Category Archives: shit

i’ll break your arm


i just love the backwards logic of “don’t touch” notes that add a more specific (and superfluous) imperative as an afterthought — like “or eat” in this one.

as an interesting coda to this note, jim in minneapolis says his former roommate “later got a can of pink spray paint and circled the potholes in our driveway, drew arrows to them, and wrote THIS IS AN ISSUE on the asphalt. he drove a jeep, too, so I don’t know what his problem was.”

the mad bomber, act 2: please stay seated during the entire performance

if you missed it, act 1.


act 3 coming soon…

the mad bomber, act 1: “sorry about the language”

i don’t want to oversell this, but the following series of three signs (sent in by a health-club patron who wishes to remain nameless) just became my new all-time favorite. i love so many things about richard g. sells’s first masterpiece below that i don’t even know where to begin.


acts 2 and 3 to come shortly…

some legionnaire’s idea of epigrammatic wit



i realize this example (from outside the american legion hq in park slope) is not so much “passive-aggressive” as it is “crazy,” but it tickles me too much not to post. the little species/feces couplet has been painted over and re-written at least twice, so obviously i’m not the only one who appreciated it.

you can’t tell from these photos, but this little storefront stands as one of the few bastions on fifth avenue that the armies of invading gentrifiers couldn’t take down with their industrial-size nozzles of mrs. meyer’s and turn into a precious little bakery selling organic dog cupcakes. while i was taking these, a man in a lawn chair out front was either yelling at me or trying to sell me a ratty old suitcase. because i was wearing my (army-issued) white earbuds i couldn’t tell which and just trotted away to join my comrades for bougie boot camp at the new york sports club.

now you’re just bringing it on yourself, don’t you think?

now you’re just bringing it on yourself, don’t you think?

the latest in a well-documented series.

what is it about dog shit that pushes brooklynites over the edge?


wesh snapped this a few years back in red hook, brooklyn, while walking from his brother’s rehearsal dinner to the afterparty bar. (how bougie does park slope’s version look in comparison?)

says wesh: “what gets me are the flags. why flags?”

have a nice day


the latest in a series previously documented here and here.