A Truly Sh*tty Experience
I am a graduate student in a small college town. As many of you know, college towns are notorious for their shitty housing. Most of the residences in town are run down, and the somewhat nice ones are generally priced as though they are on the upper west side of Manhattan. What makes things worse are the endless petty ordinances that landlords often put up in order to discourage prospective renters, or make their lives a living hell.
I am not particularly good with authority. If I was a professional athlete, I’d probably be a locker room cancer because I hate having people tell me what to do, especially when I don’t think they are as capable as I am in a given task. I’m an elitist and a dickhead, in short, but sometimes it’s entertaining.
My current neighbors are trifling bitches. Despite the fact that there is a newly paved sidewalk that leads directly to the asphalt pad on which their cars are parked, for some reason they feel the need to traipse through the grass in order to travel the unbearable 30 foot distance. Perhaps that’s because after seeing one of them for the first time, my mom said, “you could serve dinner on that girl’s ass.”—after all it must be stressful.
Of course, these girls have to be in a sorority, because all overweight annoying girls whose parents pay their way are always in a sorority. It’s one of the axioms of the universe, right up their with the constant of the speed of light. These ‘sorostitutes’ always seem to have a sense of entitlement somewhere north of Maurice Clarett. It makes living next to them, well a pain in the ass. It’s ok when they are up til 4 am playing music over their very shitty speakers (I could tolerate it if it weren’t for the suck ass sound coming from their goddamn shelf system piece of monkey shit), but yet it’s inconvenient for them to not walk on the sidewalk because they don’t want to walk in my dog’s poop, as if dog shit is somehow hard to locate. You’d think that girls who spend the majority of their post-secondary education on their knees would at least have a passing familiarity with the ground. Nevertheless, I have always committed a cardinal sin whenever they happen to step in poop. Big deal I figure, after all, it’s only dog shit—wipe it off in the grass you love to walk in so much, and go blow some guy with a popped collar.
I love irony. For example, these girls are so scandalized by the excretion of an animal that eats a diet far healthier than nearly all people do, yet they willingly swallow the ejaculate of men they don’t even know. Alas, I am not the king of the universe, so perhaps I shouldn’t judge. Well, as bitches are wont to do, they bitched, complaining to our landlords numerous times about the piles of poop in the yard. I complied for the most part and picked them up whenever the incessant complaining would get unbearable, but after winter break I said to myself, “**** it,” and didn’t pick up a piece of crap for about six weeks. I was fortunate that a layer of snow concealed the shit for the most part, but now unseasonable weather has melted the snow off, exposing, well…a shitload of shit.
I got a letter from my landlord today informing me that if I did not pick up the poop today that I would be forced to move my dog out. Well **** that I thought to myself. I considered various forms of retribution, but in the end figured what the hell and picked all the shit up. I now have a 30 gallon trash bag filled with at least 25 pounds of dog poop in it (6 weeks of poop for a 60 pound dog is a lot of shit). Thus I have complied with the wishes of my landlord, but now I have all this shit that is just itching for me to do something with it. Perhaps I could make a shit airbag, like in “Men at Work”, or find a way to put it all in the trunks of the whores next door. Then again, I guess I could just light it all on fire on their doorstep in a ritual of purification. Nevertheless, attached are photos of the poop, and me, with a shit eating grin holding my prize aloft.