Greenpoint
Lorven Pharmacy
Culture on the Cheap
The Kids Are Not Alright
I have long thought that college educations— and most of the people who sport them— were pretty much useless nowadays. This splendid example of angry signage from a woman’s dormitory at Hunter College more or less confirms it.
Sherry, the provider of the above piece of photographic insight into dorm life in the 21st century, writes:
Are you an equal opportunity signage reader? The attached picture is a complaint from Hunter College’s dormitory bathroom. (Notice the hot pink accent, which lets you know it’s an all-female floor.) I deem the “fecal deposits” themselves unflushable due to a large circumference and feel as sorry for the person who has to pass them as I do for those who find them…
Maybe someone should by this “nasty skank” some Metamucil? After all, Hannukah is right around the corner.
Miss Heather
P.S.: Come to think of it, this takes me back to my dormitory days. One evening I went to the shared bathroom and discovered something quite remarkable: a toilet filled to the rim with shit. It was a veritable Matterhorn of merde. What’s more, someone was thoughtful enough to toss a sailor hat on top of it and proceeded to take another shit on top of that. I have no doubt the author of this signature piece of “sculpture” has gone on to a career in politics.
51 Days And Counting…
When S.P.I.T. decides to get their SHIT together…
it would be greatly appreciated if the following piece of illegal advertising was removed from 72 Norman Avenue.
How cannot I not shake the suspicion that if our policy makers had to look at this TURD every day, it would have been removed by now. Alas, in Greenpoint (the real estate market’s current cash cow) no one seems to care.
Except me and the person who was foolish enough to call 311 and complain about it.
51 DAYS AGO.
Miss Heather
When Advertecture Attacks: Hideousness on Huron Street
I was walking with my parents and generally having a good time…
until I saw this. I wonder what the local Fire Department would think of this piece of “advertising”? I think I’ll call the Fire Marshall’s Office and find out.
Miss Heather
Be A Journalist… OR JUST LOOK LIKE ONE!
This week has been a sore reminder to me that there are two distinct groups of people in this world:
- The ones who create and/or innovate and
- the parasites who (having no talent or wherewithal to speak of) feed off of them.
To plagiarize or not to plagiarize?
Speaking as a person who is firmly grounded in group #1, that is a question I have never had to ask myself. No sir. I actually took the numerous warnings I received from my graduate and undergraduate professors about this practice seriously.
This doesn’t mean I do not find the issue on my doorstep, though: I do. With increasing and alarming frequency. To this end I have created the following worksheet for wannabe journalists who— through their own incompetence, laziness or simple lack of ethics— wish to be very real plagiarizers of New York Shitty!
Please be a dear and let me know what you plan on “appropriating” so I can prepare myself to find it your publication. Miss Heather hates surprises. And let’s face facts: it’s the least you can do after profiteering off my labor of love. I even made most of this worksheet multiple choice so you needn’t waste your valuable time by having to think… or WRITE!
All you have to do is save the above jpeg to your desktop, fill it out and return it to me, Miss Heather, at:
plagiarism (at) newyorkshitty.com*
I thank you in advance for your immediate attention to this matter.
Sincerely,
Miss Heather
*This is a real email address.
Thanks A Lot, New York Post!
Oh wait, they should be thanking me!
It would appear that the New York Post has discovered the street sneakers I recently featured on New York Shitty and saw fit to publish an article about them today. Coincidence? I think not.
Why didn’t they just hire me to write this article? Oh wait, I do not have a journalism degree. Not only am I not qualified to “write” but I haven’t been schooled in Blog-Trolling 101— which is clearly one of the tricks of the trade print journalists employ nowadays. Why bother finding this stuff on your own when a blogger can do it for you? For free, no less! It’s like having hundreds of involuntary unpaid interns at your every point and click. Ingenious!
The folks at the Post could have at least given my humble blog a nod— but I suppose some of their readership might have found my URL objectionable. That’s sort of ironic because I find having my blog used as the source for a story (And let’s face facts, IT IS— the timing is simply too uncanny to be a mere coincidence.) without citation, well, OBJECTIONABLE. Way to go New York Post! You just ensured that the New York Daily News will get my business from now on.
In closing I would like to share a quote from a friend of mine. It is regarding her getting married at the age of 20 to a man much older than her:
He was okay with fucking a teenager, but he couldn’t bring himself to marry one.
This man was perfectly okay with screwing someone who was underage, but the notion of actually marrying one was distasteful to him. Thus, they waited until she turned 20. Frankly I fail to see the difference. But clearly in this man’s peculiar world view there was.
Sort of like having hack journos use my blog as a source without citing it. I am beneath them and yet totally “fuckable”. Or perhaps I am “fuckable” because I am beneath them? In any case, I prefer to be taken out to a nice dinner first. I might be easy but I ain’t cheap.
Maybe when I become a “grown up” journo/writer they’ll welcome me into the family?
Miss Heather
Photo Credit: Matthew McDermott, New York Post (See? I just cited the provenance of the above photograph. It’s not that difficult. Really. It’s so easy even a caveman blogger can do it.)
New York Shitty Gets a Theme Song!
My boss, knowing that I have certain *a-hem* eccentricities, sees fit to set aside items for me on occasion. While most of the time this entails homemade pornography he finds while opening boxes of stuff from estate sales and storage auctions, other times it pertains to my fecal fixation. So you can imagine my delight when I found the following waiting for me last Thursday.
Not wanting to bother my buddy Noel to burn it onto compact disc for me (he has enough problems right now) I hunted down a recording of it online. Give it a listen. It is quite entertaining.
Miss Heather
Oh My God!
Today is going to be a pretty quiet day here at New York Shitty. Among other things, my husband was called to go into work at 10:00 p.m. last night and didn’t get home until 6:30 this morning. That said, I want to give a shout-out to Queens Crap for giving me a lot of blog love last weekend. I would also like to thank them for giving me the biggest laugh I have had in a very long time.
I’m speechless. Well, almost speechless: perhaps if the Super at the Astral makes enough money with his little pornography photography enterprise he will be able to afford these select digs in Floral Park? For reasons I cannot explain, this house somehow makes me think of him.
Miss Heather
Photo Credit: Queens Crap
Behold, The Other Face of Pistilli Realty!
Having learned from my good buddy over at Greenpointers that some mischievous scamp has seen fit to post an ad on Craigslist admonishing people against moving into the Astral, I thought it might be interesting to share a few photos I took of Pistilli’s Co-op Crapfest in Astoria yesterday. Here they are.
It’s big.
Really, really big. Per Wired New York’s forum, this turd has 188 units.
And if the above fanfare is any indication, they are almost ready for occupancy!
Wouldn’t it be interesting if some “shame on you” type news show asked the shills Pistilli hired to sell this crap if it will have bedbugs and scantily clad ‘models’ like his other property? A property, I will add, which is a registered historic landmark that (per ACRIS) appears to have been mortgaged repeatedly so as to finance the above masterpiece.
Just a thought.
It’s tough being a developer. So the next time any of you Astral tenants whine about mold or bedbugs, be advised that it costs a lot of money to make something look this cheap. Shit, the money Pistilli outlaid on stucco alone is probably equal to the gross domestic product of a developing country.
Or two.
Miss Heather
P.S.: The address for the above development can found by clicking here lest anyone reading this is curious.
P.S. #2: I’d also like to give a big New York Shitty shout-out to my buddies at Bedbuggers for calling Greenpoint “the good-blog capital of Brooklyn”. Thanks!
P.S.#3: I forgot to post this photo of the ass(ier) end of Pistilli Riverview East. Here it is.
Booty Call: #6 of the Greenpoint 10 is…
the pimp-a-licious Stuporintendent of the Astral Apartments.
Wishing to pay homage, I swung by Chez T & A yesterday. It would appear the critter problem at 74 India Street is alive and kicking biting.
Never mind the mushrooms.
Damn the bedbugs.
Sometimes a hardworking man (with a hard-on) needs to take pictures of half nekkid women to blow off steam.
How can fixing shit stand a chance when one can watch two hot chicks pretend to suck face instead? And badly at that.
Bad news Astral dude: Japan cornered the market on school girl lesbo shit a long time ago. I should know: I have volumes of it. I only read the articles*, lest any of you are wondering.
Which brings me to this week’s very sucky motivational poster.
Don’t let the bedbugs bite!
Miss Heather
*This is a joke. I cannot read Japanese.
Crappy— In More Ways Than One!
It’s been awhile since I have seen me some super shitty construction fences, so this morning I moseyed on down to West Street to get my fix. I was not disappointed.
The above fence can be seen at the southwestern corner of West and Kent Street.
Here’s a nice shot of the hole in the fence.
Next to it resides this festering pile of garbage.
The sidewalk in front of this fence has a nice crack…
as did the gent taking a shit behind it. I don’t know what the hell this guy ate, but I could smell the Ghost of Dinner Past* over fifteen feet away.
In closing I would like to state that I prefer to envision the glass as being half full. This site is not a public safety hazard: it is an al fresco public lavatory. Don’t laugh, it’s probably cleaner than the women’s crapper at McGolrick Park.
Maybe I should call the CRACK PROS?
Miss Heather
*Or would that be the Ghost of SHITmas Past?
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