O Come All Ye Filthfull (The Car Cleaner)

Has this ever happened to you? You're standing on the subway platform, waiting for your train. It's rush hour, so long before you see the reflective glow of an approaching train's lights on the rails or feel the rush of foul smelling wind on your face, prospective riders are already jockeying for position. You catch an elbow from an oblivious Hassid, maybe take a stroller hit to the shins from a Puerto Rican mother with more tummy rolls than the Michelen Man - and in a tighter fitting shirt. Still the train is no where in sight. But then you see a little bit of light down the tunnel, see a candy bar wrapper down on the tracks start to flutter in the breeze, and soon enough, the train rounds the corner. And sure enough, folks are crammed in there tighter than a piece of beef jerky packaging . Then the impossible happens: You find yourself standing in front the doors of a car that is almost completely empty. "How can this be?" you ask yourself. "Am I really this fortunate?" The doors open, you step inside, elated, and immediately realize that you've made a horrible mistake. The car reeks of a scent that defies all putrid description. It stings the nostrils, blurs the vision. It's as if someone has sprayed an entire can of vomit scented Febreze right into your beak. You turn and try to escape, but every idiot on the platform behind you has seen the same mistaken opportunity and piled in behind you, and suddenly you realize there is no way out. The doors close and you're trapped in a shit smelling nightmare that Freddy Kruger wouldn't even crash. Though your eyes are now pouring tears, you see through the slits what you think is a pile of soiled rags. But then you see a foot - or what may once have been a foot, but now is black and club like and covered in open sores. And you suddenly realize that the pile of rags is a giant beached-whale-like bum, who is lying across an entire subway bench. Meet the Car Clearer.

The Car Clearer does just that: clears all riders off his subway car. Now I understand that the Car Clearer is homeless, and I don't want to come off as insensitive, but couldn't this guy find a less confined place to shit himself in? I can think of half of dozen spots with better ventilation in the subway system alone. Unlike other bums, the Car Clearer has no intentions of begging you for loose change or even quietly ranting to itself. The Car Clearer has but one objective: to lay and wallow in its own filth. Should you encounter a Car Clearer on the subway system it is in this blogger's opinion that you should hold your breath for as long as possible and sprint for the nearest exit.

Man-Thongs: Not The Worst Things In The World, But They're Right Up There (The G-String Guy)

Some of you have probably heard of, or maybe even seen, this asshole (and his actual asshole) lounging around the Brooklyn Bridge Park in DUMBO. And if you have, you would remember it because, like blood on your linen pants, that shit doesn't go away. My friends Matt Oliver, Steve Garofano and I took a stroll down here one afternoon to toss the disc around, and by disc I mean Frisbee, and by Frisbee I mean yes - we are also part asshole for throwing a disc around in a park. But rest assured, there will be a posting down the road where we address disc throwing assholes like ourselves, because I don't want to come off as a hypocrite on this equal opportunity offender blog . But I digress...
So on this particular afternoon, we stumbled across this idiot and his yellow thong, ass side up, catching a few rays on the caboose. Now I'm all for healthy body images, freedom of expression and all that, but like anything else, there's got to be some boundaries. And frankly this guy is waaay the fuck outside of them. To partially quote the great Aaron Neville, I don't know much, but I know that this dude doesn't need to be tanning his ass in our godamn park system. Now I might be able to sympathize if his wife, life mate, whoever, was this overbearing, mentally abusive, tanning salon owner or something, and this guy was the victim of many years of abuse. But one look at this dude and you know instantly that he sure as hell doesn't have anyone hanging in the balance at home, waiting for him to walk in the door and make sure that his ass shade matches that of his lower back and upper thighs. The point being that this guy is doing this thing of his own free will, which is just all the more frightening.
If you look closely you can see in shadow, snapping this photo. Now it may look like I'm holding the camera up to my eye, but in fact I shot this picture from about neck level. The hand that looks like it's holding the camera to my eye is actually shielding my eyes from this dude's ass, which if you can't tell, is completely exposed and horrible. Did I mention that this guy was tanning his ass? Just want to clarify that point.

And to add insult to injury, he was wearing some kind of floppy, cotton hat, that looks like a cross between what a French Legionnaire solider might wear and some dipshit who's painting your garage. And I shit you not: the guy looked exactly like that Buffalo Bill guy from Silence of the Lambs. Coincidence?

Land-monsters! (Illiterate Clam Vendors, Guido Sunbathers and More)

I snapped this gem a couple of years back on a day trip to Coney Island - which, if you've never been too, don't. I don't recall, but it must have been some kind of holiday, because the entire boardwalk was filled with giant idiots and future rapists.
The place is truly fun for the Hole Family, as advertised (see photo).

Speaking of holes, is it just me or do you think an entire roll of nickles would disappear into this guy's belly button? I stumbled across these two monsters while in line to buy a Nathan's hot dog - a line I quickly withdrew from after observing these two, as I had abruptly lost my appetite.
Naturally, my first thought was that this must be some kind of bizarre performance art or that perhaps two sea lions had escapes from the nearby aquarium, because humans like these don't exist in the real world. But apparently Coney Island is not the real world and these two were indeed flesh and blood. All seven hundred pounds of it.