ACPTHTPTHECPTH!
That pretty picture is Meridian Hill park, which is right next to my house. On early June mornings, walking through Meridian Hill park (also named Malcolm X park, so named for the statues of Joan of Arc and James Buchanan) is the highlight of my morning. Everyone who walks through seems to be in a good mood, savoring the last vestiges of spring before the oppressive heat of DC summers makes it so hot that one sweats simply by waking up in the morning.
This morning was particularly idyllic. A storm came through yesterday, granting a reprieve from the humidity of the past week and leaving only a cool, crisp breeze in its wake. I strolled through the park, soaking in the sunlight and smiling at the joggers with their frolicking pooches and the group of senior men doing Tai Chi perfectly in unison.
Before I turned the corner that goes down the steps of the hill overlooking the DC monuments (one of the loveliest views in the city if you take the hideous apartment building at the bottom of the hill out of the equation), I smelled a pungent but familiar odor, the smell of hair that hasn't been washed in years under the acrid smell of dried urine that's been caked on clothing for so long it's turned to ammonia. And as I rounded the corner, I saw the man who matched the smell.
And then I got a double huzz1.
The man was masturbating furiously, as though trying to punish his penis for having made its way out of his pants. And before he, uh, was spent, he stopped abruptly, and his whole body relaxed- except that. I thought he'd fallen asleep, but then, a stream of urine so dark that it was almost orange shot out of him at least a foot and a half into into the air before spattering down all over the man, who made no effort to move or shield himself.
You know, I've always been vehemently against animal testing for cosmetics and toothpaste and shit. But at that particular moment, I wanted to advocate for such testing, just so I could go over to those labs and get my eyes bleached out, too.
1. (n)The shudder that accompanies great disgust or when the hairs on the back of the neck try to jump off of the skull; generally come in single or double strength.
This morning was particularly idyllic. A storm came through yesterday, granting a reprieve from the humidity of the past week and leaving only a cool, crisp breeze in its wake. I strolled through the park, soaking in the sunlight and smiling at the joggers with their frolicking pooches and the group of senior men doing Tai Chi perfectly in unison.
Before I turned the corner that goes down the steps of the hill overlooking the DC monuments (one of the loveliest views in the city if you take the hideous apartment building at the bottom of the hill out of the equation), I smelled a pungent but familiar odor, the smell of hair that hasn't been washed in years under the acrid smell of dried urine that's been caked on clothing for so long it's turned to ammonia. And as I rounded the corner, I saw the man who matched the smell.
And then I got a double huzz1.
The man was masturbating furiously, as though trying to punish his penis for having made its way out of his pants. And before he, uh, was spent, he stopped abruptly, and his whole body relaxed- except that. I thought he'd fallen asleep, but then, a stream of urine so dark that it was almost orange shot out of him at least a foot and a half into into the air before spattering down all over the man, who made no effort to move or shield himself.
You know, I've always been vehemently against animal testing for cosmetics and toothpaste and shit. But at that particular moment, I wanted to advocate for such testing, just so I could go over to those labs and get my eyes bleached out, too.
1. (n)The shudder that accompanies great disgust or when the hairs on the back of the neck try to jump off of the skull; generally come in single or double strength.
posted by The Goo at 9:01 AM
1 Comments:
After reading this post, I am filled with the need to wash my eyes out with antiseptic soap.
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