I just frickin' survived a close encounter with these frickin' chicks! Don't frickin' let them suck you into hangin' with them, for Pete's sake!
Make it back to Coney Island, for cryin' out loud. In a blink, they'll lock the door and pull a revolver on ya!
ps: Them Lizzies took seven...(wait, seven?) slow, close range, easily aimed shots at me, yet still missed! Gotta love them East Village women's marksmanship!
My wingman was able to capture this video on his iPhone
while we were there. Watch at your own discretion.
They're the only chicks I ever met with a '70s jukebox.
After this traumatic experience, I have come to realize that, if my life is to have meaning,
I must return to the Eastern Terraces (take note, New Yorkers) and channel Cyrus: