Greenpoint
Lorven Pharmacy
Culture on the Cheap
Ask Not For Whom the Porn Man Comes
He comes for me.
As I mentioned in this post, I had the pleasure of assisting the porn man with his never-ending quest for spankerific entertainment again last weekend. I suppose Friday’s offerings were yesterday’s news and he need more, uh, grist for the mill. This time he even brought a female companion with him. It was all I could do to keep from laughing.
First he drifted to the housewares; he picks up a box of drinking glasses. After bantering with my boss and handing another gentleman his business card, he goes back to the clothing. A pair of pants and a tunic are selected. All the while he is yammering away with his female friend. Then, after laying the groundwork, he went in for the kill:
Hey, you guys had a box full of DVDs yesterday. There was one that had a broken case— do you still have it? I’d like to buy it.
My co-worker and I look at each other. We pull the box of porn out from behind the counter.
“This one?” my co-worker asked.
“Yes”, he replied.
It was entitled Buff Bitches. I deduced that this was some kind of bodybuilder fetish flick because it had an image of a rather muscular woman on it. A rather muscular woman having very, very dirty things done to her, I should add. Peachy.
Shortly after this coveted prize found its way into his possession, his female friend wandered back to the counter to see what he was doing. She smiled, said “goodbye” and left. After all, how can a girl compete with that?
When this gentleman finally left my co-worker and I burst out laughing. My manager wanted to know what the deal was, so we told him. The solitary sentence that left his mouth was:
Yeah, the porn freaks are always cheap.
The piece de resistance, however, was when I saw this dude’s business card. After repeatedly asking myself:
- What kind of person would buy this stuff and be so damned cheap about it?
- What kind of person would buy this stuff with a female acquaintance with him?
I got my answer.
The same kind of person whose business card has a picture of him modeling au naturel with a musical instrument, that’s who! “Is this man for real?” you ask. Of course he is. REAL NAKED. You can’t make this shit up folks…
Speaking of shit and people with zero social skills, I have a very special “Dung of the Day” for your edification today. This item hails from 960 Manhattan Avenue, which happens to be the location of a rather large healthcare facility. I found it directly outside the front door.
Warning: Mothers who leave their used cigarettes and their baby’s shit-filled diapers on the sidewalk are hazardous to my health.
Miss Heather
Horseshit
This pile of equine effluvia hails from the intersection of Stillwell and Surf Avenue at good ol’ Coney Island. I happened across it yesterday morning after spending an hour prancing along the boardwalk and being photographed by the New York Daily News. I attracted a throng of curious onlookers. I suspect what I was wearing had something to do with this.
SEX-I-FUL!
On a whim, I decided to grace the parade with my fineass fecal female person. Being #268, I ended up waiting quite awhile before my number was called. I whiled away the time by sitting in the shade; wearing a dress covered with ~10 pounds of CRAP and two cups of sticky caramel topping can make a girl hot.
And “HOT” I was. I know this because a fellow parade-goer took great pains to tell me so.
Male Suitor: You may be covered in shit, but you are beautiful. You look like Cinderella.
Me: Uh, thanks.
After the previous exchange of pleasantries this man (who was clearly enjoying a variety of mind-altering substances) proceeded to go into an illucid five minute monologue about my many charms.
It has been a long time since I have had a man try to pick me up. This is something that simply does not happen. I strongly suspect that my “mojo” has something to do with it. Or maybe it is the way I dress? Who knows. Now (that I am married) I have learned the cardinal rule of attracting menfolk: look like SHIT.
Miss Heather
Monitor Monument Merde
One of the points of interest featured in Forgotten-NY‘s tour of Greenpoint was the monument dedicated to John Ericsson at McGolrick Park. After Kevin (Walsh) gave a general rundown about it (who made it, who it is dedicated to, when it was installed, etc.) a park patron pointed out a hitherto unknown feature for everyone’s edification.
Homeboy appears to be taking a shit.
No wonder people let their dogs crap with total abandon here. Can you realistically expect people to curb their dogs when a public sculpture is letting one rip for all to see?
At least this pile of shit doesn’t stink.
Miss Heather
P.S.: Speaking of bad manners, does anyone know what the deal is with this guy? I remember him from the demonstration that was held in front of the charred husk that is the Greenpoint Terminal Warehouse May 2006. He and his female companion (who constitute the organization Neighborhood Roots) made a mockery of what was otherwise a very peaceful event. I distinctly remember when Mr. Kupiec and his fellow harpie saw fit to heckle Martin Malave Dilan as he was making a speech. You know, you may not like your district’s Representatives but you should at least exercise some common fucking courtesy and let them speak.
Anyhoo, the reason I am asking about this gentleman is he saw fit to use Forgotten-NY‘s tour today as an opportunity push his agenda with Kevin Walsh and myself. There is a time and a place for everything— and this was neither the time nor the place for whatever this guy is pushing. What’s more, he didn’t even pay the paltry $5.00 to attend the tour. What the fuck is this guy’s problem? Didn’t his mother teach him anything!?!
Lest this chap happens to be reading this: Kevin wants his five bucks. It’s the least you can do after trying to turn someone else’s walking tour into your own personal pulpit.
Today’s submission
When I got home this afternoon I discovered a select morsel of goodness in my inbox. “Begonia44” writes:
Hi Miss Heather!
I wanted to share my poop finding with you and also vent if that’s OK. But first of all, I just wanted to say that I am a huge fan of your blog. Thank you for adding giggles and laughter to my day.
So, here is what I have today.
Place: 89 Eagle St. between Franklin and Manhattan. Our back yard. In our garden.
Time: This morning. May 24.
Mood: Nauseated and pissedMy poop isn’t from a dog, rather a cat. These are the cats who have been having sex in our back yard, tearing up my garden, and taking dumps on my newly planted seed bed. In the beginning, the squirrels dug up all of my planters and hid peanuts and other nuts in them. It was a war. I caught a squirrel in the act of destruction one day and ran outside like a crazy woman on crack and he actually came running at me (Holy SHIT! — Ed. Note). I went running back into the house. Crazy little things. Now it’s the cats shitting on my flower and herbs. Gross. I came home last night and my boyfriend Adam said he has cleared out a giant pile already. And now, I wake up to this nasty yellow piece of shit. I give up. Seriously.
Anyway,
Thank you so much!
I hope you are well,
And thanks again for your great writings.
No, thank you! Not only for your kind words but for seeing this sickly pile of poo and thinking of me.
Miss Heather
NYS Flickr Pool
