So I’ve done it. I no longer live in Denver. Land of cassette tape belt buckles, evil finger muppets, golf balls, box cutters, etc. I now live in New York. Land of prostitutes in mink coats, rude cabbies, gays, jews, skyscrapers and bagels. I thought I had left behind the quaint treasures of my yard, but upon waiting for the bus a few days ago, I’ve discovered that true shit in my yard will always find me. Let’s take this gem for instance.
For those of you with cataracts. I’ll transcribe: “JVC 27″ Colour Television in EXCELLENT CONDITION This is the best BARGAIN of this year asking $100 DOLLARS Do not be shy Check it out Give us a call at XXX-XXX-XXXX CALL US ANYTIME”
Let’s take a moment to consider this.
2. WTF? It’s nearly duct taped to a fucking tree.
3. How fucking bossy is this ad? it’s one fucking order after the other. CALL NOW… CALL ANYTIME… DON’T BE SHY. Fuck, Don’t tell me what to do, Whitney.
4. Is this really a good deal? a 27 inch tv for 100 bucks whose biggest selling feature is that it’s “COLOUR”? what a racist way to refer to a TV. and what’s the alternative? Black and White? What is this, the 60′s?
5. Where’s the punctuation? This isn’t fucking Ulysses.
And finally, CALL ANYTIME? Really. I’ll bet if I had posted this at 2AM on the interwebs, I don’t think they’d be so eager, sitting by to take your call.
Sadly, this is still classier than craigslist. Not that I’d know a thing about that.
In what may just be my last Shitinmyyard post (it’s going to be shit on the street in a few weeks), I’m unsure of how to interpret this one.
Yes, this is a fucking box cutter casually thrown into my snow covered yard.
Some potential ideas.
Whitney Houston was in my yard looking for crack and dropped her weapon of choice? Cause that bitch will cut you.
well, that may be all the ideas I have. WTF? it’s like right by my door.
The other night I was walking in with my groceries and other things and saw… a fucking wallet. And not just ANY wallet: a Chain wallet with a fucking shark on it. YES. I found a kid’s wallet in my yard. I immediately assumed it was one of my neighbor’s grandkids.
After snapping a photo in its natural habitat, I decided I should probably investigate and immediately return (cause I’m that fucking nice).
Upon opening the wallet, I was stunned to find, a Driver Fucking License (yea “Driver.” For some reason Colorado only calls it a Driver License, unless your at the office you get it, then it’s “Driver’s License.” We’re all high here, don’t judge. Yea, I totally thought an adult’s wallet had to be owned by a 14 year old boy.
Upon further investigation, the address was “RIGHT FUCKING NEAR ME.” So groceries in hand, I walk over and the guy is sitting on his stoop, high as a kite. I said “I think you dropped your wallet” and handed it to him. Stunned, he kept saying “you fucking found my fucking wallet over fucking there on the fucking sidewalk.” Man of many words this one.
He motions to his friend to give me a couple of bucks. I refuse and say if you ever find my wallet, please return it. Then was offered pot, which makes me think that maybe they were trying to smoke me up to see if I’d also lose my wallet so they could return it and we could be even.
Say no to drugs, kids.
So I turned the dirty thirty last week, and low and behold the morning after I hit the big 3-0, I find myself waltzing past an empty container of “Authentic” Cognac.
Let me be clear (to quote Obama), I did not drink this.
So someone must have really wanted to join in on the celebration, but for whatever reason didn’t make the party (Likely didn’t invite them, I’m kind of a bitch like that), and then decided the next best thing was to sit next to my water meter and drown their sorrows with cognac (seriously, fucking cognac? what is this, a rap video?)
The one thing that’s got me puzzled is why is it labeled “Authentic?” It actually causes me to wonder if it truly isn’t a knock-off. Dear St. Remy, you’re clearly over compensating for something. It’s not attractive and causes me to be skeptical of you.
For this post, I have to divulge a little secret. Half the reason, I’m assuming, so much shit lands in my yard is because I’m directly across the street from four dumpsters that basically serve everyone on my block. So a good stiff breeze is often the culprit.
Yesterday I went to throw out my garbage (read McDonalds bag that I left in my car) and came across something too fucking amazing not to post.
It’s a weird elfin statue. I mean, look at this fucking thing. It’s not small either. Probably a foot tall. But what strikes me about this thing is a few details. Look at the face… he looks shocked. shocked to be a part of such an ugly, ridiculous knick knack.
Detail number 2. This thing was carefully placed on the edge of the dumpster. So that means someone thought, “I no longer want this, but someone might.”
I cannot wrap my head around this. Someone somewhere went into a store and thought “yes, perfect. I’ve been needing an oversized gnome statue.” Then, presumably years later, thought, “You know, I don’t need this anymore.” and walked out to the dumpster and thought, “You know, it’s a shame. I’m sure someone would love this. Let me carefully place it on the edge of the dumpster so that one of my neighbors might pick it up.”
There are so many things that confuse me here. Why would you buy this? where would you buy this? and if you’ve decided you don’t want it, what the fuck makes you think someone else might? It’s a ridiculous gnome statue.
That I totally am going to take it and give it to someone for a housewarming gift.
These days in Denver, when you see a small ziploc bag, sometimes it’s hard to tell what kind of drugs it contains. I mean, pot is basically legal here. I can throw a tennis ball and hit 4 “Wellness Centers” from my front porch, and evidently 80% of Denverites have glaucoma. But the other day, I found this tiny little thing, no bigger than my toenail and knew, UH OH, someone’s jaw is hurting today.
Now, we must analyze. Were people rolling in my yard? I mean, I realize with all my amazing landscaping, people would be tempted to walk around, feel the lush vegetation or whatnot, but come on, there’s got to be better times than chilling next to the beige beauty (my home’s name). And let’s be serious, my neighbor would have told them to “get the fuck outta there.”
So here’s what I think happened. Some crazy kids had a case of the Disco Fever, glammed themselves up in vinyl pants and mesh shirts, covered themselves in glitter. I mean more glitter than Ke$ha. Walking disco balls. Sashaying like Naomi Campbell down my street. They pause, see that they can hide in my tall grass, take their pills, and toss the pill bag, where else, but in my yard.
Little do they know, whatever ecstasy those crazy glitter kids felt didn’t touch the high I got from finding their pill bag in my yard the next morning. Thank you, glitterati. Thank you.
Other hypothesis: The tabs belonged to the Finger Muppet