Greenpoint
Lorven Pharmacy
Culture on the Cheap
The Ring
I found the above scheiss oddity yesterday behind the Key Food on McGuinness Boulevard. Many of you non-Greenpointers may not know it, but this area (Newel Street between Greenpoint Avenue and Calyer) is a hotbed of bumshit activity.
That’s probably why this building decided to take a dump; it got shit/pissed/vomited on one too many times and decided to retaliate. Or there is a bum living in Greenpoint who can blow shit rings out of his ass. If it’s the latter, I would humbly suggest that someone locate this man and give him his own cable television show.
Miss Heather
P.S.: Be sure to check out today’s New York Daily News. I’m quoted in it!
McShit
Before attending yesterday afternoon’s Q & A session at the Newton Creek Waste Water Treatment Plant I walked along Greenpoint Avenue. This picture-taking trek ended up lasting two hours.
As I approached 329 Greenpoint Avenue I was very hungry and needed to go to the bathroom in the worst imaginable way. Apparently someone at the intersection of North Henry Street recently had a similar problem. And having that indomitable Greenpoint “can do” attitude, he (or she) elected to do a little multi-tasking.
Shit-battered ribs: it’s what’s for dinner!
On Greenpoint Avenue (across the street from the Newton Creek Waste Water Treatment Plant) it is, anyway.
ShitRibs Rule!
Miss Heather
Steamroller
Today’s Dung of the Day comes courtesy of “Dupreciate” he writes:
Diamond between Calyer and Meserole has little to no residency (mainly that film studio), so it ends up being something of a graveyard for unpleasant worldly items: soiled cocktail dresses, abandoned strollers, dog poop.
Found this guy on Saturday night. I’ve named it the “steamroller” as someone, or something, appears to have flattened it out a bit.
POOPYLICIOUS!
I hope the person who steamrolled this shit wasn’t wearing sandals. Ouch!
Miss Heather
Shit Parade
This morning I awakened to discover a staggering assortment of blue-chip shit waiting for me in my inbox. One or two of them literally left me speechless. Here is the first installment, which was submitted by a gentleman named Jon Feinstein. It’s some seriously amazing stuff shit which I have taken the liberty of annotating for your amusement. Enjoy!
Manhattan
27th Street between 6th and 7th Avenue
I took a dump that looked just like this before viewing this image. A pretty uncanny coincidence if you ask me, but then again this is the usual by-product when one mixes margaritas with homemade salsa the previous evening. I did stick to using conventional toilet paper to wipe my bum, though. My socks simply have too many holes in them.
Park Slope Shit
The title of this one is “Your future does not have to be a mystery”. This is a reference to the ad copy on the flyer next to this gargantuan lump of shit. If this woman was a bona fide clairvoyant, she would have placed a flyer reading “Warning, I see a pile of shit in your future” ten feet in front of this bad boy. I am certain the person who (clearly) stepped in this puddle of puddin’ would agree with me.
Boerum Hill
Near Wyckoff Avenue
You gotta give the guy credit: at least he did it in a bucket. This reminds me of a story someone I went to graduate school with once told me. He grew up in a subdivision in Topeka, Kansas. One his neighbors decided to quit paying their water bill, and as a result, their water was turned off. Instead of using the toilet (which was rendered useless by lack of water) the entire family shit in buckets. When the bucket was full, they placed it in the garage. By the time these people were finally ejected from the property (by the city) the entire garage was filled with buckets ‘o’ shit. Maybe this family has moved to Boerum Hill?
Gowanus Pool Entrance
Looks like our neighbors to south like to throw them some D’s too!
Thank again Jon for the tasty turds! Another select morsel will be featured tomorrow, so stay tuned!
Miss Heather
Greenpoint likes to throw them some D’s
Yesterday evening after meeting a buddy of mine for dinner, my husband and I decided to walk home. This seemingly insignificant decision netted me a real prize.
