Greenpoint
Lorven Pharmacy
Culture on the Cheap
Williamsburg Photo Du Jour: Metropolitan Avenue
Filed under: 11211, Street Art, The Natives Are Getting Restless, The Word On The Street, Williamsburg, Williamsburg Brooklyn
Taken April 17, 2013.
Spotted At Bedford Avenue & North 7 Street: LaRouchebags
Filed under: 11211, Crazy People, Culture War, That's Really Racist, Williamsburg, Williamsburg Brooklyn
This morning I awakened in a state not unlike the previous four before: tired. However, there was one crucial difference this time around; I was also very, SERIOUSLY, cold. Neither a whiff nor a sputter of heat was to be had. Not that the “girls” (as I call them) seemed to mind; they were quite perky. Yes, gentle readers, winter has arrived at Chez Shitty. With a two titty salute! But I digress.
The rest of me got up, made a pot of coffee, threw on some thermal underwear and mulled over what I was going to do today. Given the choice between being miserably cold indoors and miserably cold outdoors, I decided the latter was the more palatable option. So I took a walk.
Before I proceed with my story I would like to point out that unlike a number of people, when I feel like being left alone I leave my apartment. Sometimes I need a break from the rigors of my inbox. It is on our city’s not-so-mean streets that I find much-needed solitude— with one notable exception: Bedford Avenue.
Perhaps it is due to the fact I am “old”, bereft any noticeable tattoos, piercings and/or a hangover that I fit the “profile” of someone who gives a shit (READ: a registered voter). This is the only reason I can muster as to why I attract any and all canvassers with a clipboard/hucksters with cause— however laudable or insane— along this strip.
What transpired this morning is no exception. But this time I was ready.
Ever had one of those moments when something inside of you snaps and you break into peals of prepubescent-esque giggling? Well, that is what happened when I stumbled upon the above juxtaposition of a Pabst Blue Ribbon delivery truck…
and a table staffed by two 20-somethings spreading the good news about Lyndon LaRouche.
LAROUCHEPSTERS!
I thought to myself. And doubled over into another (albeit self-induced) fit of demented cackling.
Call it sleep deprivation (it probably is), but I found their poster calling for the impeachment of Barack NERObama (sporting devil horns, no less) and the above item (I’m not happy with our current Commander in Chief— but a Hitler mustache— REALLY?) utterly hilarious. My amusement did not go unnoticed by the chaps staffing said table either:
Me (laughing): Aw man!
Do you know the similarities between Barack Obama and Dick Cheney?
The LaRouchepster asked. To wit I replied with a smile:
No, I just didn’t know LaRouche was out of jail.*
(silence)
When I called the Mister to tell him about my merry-making, I mistakenly called these folks Libertarians. He corrected me as follows:
They’re LaRouchians. That’s even worse.
THE END
*Actually I do know this. However, admitting as much would have spoiled all the fun! This post is dedicated to Pa Heather.
LAST GASP: WTF
The above product was brought to my attention by a chap named Jan. In an email entitled “from the no, no NO STOP IT department”: he writes:
One of the guys in marketing at work received a package from this company today, and I couldn’t believe they make and sell this kind of stuff… I was drinking a lukewarm caffeinated beverage when I first saw this, and almost sprayed a manager’s laptop.
Oh, but they do! My questions are as follows: is there is a demand for this product and why?
Miss Heather
Great Moments In Real Estate Marketing: Hardcore Luxury
When I saw this corker at the corner of Bedford Avenue and North 6 Street today I simply had to document it. As soon as I got home I brought it to the Mister’s attention. I don’t care if he took a personal day today or not: this is important.
This woman simply does not have enough tattoos. Although the one she does have— which looks like it was selected and possibly executed under the influence of narcotics— or possibly in jail— is a good start.
I stated, to get the ball rolling.
She went somewhere very nice that tattoo. I have no doubt she paid a lot of money to make it look like she got it in prison.
The Mister countered.
“Agreed” I said and went on to opine:
There are a number of things wrong with this ad now that I have really looked at it. For starters, why isn’t someone sitting at the table surrounded by empty cans of PBR and Colt 45 cutting up a suspicious white substance with a gold card? Maybe they’re doing it on the granite counter tops in the bathroom instead?
To wit the Mister replied:
What I want to know is where’s the scraggly haired son of bitch passed out on the couch? You know, the one she’s “dating”* to piss her dad off?
I could not have put it better myself. Sorry Edge PR hacks, but until you make the changes we have just outlined (oh yeah, throw in some piercings while you’re at it) this advertisement is a colossal fail.
Miss Heather
*This was not the word the Mister used.
From The New York Shitty Inbox: Townies Versus Newbies
An off-again, on again problem yours truly experiences is insomnia. Last night was no exception: I could not for the life of me fall asleep. Finally I gave up, grabbed a glass of milk and quietly shuffled to the computer. When I checked my email something very special awaiting me. It didn’t help me sleep at all (quite to the contrary— that’s impossible to do after laughing one’s ass off) but it is certainly worth passing along nonetheless. J writes:
I was witness to a really hilarious stoopid event last night.
I was on Bedford and N9 waiting for the B61 around 11pm, being joined by a rather large young local construction (and slightly inebriated) worker guy. He sat on the stoop by the bus stop. Above us, four hipster idiots drunk and or drugged were on the roof snickering and cackling to their own amusement/irony. One of the idiots started flicking crap off the roof at the big Polish guy. He started cursing and finally yelled at them. After a few more times, and a lit cigarette bouncing off his back, he shouted:
Motherfuck!! Fuck you asshole!
to which the girlie on the roof replied:
Fuck you you fucking Polack!
This threw the guy into a rage,
You motherfuck, I show you!
and he proceeds to start kicking the door at the top of the stoop. I went into “keep an eye on things but out of direct contact” mode I learned in BedStuy in the 80’s. He finally kicked the door in, cursing and shouting. He returns with a bicycle from inside the house and curses at the idiots on the roof:
You motherfucks I show you now I have your bike you motherfuck!
and proceeds to ride the bike down Bedford. The problem is – he kicked in the door and stole the bicycle FROM THE WRONG HOUSE. Naturally, the people of the house whose door he kicked in were pretty upset and a minute or so later half dozen of New York’s Finest showed up. The idiots on the roof of the house next door quickly disappeared. Since someone decided to rat me out as an eye witness, I gave them a basic description of the transactions between the idiots and of the guy, and let the folks in the house of the broken door know who should get talked to. Then the 61 finally showed up and I split.
This is turning out to be an interesting summer.
Indeed.
Miss Heather
New York Shitty Ender: Look At This Fucking Hipster
Filed under: Williamsburg
Untitled from lookatthisfuckinghipster on Vimeo.
This mind numbing moment of zen comes courtesy of a site called Look At This Fucking Hipster. What is L.A.T.F.H., you ask? Well, for starters it is located on Tumblr. Secondly, it offers anywhere between one and photographs daily of hipsters doing whatever hipsters do (often while consuming PBR, it should be noted) accompanied by some of the most trenchant and downright hilarious commentary I have ever read. Real doozies like:
Some people say hip-hop is dead. We just do this to make sure. (This one went with the above video.)
It’s actually really hard to be a pimp when all your bitches have trust funds.
Ah, yes. I’m picking up my prescription for medical cocaine. The name is William S. Burg.
Maybe I should stop snorting all my Rogaine…
and much, much more. Do check ’em out. I guarantee laugh your ass off.
Oh yeah, they also take submissions:
hipsterblog (at) gmail (dot) com
Happy hating!
Miss Heather
P.S.: Special thanks goes out to Andrea for bringing this to my attention. Thanks!
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