I was walking along 125th Street in Harlem and I passed a sight that I wouldn’t necessarily define as horrifying but it caused me to rubberneck worse than highway traffic slowing to a snail’s pace as it looks on the aftermath of someone who flipped her car six times because she valued texting her girlfriend “LOL” more than personal safety. Directly on the sidewalk seven inches from the wall of the building and two inches from each other, as if placed there by God Himself, were two bloody condoms; this generations Adam and Eve.
I had my hands full with my dog, her large fold-up carrier to keep the pigs from ticketing me in the subway and a backpack, but my mother load didn’t prevent me from freezing in my tracks and taking in what I considered perhaps the 8th Wonder of the world. I mean, if you look down at the Grand Canyon you certainly have a sense of grandeur, maybe even a reflection of Bertha the 9th Avenue prostitute with the extremely large and vacuous vagina. But “wonder”? Take a gander at two bloody condoms having a sunbath on the sidewalk and tell me your mind isn’t full of wonder, as in “I wonder how the hell those two nasty things wound up there!?” Various scenarios played out in my mind.
I thought the most innocuous reason could be that someone had sex with his girlfriend while she was ragging and after throwing the two bloody condoms in the small bathroom receptacle with the blue lace doily-looking covering she said, “No you didn’t! My dog likes fishy garbage and will choke on them two slap-happies. Get rid of those dingle coverslips and don’t make me ax you again or I’ll punch you in the teef!” to which the henpecked boyfriend took them out of the trash and deposited them on the sidewalk in a similar way that he had deposited 3cc’s of semen into the two rubber hoodies. This synopsis gave me the warm and fuzzies compared to the other images that flooded my brain like the waters in New Orleans after the elite blew up the levees with C-4.
Next up on the catalogue of consternation was an after dark rendezvous between two men who considered themselves straight men–as jerking-off Ernie Riddlesticks in the Junior High School showers doesn’t exactly make one homosexual, only curious, unless your name is Sandusky in which case it makes you 100% fag. The scene picks up smack dab in the middle of my two protagonists having a Brokeback Mountain moment. “Bro, I got no lube,” cries one desperate horndog. “Not to worry, just spit on it,” says the cinephile student of the two, not going to allow a lack of lube to stand in the way of being mounted and treated like a 9th Avenue whore with a gaping vagina. Two bloody assholes later, as they are sitting against the closed storefront, whether their bromance will last or not is up in the air but the one thing they are both in total agreement on is that spit does not make a good lubricant.
I had one Shakespearean story line that was a little confusing, only in part because everyone was speaking in an Elizabethan dialect. It had dragons and eunuchs and even one eunuch dragon who could still spit fire but it was incapable of burning anything. The play ended with a soliloquy by my leading man which started, “Two bloody condoms, or not two bloody condoms, that is the question…” And though when the curtain fell the emotional waterworks poured freely from the audiences’ eyes as the house filled with thunderous applause and shouts of, “Bravissimo!”, my eyes remained as dry as a nun’s vagina. I was less put off by the material and more-so by the overacting of the lead player, Hamleting it up any chance he got.
And then my mind went into the fantastical world of The Bobbit. A man was getting some head from his wife and as if his timing couldn’t be any worse, he mentions to her while she is mid bob and weave that he is having an affair with her sister. She chomps down on his pecker and spits it out to which even in his pain, ever the one to offer a quick-witted barb, he can’t resist responding, “At least she swallows!” He picks up his little little pink shrimp and goes into the Burger King where he races to the front of the line ready to get a cool cup to inspire a new Radio City spectacular Wiener on Ice, when the lady behind the cash register says, “What can I get you?” Realizing that he hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast and is really quite famished, he orders a Whopper with cheese, large fries and a medium Coke–with lots of ice. During the interim of shitty minimum wage service provided by pimple-faced teenagers 8-balling on crack, he glances down at his groin and starts to worry that he may bleed out and so, in MacGyver manner, he pulls out a condom in order to try and stave the bleeding. After filling up one condom, he pulls out another and thanks Allah with a fist bump that he didn’t fuck Trapjaw and so was graced with the second condom in his pocket. When his order finally comes, feeling dehydrated, he chugs down the large Coke and throws his little nubby pecker into the cup of caramel-colored stained ice which, feeling alone and scared without his two testicle companions, has started to curl up into a fetal position. One person behind him looks into the cup and says, “That’s nothing. Last time I came here I found a human eye in my shake!” which made the logician riding my wild bull brain with the skill of a rodeo cowboy question my imagination’s ratiocination about this customer’s repeat visit after such a clearly horrifying food mishap. After finishing the festive meal, he notices that the chemicals in the condom had cauterized the chomp zone and so, with a little more bounce in his step, he saunters to the emergency room all the while whistling the theme song to “The Sound of Music” and ditches of the two bloody condoms on the sidewalk.
After playing out a dozen or more possible plots that led to the two bloody condoms being left on the sidewalk on 125th Street, the headlights dimmed and this deer was freed from his freeze and started to walk. My biggest regret is that I didn’t take a picture of this 8th Wonder, as I will probably have a better chance of seeing Haley’s Comet do a loop-de-loop before I see another sighting of two bloody condoms on a sidewalk. But then this is New York City–I may see this tomorrow. If I do, I certainly won’t make the same mistake twice; I will allow my dog to run in traffic before I miss a photo op like this again!