Tuesday, October 23, 2012


Howie Storm's dog, Shaggy, died, so Eddie Schultz and I took a walk up to the A.S.P.C.A. on 96th Street to get him a new dog, which is about 7 miles round trip. The dog was black, just like Shaggy, so Howie called him “Jet.” This was before the "pooper scooper" laws so our dogs did their business in the street.

One day I was sitting on the fender of Mr. Vincenzi's car when he came out of his building and slapped me pretty hard on my head. I thought it was an overreaction - "get off the fuckin' car" would've been sufficient.

He usually came out to go to his car around the same time so the next day I overfed my dog with meatballs and spaghetti and made sure she took a big shit, close to the curb, in between Vincenzi's building and his car. Next, I timed how long it would take to walk past the pile of dogshit on the way to the car. I tested the length of fuse it would take on a firecracker to match that time.

Acting like I was carving some writing in the asphalt street, I waited. The target appeared; I placed the firecracker in the middle of the pile and lit the fuse. I tried my best to walk away calmly, but I was nervous because he was a mean, tough bastard who would kick my ass if anything went wrong.

BOOM!!!I heard a lot of Italian curse words but I ain't never hoid dese woids before. He now was a rare sight - an Italian with freckles! Cursing all the way, he ran back to his building, while I went to sit on his fuckin' car...for a minute!


From DISORGANIZED CRIME, by Sonny Patini, sophian7847@gmail.com.

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