I just spent 20 minutes scraping dog poo off my shoe. I’m not sure when it happened but I kept thinking to myself, “Sniff, sniff. Why do I smell poop? That’s definitely poop.” Over and over. “Yeah… that’s poop. Where is it? Where’s the poop? Do I ask around?”
Honestly, this is a long time coming. I live in a neighborhood that could easily be referred to as DogPoopington. A butt load of dogs are constantly unloading their butts. On the sidewalk. Civilized neighborhoods have civilized citizens that walk around with plastic baggies and collect the poop so that I don’t step in it. In my neighborhood, Joe Jackass walks around with his pit bull shitting-machine. Now of course you have to understand, having a pit bull is a macho thing. Why else would you want the Russian Roulette of dogs? A dog that frequently maims and/or kills people for no reason?
So you’ve got this pit bull to compensate for your small penis or your small metaphorical penis, so naturally the least macho thing you could possibly do with said kill-dog would be to clean up it’s poop. Hell it might even see you doing that, instantly lose respect for you and attack your neck because it realizes only Sally girls clean up their dog’s poop.
So consequently there is a street near me, a street I must walk down to get to the train, that I will refer to as Dookie Row, where there are piles of dookie as far as the eye can see. Fresh dookie, old dookie, medium-old dookie, dark brown dookie, light tan dookie. You name it. A literal minefield of dookie.
So that poop smell was from my shoe and even though I cleaned it all off I swear it still smells. Maybe the poop is like the blood in MacBeth…. It will never go away until I move.
Damn you. Damn you symbolic poop.
Tags: brooklyn, nyc, ohjesus, rants, thecity
Hello, my name is Shawn. This is where I put things. This site has been active since 2002. A lot has changed since then but basically I'm still writing ridiculous articles about ridiculous things. You can also look at my