City Needle, Needle, Book, Book, Book!
posted by February 28 at 11:18 AMon
Deep-throated sources that I refuse to divulge (hey, Jamie!) report on the ongoing goings-on at some sordid public library, possibly (but not necessarily!) the Capitol Hill one. According to said unnamed source (call me!), the library, by grace of karma or location, is at times a veritable vortex of various types of delightful and general deviance and perversion, including, but not limited to, intrepid wankers exploring the vivid online world of the foot fetish while, gasp, “juicing the purple pickle” (your tax dollars at work! Right the fuck on!), occasional guest appearances by various species of garden variety “screaming crazies” (fun at parties! Take them on road trips! Poke them with sticks!), and even occasional random urination/and or defecation in the maze of shelves (or “ laying stacks in the stacks”). But a bizarre and disgusting event earlier tops (and/or bottoms) even itself, it is so bizarre and disgusting. Check it out…
The time: Mere moments ago. The place: A library (not necessarily the Capitol Hill branch, dammit!). A sad and lonely dog, tethered outside, waits impatiently for his master/mistress, who, we guess, is innocently browsing for books (or juicing the purple pickle) within. Bored, the dog begins to dig. Bad dog! BAD! But…Hey! …What is that the dog has unearthed? Something was buried in the dirt, right there, by the library entrance! Shit, o dear, whatever could it be?!
Well, of course.
It’s a CHANEL SUNGLASS CASE, and it’s crammed to its crannies with a considerable cache of DIRTY HYPODERMIC NEEDLES.
Dirty. Hypodermic. NEEDLES.
Library security was alerted by persons concerned and rather hysterical, and an unidentified library security person, renowned for their sunglasses and dirty needles dealing-with powers, gathered up the prickly bio hazard and spirited it off to places unknown and presumably elsewhere. The end.
Or is it?
These events leave us with several terrible questions. Questions like, who buried those fucking dirty needles? Did some crazed and diabetic fashion victim stash his life-saving hypos hastily in the shallow grave on library property in some kind of insulin fit, imagining them to be booty, or poo? Or was it something far sketchier? And what, for God’s sweet sake, would motivate anyone to stash their filthy needles at the LIBRARY—and are their others squirreled away inside? At this moment various sorts of authorities are canvassing the area (Wallingford? Fremont? Who’s to say?) for a twitching mouth-foamer with nowhere to put his or her sunglasses, really dirty nails, and some late fees. Updates as events unfold….