“Compared to chess or a nice bit of tennis on a Saturday afternoon, your favourite hobby has you traipsing through the worst areas of town with angry bums, poor hygiene, and trains to contend with–all without being able to take aim while you pee. So here are some of the things that suck about graffiti, and what you can do about them.
Your pretty pink 90s make the hard rocks of the train lines feel like the lyrics of an R. Kelly song, but an air bubble is no defense against that tiny, orange spire of disease: Pauly D’s penis the rusty nail, which loves to lurk in the kind of no-go zones frequented by writers.
Remedy: To avoid a painful, spasmodic death by tetanus, wear the heaviest shit-kickers you can afford.
With all those abandoned buildings, alleys, and unoccupied city land, graffiti writers share a lot of space with the disenfranchised, and sometimes you might accidentally walk through somebody’s toilet. Once again, tread with caution (literally).
Remedy: More wet wipes, a bottle of water, or if you’re lucky you were going to paint in the drains anyway.
Remedy: Trains are like Taco Bell: don’t underestimate the speed at which they can travel if you don’t want to make a mess of yourself.
NO SHIT getting locked up is bad for your health! Apart from having to use various bodily orifices as safekeeping for your iPod, the idea of sharing a tiny space with 300 other fucked-up women gives me hives. Plus, going to jail is also bad for the health of the people around you. For example, the shame of it may just kill your grandmother.
Remedy: Get your 5.0 Radio App, and the phone number of your area’s Ron Kuby. Don’t paint with suspected snitches. And finally–most importantly–NEVER GET CAUGHT”!!!