I wrote an essay called Shitvitation in my forthcoming book. Bubbsie and Oldest Daughter know the essay cause'ns I read it at the Fixx Reading Series. In short, my apartment manager had a girating asstastic experience on my porcelain goddess while dishing on the phone with one of his chippies. Oh, what a shitmare it was, just ask B or Amy. Amy and I were furiously emailing back and forth during Shituardo's fiesta for party of one. On Monday, Shituardo and his sidekick, a lovely bloke who kindly smiles at everything I say, came over at 9AM to replace my tile-oleum with actual see-ramic tiles. Unprepared and terrified I'd be bombed again, I wrapped my toilet in duct tape and closed the door. I also offered up additional insurance, 20 bucks each for lunch. I spent the day standing guard in the living room as they ripped up the linoleum and replaced it with tiles or as my mother refers to them, teelays . By 4PM, the tiles were down and the shitwins were leaving for the day...
