spades.

Exactly what the hell is the big stink about you guys, anyway? The fact that you’re the so-called business hub of Europe? Oh wait – maybe it’s your internationally acclaimed Water Supply & Sanitation Collaborative Council. Or the fact that you’re supposedly the world’s political power centre. Well, here’s what I got to say about your little accomplishments: whooptie shit. My two-month-old goddaughter has puked up more interestin’ stuff than that. And am I really supposed to give a rat’s ass that you’re the birthplace of the United Nations? I can’t decide if that’s too boring to be pathetic, or too pathetic to be boring. Tough call, gentlemen. Tough call. Hey, here’s a history lesson for ya. Do ya know what the Bronx is the birthplace of? Yeah, ya guessed it: the kick-ass freakin’ Bronx, that’s what.

For crap’s sake, ya walk around acting like ya got the market cornered on cultural identity or somethin’. Which is pretty hilarious, given that less than 60 percent of your so-called citizens are even Dutch. What the hell kind of watered down “identity” is that? Lemme tell ya something: everyone who lives in the Bronx, they’re 110 percent from the Bronx, if ya catch what I’m sayin’. Ya want culture? I got your culture right here, pals. The Bronx (a.k.a. the Borough of the Chosen Few) is the birthplace of James Caan, Danny Aiello, Stanley Kubrick, freakin’ J-Lo, Sal Mineo and Jake LaMotta. Meanwhile, who the hell ever came outta the Hague? The Esteemed Royal Prince Niels Von Neutral? Pretty weak, fellas.

And don’t get me started on your so-called world-renowned war crimes tribunal. If Slobodan Milosevic was on trial here in the Bronx, believe you me, we wouldn’t have sat on our hands while he dragged the whole thing out with three years worth of yap yap yapping, ya gutless wanks. We’d be haulin’ his Serbian ass out behind Teddy G’s Pizza over on East 187th to give him a little Bronx Justice, if you get my drift. And if ya don’t get my drift, that means we’d pound the livin’ crap outta him.

Oh, and please, spare me the yammerin’ about your 99 percent literacy rate. Ooh la freakin’ la, the Hague knows how to read! Ya want literacy? Do ya know who decided to spend his golden years in the Bronx when he finally retired? Edgar Allen freakin’ Poe, that’s who. So yeah, we got books here too, suckers. As well as a million-and-a-half people primed and ready to kick your hoity-toity college-boy asses, should the mood strike us. I’m holding up three fingers right now, the Hague. Use your literacy rate to read between the lines.

What’s that? Ya wanna talk athletics? Are ya serious? Okay, let’s break this down, shall we? The Bronx is the home of the New York Yankees, who, in case you’ve been livin’ under a government subsidized canal somewhere, just so happen to be the winningest team in professional sports. And yet, over in your neck of the woods, the two main athletic activities are walking and cycling. Walking and cycling? Jesus Christ, fellas, it’s like you’re deliberately trying not to get laid.

Hey, the Hague. I got an idea. Do yourselves a favor and grab the next flight into NYC, then hop on either the number four, the D or the Metro-North (it’s a fielder’s choice) and make your way over to Fordham Road. From there, take the BX22 to Arthur Avenue. Then once you’re nicely settled here in the heart of the Bronx, I’d like to suggest the following tourist activity, if I may:

Go diddle yourselves, ya freakin’ Euro-pussies.

April 2008