Dear Mr. or Mrs. Idiot Blowing Disgusting Black Shit Out of Your 14 Wheeler on Thursday Sept 28, at Approximately 1:45 PM in Williamsburg Brooklyn,
I hate you. You ruined my day and my clothes and shoes and skin and caused me to have an awkward transaction with a bank teller. I hope you go to hell. You or your truck needs to like, die.
It was a wonderful, sunny, warm, autumn day and I was walking to the bank. I had almost arrived at my destination and was standing on the curb with other pedestrians from the neighborhood, waiting for the light to change. I was holding two Netflix DVDs and my Ipod, which was currently playing some Jimmy Witherspoon.
All of sudden I saw your smoke far off in the distance. What the hell is that? A fire? Oh, wait...HOT DAMN. It's coming out of that disgusting truck. Your truck was bouncing down the street, not a care in the world, thick black smoke happily streaming out of the top. It was creating an evil, cancerous cloud everywhere. The pedestrians and I coughed and moaned in disbelief covering our faces and squirming our bodies, wincing from the fumes as your truck passed us. The light changed right then and we had to walk across the street directly into the cloud of death, which your truck had excreted moments earlier.
Unbelievably, I made it safely across the street and I looked down at my Ipod so that I could turn it off before entering the bank. OH MY GOD. WTF IS THIS????
There, all over my precious Ipod, were hundreds of little black dots-- the residue from the smoke which YOUR devil truck had been puffing everywhere!!! These dots had somehow attacked me as I crossed the street and attached themselves onto my poor, innocent Ipod. I looked at my hands. They were COVERED in dots. The dots were all over my arms, legs, chest, shirt and shoes. And God knows if it was all over my arms, legs, chest, shirt and shoes it was probably all over my face too. I didn’t even have a mirror to check. I thought I probably looked like I had some sort of explosive infectious discolored freckle disease. Now I still had to go into the bank looking like this. Ok, I thought, DON’T PANIC. It should rub off easily, right? WRONG. I rubbed furiously as I walked up the steps to the bank and nothing, nothing came off. I’m stuck this way. What should I do? Walk all the way back home to wash it off? Then come back? Just pretend I don’t know it’s there? Find a Starbucks and use their bathroom and scrub myself like mad? Nope, there’s no time. I have to go to work soon. I just need to go into the bank and make my transaction and deal with this later. I went into the bank, approached the bank teller and our conversation went like this:
Me: Um….do I have…um…little black dots all over my face by any chance????
Bank Teller: (laughing AT me) Uh…no…….
Me: Oh ok, well can I use your bathroom because I have this black soot shit all over my arms and legs and chest and shirt and shoes cause this big truck just drove by and was polluting all this smoke and it rained down on me and all these other people and it won’t come off so I need to wash it off right now because I know I look ridiculous.
Bank: We don’t have public bathrooms.
Me: Ok, well can I make a deposit?
I left the bank and went home to scrub my tainted skin off, hoping the black shit would come off too. Unfortunately your dirty, toxic, mystery formula seemed to be imbedded in me forever. Soap and water was just not good enough. I had to rub my whole body raw with little mini eye-make up remover pads in order to even start to get it off. And I can still see the dots all over me. I don’t even know what these black dots are. What is it? Oil? Dirt? Nuclear warheads? Who the fuck knows? All I know is that it’s stuck on me and it stained my clothes and shoes and you need to either pay or for it, or die a horrible death and let me laugh while it happens.
Sincerely,
The Girl you Totally Screwed With
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
I Killed the Queen
We had Ants. I will capitalize "Ants" out of respect for the poor fuckers who are now all dead.
It started with a few Ants wandering around aimlessly on the linoleum tiles of the bathroom floor. The cats weren't interested in them and I found them only mildly annoying as I watched them while sitting on the toilet. "We have to get rid of these ants," I would think. Then I would flush the toilet and go back to my bedroom to stare out the window for a while. My mom told me to watch them closely and I'd see some kind of trail but I just saw black specks mingling chaotically.
