Those of you looking for a special to celebrate this upcoming Valentine’s Day will be pleased as punch to know there will be a tour that very day at our beloved Shit Tits replete with a Hershey’s Kiss at the end. Aaron Short has the scoop (on the poop) which you can read by clicking here.
Check it out— and oh yeah: buy one of my cards (as seen at left)!
This morning yours truly woke up in a churlish mood. This was further exacerbated by a walk down West Street. It was there I noticed the subject of my Poo Corner Project, a ground-breaking experiment in behavior modification, had reverted back to his rather unpleasant habit of saturation bombing the sidewalk with dog shit. I decided action was necessary and to this end procured some supplies including but not limited to my usual war chest of sidewalk chalk and glitter; a piece of poster board and Conversation Hearts. I felt a Valentine’s Day theme was in order.
A stencil was made, glitter poured and the bag of confectionery goodness opened.
Noting the relevance of this one, I decided its placement on one of the showcased shits was crucial.
Pick me.
As I was completing my project a young man and woman stopped to look at my handiwork. They were quite amused and wanted to know what gives. I tendered a brief summary of the Poo Corner Project while pointing out the heart stating “puppy love”. To wit one of my new friends replied:
That’s what I am feeling right now.
and went on the explain he was a student at Baruch College and was soon to begin military service in the Marines. I told him the former was really laudable and the latter really sweet. In return he asked me for my phone number. Not wishing to hurt his feelings I let him down gently:
If was not married I’d gladly give it to you. Chicks who cover dog shit with glitter tend to go pretty fast.
Upon noticing I was ascribing a date to this dung he kindly offered the time from his cell phone: 2:16 p.m. I thanked him but added that I didn’t think it wasn’t necessary. However, we unanimously agreed this work of art needed a title. So I gave it one.
This one’s for you, Jamal!
If there is one thing working at the junk shop— and interfacing with one customer in particular*— has taught yours truly it is this: when confronted about one’s, um, proclivities don’t be apologetic. Be loud and proud! Which brings me to the above array of items. They can be found in the window of our local novelty store: Just For Fun. After I took the above photograph I heard a familiar voice.
Hello.
He said. I turned to my right and sure enough, I knew this person. He is rather active in our community. I have bantered with him on occasion. Without missing a beat I looked him in the eye; pointed at the candy jock strap and said:
Valentine’s Day is coming.
His reply was as follows:
I’m on the Public Safety Committee. I cannot comment.
Me: As it would happen I am heading to your establishment to buy some juice!
He seemed both pleased and puzzled by this by this proclamation— but proceeded to enter Just For Fun nonetheless. For what reason(s) is anyone’s guess. God help me but I think I actually made the man blush.
UPDATE, 5:40 p.m.: I have finally heard back from the Mister about this!
I think I made him feel dirty.
I said.
To wit the Mister replied:
Now he knows how I feel every day.
Then I reminded the Mister he is one lucky man— and to buy beer on the way home from work.
Miss Heather
P.S.: On a somewhat related note (and after giving Norman Oder’s tome in today’s Times some consideration) I think I have an idea as to how our local community board can raise a little money. I propose they create and sell a “Men & Women of Community Board 1″ calendar. Is anyone with me on this?
*about whom I will write about in the second and final installment of “Stupid Customer Tricks“. I do intend to conclude this tome. I have simply been sidetracked by a fit of downright divine artistic inspiration. More about the latter later. Here it is!
Yours truly has a fair number of bad Valentine’s Days under her belt. The source of said badness never had anything to do with matters romantic. Quite to the contrary: frailties of the flesh were to blame. For this reason I will forever associate a day dedicated to lovers (of all stripes) with vomiting and getting stitches. But I digress.
When I read this*, a tome by my buddy at Bad Advice today I busted a gut. My favorite passages are as follows:
…Then it got bad. The pain from the night before returned, only about a billion times more intense. I lay in bed, holding my belly, and praying it would stop making all those weird noises. It was like there were a dozen drunk elves running around in my intestines. I started to sweat as the rumbles and gurgles grew louder….
…Our bathroom is about three feet from our bed and when I heard Spyro let out what I will describe as “a bathroom noise,” it triggered my gag reflex. At the same time I felt a little gas wanting to sneak out downstairs. I rolled out of bed and discovered that it was actually a value-added fart. (Emphasis mine — Ed. Note) I threw my butt cheeks into lockdown, jammed my palm against my mouth and made a mad dash for the kitchen sink…
I would like to take this moment to thank the proprietress of Bad Advice for one of the most disgusting (and therefore funniest) accounts of a Valentine’s Day gone awry I have ever read. Then again I have grown to expect this kind of gritty, unflinching “in the trenches” view from the battlefield that is love (and occasionally war) from her. She is after all the woman responsible for raising my awareness about Smegmen. And for this I am eternally grateful.
Get well Dategirl— and thanks!
Miss Heather
*CAVEAT: this is not for the feint at heart.
