From The New York Shitty Inbox: On The Fence

May 17, 2009 ·
Filed under: Advanced Life Forms, Queens 

Last week I was interviewed by a reporter. One of the topics we discussed was this web site, why I started it, why I keep doing it and so forth. Something I mentioned during the course of our conversation was how my readership had an uncanny way of perking me up when I am feeling blue. Rarely has a truly shitty day gone by that I haven’t find some choice item in my inbox awaiting my delectation. Yesterday was no exception.

Saturday, May 16, 2009 was a very lively day at Chez Shitty. The day’s events included:

A. Our oldest cat pissing on my leg. In bed. Thus saturating our bedding with pee.

B. Bearing witness to one of the most racist and foul-mouthed old Polish ladies to ever darken the doorstep of the junk shop. If this shrew is reading this (e.g.; taking a break from sucking the breath out of babies) calling the President of our Country the N word is frowned upon in some social circles. Even if and/or especially when it comes from some daft old bat who looks like a cross between Bette Davis in Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? and Don King.

C. Coming home from work to find our bathroom ceiling ripped open again and to learn:

  1. We have no water whatsoever— zero—zippo—none.
  2. We have living rats in our bathroom ceiling. And per the plumber one of them is a nasty bugger. He said and I quote:

If that rat bites me and I’m gonna him back.

They grow  ’em tough in the Bronx. But I digress.

Somewhere between saying “hi” to my rodent roommates (and then commencing to demand rent from them— LOUDLY— much to the plumber’s amusement) and being urinated upon I checked my email. One was from my good friend Crappy in Queens. The message was entitled “On The Fence” and it read as follows:

This was taken outside Grover Cleveland High School.

Attached were two jpgs. Here they are.



Sure, this feminine hygiene product isn’t used. But remember what your mom always told you when you got some crappy ass present like socks or footie pajamas*:

It’s the thought that counts.

Miss Heather

*Which I once received from my grandmother for Christmas. They had Strawberry Shortcake on them. I was 18 years old.

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