Ever have your car graffiti’d? ‘Cause it turned out that I had the other night. Actually, so was everyone who parked on the street treated to a delightfully scribbled tag that probably signifies absolutely nothing aside from sheer sans-dickery on the side or back of their auto. Among the conclusions I’ve come to in the past year is that St Catharines’ kids need to develop hoop dreamz or something to keep themselves otherwise occupied.
I thought all hope was gone until my mother tried the Mr Clean Magic Eraser on it, and it worked perfectly. Took off the graffiti and did not remove the car’s paint. The Taurus wagon rides on, nutsackless fag art-free.
Anyway, tonight I’ve been occupying myself with folksy, enjoyable music and Mitch Hedberg.