I found this trace of turd terrorism in the barren no man’s land between north Williamsburg and Greenpoint: Berry at N. 11th Street. Moving forward, I would like to suggest that this poster be used as the demarcation point between the two ‘hoods because throwing one’s (or someone else’s) “D’s” into another person’s face is exclusively a Greenpoint avocation. While anthropologists fret over our simian brethren’s ability to make tools, we are furiously throwing the fiercest fucking D’s on the East Coast! Long live the Devolution!
Miss Heather
P.S.: Although dung throwing is perfectly acceptable, be advised that Greenpoint has an explicit anti-fart policy, so mind your fucking manners.
Pissville
Last weekend I was feeling adventurous so I ventured across the Greenpoint Avenue Bridge to (gasp!) Queens. Below is a map indicating the area I checked out.
This disorienting no man’s land (nestled between the Long Island Expressway and Newton Creek) is known by several names. Some call it Long Island City, others say it is Sunnyside. I have created my own (very) off-color moniker for this ‘hood, as you will soon learn.
Anyone who has had Greenpoint History 101 will tell you that Neziah Bliss was the driving force behind my neighborhood’s development. In 1838 Mr. Bliss shelled out the dough to have the land surveyed. The result of this endeavor is the grid-work of streets that riddle Greenpoint to this day. As a consequence, the Bliss name is venerated here; he is Greenpoint nobility.
What a number of people do not realize is that Mr. Bliss was also responsible for development in adjoining Queens. This includes the area I perused yesterday. This parcel of land was once called ‘Blissville’ (in honor of its founder). After inspecting his namesake neighborhood I humbly recommend that it be rechristened “Pissville”. This is because it is friggin’ nasty.
If I had to describe Pissville in one sentence this would be this: take the worst features of Greenpoint and Long Island City and cram them into the armpit that is the Long Island Expressway. Pretty sexy, huh? Follows are some highlights from my Pissville experience… with PICTURES!
WELCOME TO PISSVILLE
When I reached the apex of the Greenpoint Avenue Bridge the first two businesses I laid eyes upon were two shuttered storefronts. One was clearly a bodega, the other was more ambiguous; it had an orange awning with the word “Circles†emblazoned on it. “That has got to be a titty bar†I mumbled to myself. When I got home later and googled the address (36-21 Review Avenue) I discovered that I was correct. (The previous link is NSFW — Ed. Note.)
I failed to take photo of this fine establishment, but suffice it to say that it looked like the kind of strip joint where the dancers probably wear control top thongs to keep wiggle and jiggle to a dull roar. If Medusa’s face could turn one’s person into stone— or if the god of the Old Testament could convert heathens into glorified saltlicks, the sight of this place is more than enough to give anyone (not wearing a hazmat suit) a raging case of herpes. Valtrex, anyone?
I FPUCKED YOUR MOTHER
After being greeted with the promise of tits and ass, I thought to myself: “This place has personality.”
And it is not a very nice one.
I do not wish to suggest that I find Pissville unlikeable. Even though Charles Bukowski is one of my favorite authors (to make metaphor), I sure as hell would not want him as a next door neighbor— if you know what I mean. But if you were to locate Mr. Bukowski (READ: Pissville) safely on the other side of Newtown Creek everything would be peachy keen. That way I can savor its unique charm (and/or some anonymous person’s boast of defiling my mother) whenever the mood suits me.
Kenny does not appear to be a very popular guy…
but “Joe” is clearly missed by many. May he rest in peace.
Amusingly enough, Pissville (as laden with garbage and foul language as it is) was strangely bereft of dog shit. That said, I did not go away empty handed.
Although it is not discernable in the above photo, the author of this signature shit used an inter-office memo as toilet paper. Perhaps it was a disgruntled worker from Kenny’s? This turd taco can be found at 51-26 34th Street.
And here is a little something I discovered across the street from this shit sandwich…
A BIGASS CONDOMINIUM BUILDING!
Let’s review:
- This ‘nabe is appointed with little more than a bodega and a titty bar.
- The sidewalks are covered with garbage.
- Someone residing here claims to have done dirty things to my mother. This dude must have the longest schlong on the east coast ‘cuz my mother resides in New Mexico. I am not sure what “pucking” is, but I bet it is something so nasty that even a crack whore charges extra for it.
