Snot Your Everyday Pamphlet

Riding the New York subway last night, arms laden with bags brimming with Whole Foods booty (aka 1 tub hummus, 1 Amy's Burrito, and 5 spinach leaves = $47.65), I stared at the ceiling wishing I was home already. My iPod that I famously touted here not too long ago has broken -- now whenever I turn it on, the little Apple logo comes up, and then a little cute file icon with an exclamation point appears, and it shuts off. They might as well have a huge, black, dot matrix dildo appear with a little black and grey version of yourself bent over your ancestor's grave, because iPod loves to fuck people in the ass. Don't give me a cute icon, you fuckers, either give me my Best of Peter Cetera or my $300 back, thank you.


What I really want to find wrapped up under my Christmas tree this year: Peter Cetera and my dead dog from when I was five.

Anyway, that's not the reason I write. As the train approached my stop, I got up to get the circulation started, when I noticed a most interesting pamphlet on my seat. Indeed, I had been sitting on either the musings of a completely insane person, or a total, in-tuned genius. Either way, I couldn't remove my eyes from its message, and while my hands were too full to snap a digital picture of the little sign (which may have actually been a sticker, unless my body mass welded it into the seat), my photographic memory snapped into place and I memorized all of its glory (sadly, my memory's setting was on sepia, so the colors might be a little off. I'm an old-fashioned gal!)


Me at my Bat Mitzvah: I'm holding the bag of money.

Moving along, this morning I recreated the message as best as I could on MS Paint, and I bring it to you here.



I could launch into my own analysis of the thing, but, like the eyes of Will Ferrell, I'll leave it a mystery for you to discovery on your own. Get out your Litte Whore-fan Tranny Decoder Rings, and send possible theories to youcantmakeitup at gmail.com

Update #1: An anonymous reader directed me to this site, a posting at Hulver.com, which documented a similar find on the 1/9 train during the Republican National Convention. Well, thank god my pamphy (as I affectionately call it) didn't have a Sw*stika** on it, or it wouldn't have been so... heartwarming.

**A history teacher of mine in middle school refused to write out the word Hitler, preferring instead to write "Hilter." Not coincidentally, I used to pass notes calling her a "Fukcing Sult." Also, way to teach HISTORY, asshole.