No one likes a “dirty water” dog and a knish more than I, but New York City – or “Moscow on the Hudson,” as I call it – isn’t safe to visit these days, for several reasons.
If you think the overwhelming stench of jazz salad is annoying, wait until you drive your loafer into a steaming pile of human feces Eric Adams street kabob.
I don’t perform comedy shows in New York City at this point. My lefty friends tell me I’m being pusillanimous – kidding, they aren’t smart enough for that word – for not wanting to risk a street crime.
That’s not the case. I grew up in an “evolving” neighborhood in Detroit. I moved to New York City in 1986, when 1,309 New Yorkers were redrummed in the first 10 months of the year. I lived in New York City during the early 1990s, when north of 2,000 people were slaughtered each year. I’ve paid my dues. Read more…
