Bon of a Stich Part 2: War on Me.

After having lost my wallet this week (which has opened me up to criticism in my comments), I had another very New York thing happen to me today.

After leaving a cafe on 28th street after being accused of stealing Arizona Iced Tea ("why don't you have any napkins?" why would i need that for a drink?), I walked toward the west side. Then I was struck. Not in the face by a stranger, that would have been better. "Hope that was water," said a nearby police officer. Oh, snap! Didn't know to serve and project meant I would get served. "So do I," I returned.

I finally got up to a bathroom in a building to look at the damage. Now I should have mentioned this was no simple shit. The cop said I hope that was water meaning there was a lot that fell out of the air. There was shit on my left knee, both my wrists, my left shoulder, right shoulder blade, a little on my sleeve, and my hair. My hair which I had actually combed out today. Shit. In it.

Now I have to be clear that this is one of two things. Either pigeon asses are similar to changeable shower heads and they can go from spray to focused stream to massage depending on the mood that day, or a disgruntled group of birds assaulted me as a team. I'm gonna go with assault. It felt like I had been shitbombed. It felt very organized and deliberate.

What have I done to deserve this? Has it been the many times I've spoken out about Bush and his policies? No, who doesn't do that nowadays? Its tre chic. I know. It must be the many times in public I've spoken out about the movies Valiant and Chicken Run that prompted a retaliation from the groups represented therein. Well FUCK ya'll. Gotta go bathe now.