Bum Shit, Gowanus Style
Yesterday my homeboy from The Gowanus Lounge sent me a turd teaser. He wrote:
Oh, and I shot a photo of a humongous turd at the Smith-9th Station that, like, no way came from a dog. If you’d like it, I’ll be happy to send it along. Since Smith-9th is the start and end of the G, it’s got a Greenpoint angle.
Being the fine ass Dog Shit Queen that I am, naturally I was all over this (shit) like a fly on crack:
…of course I am interested. Bring it on. I am a big fan of the Smith-9th Street station.
And, as many a late night televangelist would say: ask and ye shall receive…
My intrepid Internet friend waxed philosophical about the provenance of his find:
Here you go, Heather. I’m assuming this is people crap not dog crap, unless there was a really big German Shepherd type of canine up there. Either way, interesting place to find this sort of thing.
To wit, I wrote back:
NICE. Thatâ€™s bum shit alright. I should know: ever since the Terminal Fire the bums seem to have migrated to my neck of the woods to do their business.
Bob doesn’t seem to relish talking shit shop over an early morning cup o’ joe (like I do):
I knew you’d know, whereas, I simply had a strong feeling. So, now I’ve got an image of someone taking a dump on the Smith-9th platform. Lovely.
And here is my reply:
The â€˜imageâ€™ in your mind is my daily reality, kiddo.
Actually, this specimen reminds me of the time I ate nothing but chile rellenos for two straight days several years ago. I make excellent rellenos, but having a touch of lactose intolerance, I employ a cheese and tofu mixture for filling. And when one mixes this concoction with beans and salsa, you get the digestive equivalent of Liquid Drano.
I am ‘man enough’ to take it, but the ghetto-ass plumbing in this apartment isn’t: as I learned. After discharging enough ‘by-product’ to build a shit bridge from here to Staten Island, I went to work— not knowing that I had left behind a ‘present’ for my (then) roommate to discover later.
When I got home from work that evening he had this thoroughly spooked-out expression on his face. You’d think that he had seen a ghost. I suppose he had; he beheld (and SMELLED) the wraiths of four or five deceased chile rellenos. He* asked me if I felt OK. I told him was feeling great. That’s what most people don’t realize about this variety of explosive shit: after you get it out of your system you feel much, much better.
*This is the same dude who left skid-marked BVDs in the bathroom floor. FOR TWO DAYS.