I’m hereby offering to hire Seattle resident Lydell Coleman as my maid; honestly, I don’t know that much about his qualifications, but at least I know he’ll do windows.
Sure, his technique is a bit on the unorthodox side, in that he apparently uses the crotch of his khakis as a shammy, but there’s something to be said for a guy who really puts his back (and hips, and presumably erect penis) into his work.
Here’s how one clearly biased Seattle detective described the scene in Coleman’s charging papers: “At the glass window, Coleman was observed making sexual motions on the glass window that were described as ‘humping’ and rubbing his genitals against the window.”
This sounds like a classic He Said/She Said He Was Fucking the Window situation to me.
Sure, it looked like Coleman was humping the window, but suppose he just likes to make sure his core gets a good workout while he cleans? Or perhaps he thought they’d ordered Coleman’s patented window cleaning service package known as “The Elvis.”
Naturally, the flannel draped prudes up thar in Starbucksville just don’t appreciate the efforts of a can-do, blue collar glass-boffer like Coleman. Hell, they didn’t even thank him for the courtesy coital cleaning by letting him inside their locked and closed store for a bite of foot-long. Making matters worse, when Coleman gave the window the finishing touches using his bare scrotum – a time-tested and highly efficacious technique that I assume was painstakingly developed by generations of Seattleite pane-pounders that came before him – the heartless Sandwich Artists within called security on him!
Apparently, this isn’t the first time the misunderstood glass man has suffered such indignity and ingratitude on the part of local businesses, as Coleman already had one count of so-called “indecent exposure” on his record when the cops booked him for his latest act of alternative civil service.
It’s a sad day in America when a humble (and hung) window cleaner sits in jail under $35,000 bail facing a felony charge, while a hack documentary filmmaker like Jason Russell gets nothing but a slap on his wrist for openly spanking it in the streets of San Diego.
I guess what Coleman needs is to create a video that goes viral and that makes Americans feel all guilty for not particularly giving a shit about what happens to people they’ll never meet who live in godforsaken dirtball countries on the other side of the planet. Maybe if he made a short film about the plight of the penniless young storefront-humpers of of Moldova, or the downtrodden display-dickers of East Timor, then people would see his window-shagging ways as campaign to “build awareness,” and not an aborted attempt to add his own personal Man Mayo as a means of spicing up an otherwise bland BLT.
Take heart, Lydell Coleman! Know that there are those among us who see every thrust of your hips as the forward progress of a new altruism, a bold breed of philanthropy-by-phallus propelled by a man whose only crime is the desire for a cleaner world, one in which sandwich shop customers can see the future more clearly – or at the very least, catch glimpse of one magnificent, increasingly smooth and hairless ball sack.