Then, as the days passed, it appeared that these Ants had found their purpose. They were now walking in a single file line next to the bathtub and coming in and out of the bathroom door--from somewhere to somewhere. But where? I did not know. It started to bother me that they had a system. "We really have to do something about these goddamn ants." I would think. I finally got down on my hands and knees and followed them out of the bathroom and up the legs of the kitchen table. They were all over the table. Gross. How could I have missed this every day? This was the table where my roommates and I kept pre-recyclables (gently rinsed trash waiting to be brought downstairs). There was a paper bag filled with old magazines, an ice cream carton, a pseudo-washed jar of honey and a couple of empty beer bottles. The Ants were particularly enjoying the honey jar. There were about 100 Ants sucking the side of the jar, frozen it seemed--in ecstasy. Supposedly ants fill up with food and then return to the colony to regurgitate it back to the others. I was feeding an entire colony of Ants with an old honey jar.
But where were they coming from? I followed the trail back to the bathroom and discovered their point of entry in a tiny crack next to the shower. These fuckers were amazing! They were living underground somewhere and somehow smelled honey in my second floor apartment, tunneled their way up through the walls of the building, squeezed out of a crack next to the shower, marched along the bathroom floor, up the kitchen table, onto the prized jar of honey, back down the table leg, into the bathroom, up the wall next to the shower, into the crack, back through the tunnels in the walls of my building, down underground to god-knows-where colony to feed the zillions of Ants and their beloved queen.
I was fascinated by these tiny evil (not so evil) beasts. I watched one carrying a dead one. For 15 minutes it tried to stuff its poor deceased friend back into the crack. It tried every possible angle but I was worried it might have to leave it there unattended. I felt bad for it and wanted to help it along. "No, no, you back into the crack first and then pull the dead one in after you. Yes, yes, there you go." Finally it figured it out by itself. I wondered if they were gonna give it a proper burial. Would they have a ceremony? I imagined a million Ants gathered in a circle while the dead one was carried in. Small bonfires would be burning, and there would be chants. It would look like the scene in that Indiana Jones movie, though I don't remember which one.
After disposing of the recyclables and spraying the kitchen table with Mr. Clean, the Ants were scattering all over the place. "Where the F is that damn honey??" They were thinking, "Shit, shittttt! Queen's gonna kill us!" Then they power walked their way back to the crack. Sure, removing the food source was going to get rid of them, but next they were going to go after the cat food, I know it. So...
I went to the hardware store and bought a tube of combat ant killing gel. On the back of the gel it said to avoid contact with skin. If I did get it on myself I was supposed to rinse vigorously for 15-20 minutes. 15-20 minutes?!?! This shit was toxic. I squeezed half the tube onto the Ant crack.
I spent the day sitting on the bathroom floor, watching the Ants as they set in motion their impending death. The poison had become the new honey. The blob of honey-looking ant killing gel was now covered in oblivious ants. They were filling their bodies with poison so they could return to the colony and feed the others. I imagined the reguritation and devouring of the poison. "Great job!" The queen would say. "Where did you find this stuff, this is incredible! Tastes homemade!"
But later that night it would strike like a stomach flu. The ant who had first filled up with poison would grab its stomach and say "Ooooh I don't feel so good." It would stumble around in pain for a while and fall over, moaning. Then it would finally breathe its last Ant breath and its mini soul would leave this earth forever. Others in the colony would be wondering what was going on. "Somethin' didn't agree with him, I guess" they'd say, glad it was not them. But soon they would be grabbing and moaning and keeling over as well. Soon it would be all over. They would be wiped out completely. And yes, that's exactly what happened.
That night I went out to dinner and when I came back a few hours later there was only one ant devouring the poison. The others were back at the colony, spreading death. The next day they were all gone. A part of me missed their complex feeding arrangement. But there was no way to get them back. I had done the damage. Goodbye bathroom Ants.
