A couple of years ago I was walking on the northeast side of Thompson's Square Park with some friends when I noticed people across 7th street pointing and laughing. Following their fingers, I laid unfortunate eyes on a very angry man. Jumping up and down. Shouting unintelligibly. Stark naked. In broad daylight. And he wasn't exactly in position of a fabulous physique either. He then climbed up on the trunk of a car and continued jumping up and down, waving his fists. Everything bouncing [shudder]. Finally he landed wrong and tumbled ass-over-teakettle to the ground. His act was getting really old, so eventually we moved on and left him romping all over the car like it was a trampoline.
The next night I was walking around the same neighborhood and happened to see the same car. All over the dirty trunk were hand prints, foot prints and best of all, one perfectly formed ass-print. Sometimes I like to wonder what the owner of the car thought when they got back to their parking place.
Happy Bastille Day.
Here's some monkeys.
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