Shit Smiley Face

Editor's Note:
I have not edited the original emails. The text here is the exact same text I received in 2 emails from Damian. I have only concatenated the 2 emails into one text.

hey steve, get a load of this shit. to preface: last night, ping, shamrock, tom, and me went to mr. pockets at parkway center to shoot a little pool with some half-price coupons we had. anyway, ping was driving, so i parked my car at the aamoco station where brian works and just hopped in with him.

so after i hop out of ping's car afterwards, i walk over to my car to find that somebody had smeared what can best be described as a Shit Smiley Face on my driver-side window. yeah, that's right. shit. real shit. the-kind-of-shit-you-flush-down-the-toilet shit. stinking, filthy shit, smiling right at me with two giant dollops of dung for eyes, a healthy smear for a nose, and a ragged, jagged swath for a mouth, smiling at me with a pernicious, off-color grin. what's more, they applied a generous helping all over my door handle, thinking that i might attempt to open my door before realizing the gravity of my error. well, gladly, i spotted the matter before reaching for the handle, and decided to enter from the passenger side. on the way to the car wash, i couldn't help but laugh at the sheer absurdity--and the subtle beauty--of the situation. not necessarily the fact that my car was the unblessed victim of a healthy, homestyle shit-smearing, but that somebody actually went to the trouble of HANDLING the unholy brownness, and BREATHING its heinous vapor as they carefully sculpted it into its final, foecal, form. i imagine my amusement and appreciation would have turned decidedly sour had i actually reached for the door, but as i was encumbered only by the less-than-delicate smell of the anonymous offal, i realized it was a relatively small price to pay for the distinct honor of driving what had become the canvas for such a stunning portrayal of bathroom humor. i viewed it as somewhat of an inspired--albeit excreted--work of urban art, one that i'd put up against warhol's oxidations any day.

my oh my, you should have seen the looks i was getting from fellow motorists as i waited at a traffic light on forbes, the crooked stare of my coprolite companion burning a hole of contempt and depravity thru the countenance of any hapless soul foolish enough to gaze upon it. for those few moments, i was invincible--sheilded by the wicked leer of my inherited foece-friend. one fellow in particular--a yellow cab driver--looked upon my window with such disgust, that i had no choice but to stare back at him from behind my veil with an obnoxious, shit-eating grin of my own--one that could well have communicated to him the false impression that my window was not a product of mischevious pranksters, but rather a product of my own doing, an intentional affront to the entire motoring public. for a moment i felt proud of my subterfuge, but it soon wore off, for once i pulled into stuckert's exxon to find that the carwash was broken, i came to the harsh realization that i was going to have to live with a reeking, offensive pile of shit-art on my window and on my door handle for an indefinite span. in a flash, my whole world came crumbling down, for my inherited Smiley Shit Face all of a sudden leered INWARD AT ME, ruthlessly conveying its sinister suggestion whenever i turned my head to the left. it was a moment i'd rather soon forget. i felt used. i felt cheap. i felt man-raped.

to this moment, the Shit Smiley Face remains plastered shamelessly on the window of my car, providing a constant, reeking reminder to never again park my car on the other side of the boulevard.

Update:

after three highly unsuccessful runs through the automated carwashes, i resorted to one of those do-it-yourself jobbies. and let me tell you, getting the two-day-old, thoroughly caked-on and fly-infested mess off my car was quite a fucking chore. even at the self-serve carwash with the mack-daddy hi-powered water jet, it took me a long time to blast that shit clean. the hardest part, honestly, was the door handle. i mean, every fucking crack and crevice was smeared, in rudest form, all over the fucker. after carefully examining (with pinched nose) the painstaking nature of the effort, i concluded that the person must have, at some moment intime, actually hanled the matter with their bare hands (or at least, through rubber gloves) in order to apply it so meticulously. i mean, there's simply no other way they could have done it. anyhow, that took awhile, and it stunk real bad after being re-moistened, and most of the shit ended up on the ground, right where the next guy in line most likely stood while washing HIS car, so really, the depth of the prank probably exceeded that of its original intent.

well you know what they say; sharing is caring.

on a side note, as i blasted the crusty shit away, i had a few moments to reflect on the trouble the now-cunting perpetrators had put me through. it got me to thinking: had i witnessed firsthand the guilty party shitting my ride, i might have been tempted to practice their newfound artform on the human frame. smearing and coating particular orifices (say, noses and mouths) so as to interfere with, but not hinder, the breathing process. such would be justice well served....