It started with a few Ants wandering around aimlessly on the linoleum tiles of the bathroom floor. The cats weren't interested in them and I found them only mildly annoying as I watched them while sitting on the toilet. "We have to get rid of these ants," I would think. Then I would flush the toilet and go back to my bedroom to stare out the window for a while. My mom told me to watch them closely and I'd see some kind of trail but I just saw black specks mingling chaotically.
Then, as the days passed, it appeared that these Ants had found their purpose. They were now walking in a single file line next to the bathtub and coming in and out of the bathroom door--from somewhere to somewhere. But where? I did not know. It started to bother me that they had a system. "We really have to do something about these goddamn ants." I would think. I finally got down on my hands and knees and followed them out of the bathroom and up the legs of the kitchen table. They were all over the table. Gross. How could I have missed this every day? This was the table where my roommates and I kept pre-recyclables (gently rinsed trash waiting to be brought downstairs). There was a paper bag filled with old magazines, an ice cream carton, a pseudo-washed jar of honey and a couple of empty beer bottles. The Ants were particularly enjoying the honey jar. There were about 100 Ants sucking the side of the jar, frozen it seemed--in ecstasy. Supposedly ants fill up with food and then return to the colony to regurgitate it back to the others. I was feeding an entire colony of Ants with an old honey jar.
But where were they coming from? I followed the trail back to the bathroom and discovered their point of entry in a tiny crack next to the shower. These fuckers were amazing! They were living underground somewhere and somehow smelled honey in my second floor apartment, tunneled their way up through the walls of the building, squeezed out of a crack next to the shower, marched along the bathroom floor, up the kitchen table, onto the prized jar of honey, back down the table leg, into the bathroom, up the wall next to the shower, into the crack, back through the tunnels in the walls of my building, down underground to god-knows-where colony to feed the zillions of Ants and their beloved queen.
I was fascinated by these tiny evil (not so evil) beasts. I watched one carrying a dead one. For 15 minutes it tried to stuff its poor deceased friend back into the crack. It tried every possible angle but I was worried it might have to leave it there unattended. I felt bad for it and wanted to help it along. "No, no, you back into the crack first and then pull the dead one in after you. Yes, yes, there you go." Finally it figured it out by itself. I wondered if they were gonna give it a proper burial. Would they have a ceremony? I imagined a million Ants gathered in a circle while the dead one was carried in. Small bonfires would be burning, and there would be chants. It would look like the scene in that Indiana Jones movie, though I don't remember which one.
After disposing of the recyclables and spraying the kitchen table with Mr. Clean, the Ants were scattering all over the place. "Where the F is that damn honey??" They were thinking, "Shit, shittttt! Queen's gonna kill us!" Then they power walked their way back to the crack. Sure, removing the food source was going to get rid of them, but next they were going to go after the cat food, I know it. So...
I went to the hardware store and bought a tube of combat ant killing gel. On the back of the gel it said to avoid contact with skin. If I did get it on myself I was supposed to rinse vigorously for 15-20 minutes. 15-20 minutes?!?! This shit was toxic. I squeezed half the tube onto the Ant crack.
I spent the day sitting on the bathroom floor, watching the Ants as they set in motion their impending death. The poison had become the new honey. The blob of honey-looking ant killing gel was now covered in oblivious ants. They were filling their bodies with poison so they could return to the colony and feed the others. I imagined the reguritation and devouring of the poison. "Great job!" The queen would say. "Where did you find this stuff, this is incredible! Tastes homemade!"
But later that night it would strike like a stomach flu. The ant who had first filled up with poison would grab its stomach and say "Ooooh I don't feel so good." It would stumble around in pain for a while and fall over, moaning. Then it would finally breathe its last Ant breath and its mini soul would leave this earth forever. Others in the colony would be wondering what was going on. "Somethin' didn't agree with him, I guess" they'd say, glad it was not them. But soon they would be grabbing and moaning and keeling over as well. Soon it would be all over. They would be wiped out completely. And yes, that's exactly what happened.
