it’s always shitty in cambridge

I have lived in Cambridge for all of six months. I love so many parts of Cambridge. I love the Charles at dusk. I love the bike lanes. I love the overabundance of fleece. And Asians. I love the fact that my 80-year old neighbor masterbates loudly three times a day. Ok, I might not love that last one.

But what I don’t love is everyone thinking Cambridge consists only of overeducated hipsters. Trust me, we have enough. ENOUGH.  But this city is dirty. It has an overabulence of heroine and homeless. Neither or which I enjoy. I prefer meth and prostitutes.  Sadly, neither of which I can seem to find…

In that spirit, I present a five series of text messages I have actually sent in the 6-months I have been in Cambridge. All true.  All an accurate portrayal of the literal shit I deal with on a daily basis.

Someone shit in the hallway.
Like enormous shit.
So big I couldn’t physically pick it up by myself.

Someone took a shit in the elevator.
There is a pile of human feces in the elevator.
I was just scooping diarrhea up with dry rags.
Eight dry rags worth of diarrhea!

Some dude just wiped his dick out and pissed on the carpet.
I was just on my knees soaking up urine with dry rags.

I just found a man with a needle in his arm passed out in the basement.
I kicked him in the face.
Don’t worry he felt it. He’s still alive.

A random dude just approached me while leaving the bank and asked if I wanted to party with his penis.
I told him to blow me.
Now he’s walking behind me and I’m pretty sure he’s reading this text.
If you can read this then blow me, asshole.