Shepard Fairey’s cool and all, and Wooster Collective rounds up some of the best graffiti on the streets. But me, I love the dashed-off graffiti in New York the best — the hastily scrawled line or two that completely cracks me up. Simply scribbling a dirty word doesn’t cut ice. There’s got to be wit, vision, or some kind of instant art. I saw a poster for Cats once where people had sculpted little genitalia out of chewing gum and stuck it on all the leaping cat-dancer crotches in a sort of wordless 3-D sculpture.

I don’t know why this adulterated poster in the 8th Avenue A/C/E/L station cracks me up so much, but it sure enough does:

Here’s a closeup: