Sucko in Stucco

One of the greatest pleasures I derive from New York Shitty is the numerous witty and pithy comments I have the pleasure of moderating. This is because I envision his web site as being a two-way street. Its purpose is not solely to toss out missives into the abyss of the Internet; rather, I want people (be they Greenpointers or otherwise) to communicate. With each other and me.

That said, a commenter named “Rexlic” recently reminded me of a wonderful movie by the Marx Brothers called Cocoanuts. For those of you who are not familiar with this film here is the premise via IMDB:

Mr. Hammer (Groucho Marx —Ed. Note) runs a bankrupt Florida hotel. He’ll try anything to make money, even make love to rich Mrs. Potter. But his main scheme, selling real estate, is in danger of sabotage from zanies Chico and Harpo, who also reduce the schemes of a pair of jewel thieves to chaos…

The following choice specimens of north Brooklyn stucco abuse (and very bad taste) are dedicated to “Rexlic” and the brothers Marx. First up, check out this beauty on Conselyea Street.

You can have any kind of a home you want. You can even get stucco.

Oh, how you can get stucco.

Representing Greenpoint, we have this beauty on Meeker Avenue!

Those of you who are familiar with this area (Meeker Avenue west of North Henry Street) can attest to the many amenities this location affords:

1. Scenic views of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway.
2. UNeasy access to public transportation (unless you like to hitchhike) and other essentials such as grocery stores, laundromats and the like.
3. The distinction of living in the most crime-ridden section of the 94th Precinct!

But all the previous are trivialities. Who cares about practicality when he or she can enjoy

…the most exclusive residential district in Florida Greenpoint East Williamsburg. Nobody lives there.

Miss Heather

Subway Sagacity

I do not know why people bother spending the time or money to hire professionals. Some of the most sage advice I have ever read has been scrawled on the subway posters which grace dank innards of our city. For the low price of $2 you get access to an open forum where no subject is off-limits. I once read an ongoing debate about Alexander Hamilton and Federalism at the Fulton Street stop of the G. The quality of these tomes (the person arguing against Mr. Hamilton referred to him as a “plutocrat”) surpassed a number of college theses I had the misfortune of grading when I was a teaching fellow.

If I was a policymaker for this fine city, one of the first things I would do is equip subway stations with blank posters and markers; if someone had a question, needed advice or just wanted to “talk”, he (or she) could bounce it off his/her fellow subway patrons by writing it on the “subway forum board”. Unfortunately, I have no hand whatsoever in how this city is run so I have to rely on the brave scofflaws who provide their own Sharpies.

The first bit of advice I am going to share with you today comes courtesy of Greenpoint’s very own Crosstown Local: the proper manner in which to hold open a subway door.

New York Shitty analysis: I emphatically agree. You should always use your leg; its much sturdier. Delicate hands can get hurt by those closing doors, so be careful!

Next up comes an offering from the L train platform at Metropolitan Avenue.

New York Shitty analysis: Wow. This must be ONE VERY BAD MOVIE!

Miss Heather

Hooray For Global Warming!

Some of you might have noticed that yesterday’s offerings on New York Shitty were few. There are several reasons for this:

1. January 7 is my birthday and sitting in front of a computer is not my idea of a good time.
2. It was damned near sixty fucking degrees outside.
3. When the weather is unseasonably warm, New York’s more colorful citizens come out to play and I like to join them in the revelry.

I saw this guy when I made an emergency trip to Ricky’s in the East Village. While a little difficult to see in this photograph, he even sports white mascara. It’s the above attention to detail that impresses yours truly, even though I could do without the swastika. Anyhoo…

In order to get to Manhattan I had to ride the Crosstown Local.

Behold, the Tyson of Liberty! The riders might have given the G a failing grade for service, but I give the riders an A+ for artistic prowess.

Here’s a nice close-up of Jesus presiding over the destruction of Manhattan. Speaking of Jesus, here is an annotated poster from the Metropolitan platform.

I don’t remember how the original poster read— what’s more I don’t care. I’d rather be edified by the epistles of crack during my wait for the Crosstown Local. It just makes sense.

It would appear those wacky Williamsburgers agree. They just can’t get enough of the stuff! But enough with the drug humor, let’s get back to Greenpoint.

A patron on the Queens-bound platform has a more scatological take on this (ubiquitous) Cloverfield poster. Upon closer examination I discovered there’s a little something for everybody.

An ejaculating penis.

A pair of gravity-defying breasts and an explosive fit of flatulence. The latter piece of imagery (rendered in Colonoscope) of reminds me of something I read on The Poop Report recently. It was penned by one “Farmer Brown”:

…I stood up, cursing a flowing string of swear words like a preacher caught in a whorehouse, and delivered one final foghorn fart that made me want to puke my guts up like a jock after a Colt 45 binge.

In closing, I might be one year older but I haven’t really grown up. Miss Heather still loves her some good scat chat. For those of you who don’t, I apologize for offending your more effete sensibilities.

And don’t forget: the Santalope loves you!

Miss Heather