- This building is not located anywhere near a subway station, and…
- under the right conditions the area probably reeks of exhaust fumes (from the L.I.E.) and the putrid stink from the waste water plant across Newton Creek.
Who do I make my check out to?
Miss Heather
PLEASE DEMOLISH THIS HOUSE!
These are desperate times for us Greenpointers. On the one hand, you have cool old buildings getting razed to build yet more unwanted ‘luxury housing’; on the other, you have this SHITHOLE which, in my opinion, cannot get torn down soon enough.
Anyone who has lived on this block for any appreciable period of time will tell you about the former residents of this building, 151 Green Street: a perpetually drunk old woman and her son. Although I found her practice of chaining her wheelchair(s) to the fence to prevent theft darkly amusing, the same cannot be said about the frequent visits made by EMS to collect her drunken ass. I wasn’t too big on her son’s proclivity for passing out on their stoop either. Charming.
The more observant of you (readers) will notice that there are several permits posted in the window of this property. One of them sanctions the demolition of this house. To the best of my recollection these were put up about a month ago, maybe a little longer. I remember quietly rejoicing when I got the news and have been eagerly waiting for the big day to come.
I am still waiting. In the meantime, a new (and equally dysfunctional) ‘family unit’ seems to have moved in: a trio of junkies. They have taken to lounging around on the sidewalk and passing GARGANTUAN BOWEL MOVEMENTS wherever the mood suits them. Like the one I found in front of my apartment building this morning.
They also left their ‘calling card’ on my stoop.
This has got to stop. I do not think it is either an unreasonable or a presumptuous demand to be able to exit one’s building without stepping in someone’s barf. Seriously folks, it’s fucking nasty.
Miss Heather
219 Montrose Avenue
Now that spring has arrived I have to be more careful when exiting my apartment building. This is because the usual suspects (hipsters, bums and junkies— I can no longer tell the difference) have resumed hanging out on my stoop. It takes every iota of restraint I have not to swing the hideous metal door that graces my building full force and squash these creatures like flies. If you do not shell out the ridiculous amount of money (my husband and I do in order) to live here, don’t hang out here . Simple as that.
When I was helping some friends move their cats this weekend I noticed that the fine folks who reside at 219 Montrose Avenue feel the same way about loiterers as I do. They made a nice sign to make their stance on this issue crystal fucking clear.
I for one like the juxtaposition of the plywood sign against the brand-spanking new vinyl siding. I think I will print out a nice copy of this sign, have it laminated and place it on our front door. It looks like it works.
Miss Heather
Dung of the Day: 201 Montrose Avenue
The pervasive theme this week (for me, anyway) is taxonomy. When not parsing through(and snickering at) petty quibbling over what constitutes ‘East Williamsburg’ versus what is Bushwick (don’t EVEN get me started on that whole ‘West Bushwick’ thing), I have been engaged in a friendly debate with Kevin Walsh (of Forgotten-NY) as to whether 128 Beadel Street is in ‘East Williamsburg’ or Greenpoint. As some of you may remember, this is where the coolest house EVER happens to be located. I do not think I need to state what my position on this topic is; it’s pretty obvious. (*cough* GREENPOINT *cough*)
All of this controversy has given one hell of a headache— which I will remedy with a can (or two) of Busweiser after I present today’s “Dung of the Day” hailing from 201 Montrose Avenue. Call it ‘East Williamsburg’, call it Bushwick— it makes no difference: both are full of shit. Literally, that is.
What is remarkable about this turd is its placement atop of a 1 1/2 to 2 foot tall snowdrift. The canine (or homo sapiens) who discharged this big ‘un must be pretty tall— and clearly cannot shit and chew gum at the same time.
Miss Heather
P.S.: I had to tease you Kevin, it was simply too tempting. No offense intended. 🙂
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. That’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 ‘image’ in your mind is my daily reality, kiddo.
*snap*
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.
Miss Heather
*This is the same dude who left skid-marked BVDs in the bathroom floor. FOR TWO DAYS.
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