That night I went out to dinner and when I came back a few hours later there was only one ant devouring the poison. The others were back at the colony, spreading death. The next day they were all gone. A part of me missed their complex feeding arrangement. But there was no way to get them back. I had done the damage. Goodbye bathroom Ants.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Choose Your Own Adventure
You are a goat. You are in a barn in Northern Ireland. It is night. Your owner, Mr. McGillistein, has just finished his sixth pint and he's stumbling around inside the barn singing "Oh lordyyy I can't bake a caaaake, Oh lordy I can't bake a caaaaake". He's been singing this for over fifteen minutes now and you are getting rather annoyed. You:
A) Run at him at full speed and knock him over, causing him to pass out for the rest of the night.
B) Play dead until he gets close to check on you and then bite off his naughty bits, once and for all.
If you chose A. You charge at him at full speed. He falls in pile of hay against the barn wall. Thud. He moans "caaaaaaake" and rolls on his side. He puts his hands under his head and begins to snore. Peace until morning. Huzzah!!!
If you chose B. You lay down and whimper, then roll on your back like a roach. You are fake dead. It takes McGillidrunk 26 minutes to notice. You know it's been 26 minutes because you have a special digital goat clock implanted in your ear. It tells you what time it is every five minutes. It's so cool. McGillistein crouches down next to you and says "Oh, litter feller, what happ-----" You quickly go for his crotch and take a big bite. His screams reach London. He grabs a knife from his back pocket and slits your throat. You stop biting and go limp. You are real dead.
The End
A) Run at him at full speed and knock him over, causing him to pass out for the rest of the night.
B) Play dead until he gets close to check on you and then bite off his naughty bits, once and for all.
If you chose A. You charge at him at full speed. He falls in pile of hay against the barn wall. Thud. He moans "caaaaaaake" and rolls on his side. He puts his hands under his head and begins to snore. Peace until morning. Huzzah!!!
If you chose B. You lay down and whimper, then roll on your back like a roach. You are fake dead. It takes McGillidrunk 26 minutes to notice. You know it's been 26 minutes because you have a special digital goat clock implanted in your ear. It tells you what time it is every five minutes. It's so cool. McGillistein crouches down next to you and says "Oh, litter feller, what happ-----" You quickly go for his crotch and take a big bite. His screams reach London. He grabs a knife from his back pocket and slits your throat. You stop biting and go limp. You are real dead.
The End
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Step One: Getting Organized
There was a guy sitting next to me on the train today reading a book that was open to a page with the title "Step One: Getting Organized." That is always the first chapter in self-improvement books. I sometimes think that reading those books is going to make a big difference in my life. I come up with very ambitious outlines for my new found organization:
Dishes: Do every day by 8pm
Litter Box: Stand by cats as they are shitting and immediately pick it up-like organized dog owners do
Yoga Video: Do roomate's Yoga video for one hour every day
Laundry: One SMALL bag of laundry every week
Cooking: Cook new recipe every night after work. Keep a file of recipes
Lists: Write out a To Do List every day at 7:30 AM sharp. Keep lists in ONE notebook and not on random receipts
Novel: Write Novel
Play: Write Play
Business: Start Business
Business Cards: Make business cards for business
Desk: Do not use bed as desk!!!!!!!
I always feel so fabulously organized after I write these types of resolutions.
But then things start to pile up at an unbelievable rate. Especially cat shit in the litter box. How does that happen?
Dishes: Do every day by 8pm
Litter Box: Stand by cats as they are shitting and immediately pick it up-like organized dog owners do
Yoga Video: Do roomate's Yoga video for one hour every day
Laundry: One SMALL bag of laundry every week
Cooking: Cook new recipe every night after work. Keep a file of recipes
Lists: Write out a To Do List every day at 7:30 AM sharp. Keep lists in ONE notebook and not on random receipts
Novel: Write Novel
Play: Write Play
Business: Start Business
Business Cards: Make business cards for business
Desk: Do not use bed as desk!!!!!!!
I always feel so fabulously organized after I write these types of resolutions.
But then things start to pile up at an unbelievable rate. Especially cat shit in the litter box. How does that happen?
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