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Dirty Daddy

By:Alexis Angel

w Yorker men to aspire to one day shoot their ejaculate onto a woman's face in front of 50,000 cheering fans?

Because that's exactly what we're doing by rewarding such gross and boorish behavior from Magnus Davion.

How exactly are we rewarding it you ask, my fellow Gothamites?

Consider our tax dollars that we pay to the city of New York. Those tax dollars are being used to procure services from real estate developers.

Think of the Equinox Tower, one of the most iconic and celebrated building projects in the world. Once it's built in three years, it'll be the tallest building in the world.

And right now, the City of New York, which is the landlord for the site, is considering a host of developers to carry this project forward. The chief contender?

Yep. You guessed it.

Davion Development.

It's time for us to put a stop to this.

It's time for us to draw a line in the sand and say that we're done with the filth washing up into our homes. We're done rewarding bad behavior.

I call on all New Yorkers today to join me in telling the city and the state to pull all contracts and refuse to do business with any business entity that's controlled by Magnus Davion.

Start sending him a message that it's not okay to be so focused on yourself that you don't care about anything else.

That it's not okay to be the baddest boy on the block.

That it's time to join the human race.

Let's bring our voices together, New York. And let's be heard.

Until then, keep your ears to the ground, New York. I'll be listening!



Monday morning. Most people hate it, but not me.

I think there’s something exhilarating about the start of a new week. New challenges, new opportunities … you’re probably rolling your eyes at me right now. I know, I know—I’m one of those people lucky enough to have a job that they love. What can I say? I fell in love with words when I was young, and that love kept on growing and growing until I became a reporter.

Ever heard of Gossip Central? Of course you have; I bet you don’t miss a single column. Well, I’m the gal (or, well, one of the gals) behind the keyboard. I know the byline under each column says a certain Vicky Durner wrote the piece, but that’s just part of the show. It’s a pen name, you see? A nom-de-plum if you want to be fancy about it. Because I, Penny Wright, am the one cranking out these columns. Okay, I’m not the only one working under the name Vicky Durner, but I sure as hell am the most prolific.

I’m only twenty-one and, now fresh out of Yale, I want to prove to the world how good I really am. That’s why I work so hard, and that’s why I’m this cheery on a Monday morning.

I know the name Gossip Central might have you rolling your eyes again, but don’t get too hung up on the name: there’s serious journalism in these pieces. Gossip is fun (I’m not above a good afternoon of it), but I also care about this city where I grew up, and I hope that shows in what I write.

“You’re early,” one of the new interns yawns, stretching out his arms as I walk inside the main floor of the New York Daily Journal office. “I’ve heard the boss wants to see you,” he adds, attacking the cup of coffee in front of him with lazy movements. There are bags under his eyes and, judging by the way he’s slumping over his desk now, I’m betting he was on call the whole night, doing edits and re-edits on articles that are supposed to be buried deep in the newspaper. I remember my days as an unpaid intern during the summers, and I can sum them up with two words only: not fun.

“Thank you, Hank,” I reply with a smile, reading the name from the ID card hanging from his breast pocket. He throws me a half-asleep smile, and then he’s back to his laptop, his fingers lazily banging at the keyboard.

I stroll toward the Editor-in-Chief’s office, the one at the end of the main room, and make my way through the dozens of still-empty desks filling the whole place. I rap my knuckles against the door, and a heartbeat after that I hear a familiar voice replying.

“Come in!” I hear my mother say, and I push the door open and step inside. Yep, you’ve heard it right; my mother, Rhoda Wright, is the ‘boss’ around here. But don’t think I’m working here just because she’s my mother. In fact, that’s one of the reasons behind the fact that I work so hard: I don’t want to live under her shadow.

She’s sitting behind her massive desk now, a monstrosity made out of oak that dominates the whole room, and goes up to her feet the moment I get in.

“G’morning,” I greet her, “I heard you wanted to see me and I --,” I trail off as I see a woman sitting in front of her desk, forgetting what I was about to say. She turns around on her seat to face me, and I can’t help but be surprised as I realize that the woman right in front of me is the Mayor of New York City herself.

“Penny, this is Laurel Trask, the mayor,” my mother introduces her (as if someone like Laurel Trask needed an introduction), and the mayor gets up from her seat with a polite smile and offers me her hand. I take it in mine, still surprised, and shake it.

“It’s an honor,” I say, and I mean it. It takes a tough woman to get to mayor in this city, and Laurel Trask is all that, and some more. No wonder, though; it seems that there’s a do-or-die quality in her family. She is, after all, the sister of the former mayor, Parker ‘Pleasure’ Trask, now a senator (and right on his way to the presidency).

I was still months away from graduating when Parker Trask entered on a collision course with the Governor, and I still hate the fact that I wasn’t yet a journalist when that battle for New York began. Can you imagine how exciting those times must've been for a journalist? I can.

“Likewise,” Laurel replies, shaking my hand firmly and yet softly. She’s still young, probably in her mid-thirties, and she looks as beautiful as any catwalk model. I guess the Trask family seems to be on