Poop.

And I mean lots of it.

Yesterday morning I headed downtown for the Denver Magazine DNC press credentials at the Sheraton on 15th, which, for the record, was about as easy as passing an Easy Bake Oven® through my rectum.

What I’m trying to say is that the streets in this town are more blocked than Dick Cheney’s colon. It’s crowded here people, in case you’ve been staying home.

Anyway, after being stuck on Little Raven for what seemed like days — just hoping that I would find my way to Union Station by the end of the DNC — I decided to backtrack down Wazee, encountering a Suburban completely blinged out with a ten-man SWAT Team. Apparently, the must have vehicular accessory this DNC season are abundantly armored men and women with automatic weapons.

And it was so freaking hot yesterday — way too hot to be sitting in traffic, waiting for an infantry clad white Suburban to aimlessly make its way down the block. My clothes, which were nicely ironed and dry when I first jumped into my car, began to stick to my skin like one of those record breaking fancy-pants Speedos® the Olympians were wearing. Holy crap was it ever hot.

Meanwhile, I finally found an available lot in the vicinity of the Sheraton Hotel, paid my $7 to park and headed in to collect my credentials and to slam a glass of vodka, which I could have used back on Little Raven. I figured, since I’d already been swindled out of a few bucks for parking, I would head over to the Recreate ’68 “Hip-hop for Obama” rally in front of the State Capitol. As I rounded the corner and took three steps to Colfax, it happened. I stepped right into it: one steaming pile of horse poop.

Look. I’m fine with security. I understand the need for the reported extra 1,500 officers roaming the streets of downtown. I’m ok with driving down 18th and Stout and seeing more armored policemen than were in my entire graduating high school class. I’m even ok with the fact that my underwear was so completely covered in sweat that I thought I’d had an accident. These things I can live with.

But what I am not ok with is the amount of horse crap coming out of the mounted police units. Can we get these equestrian units a tie-on bag or some sort of pooper-scooper apparatus that follows them down the street? What will Ben Affleck and Matt Damon think if they sink one of their $2,000 loafers into a giant mound of horse poop?

Look, so far we’ve managed to successfully hide the homeless, all viable options for getting around town and a majority of the Republicans. We’ve spent so many millions of dollars beautifying the city, cleaning up parks that are usually riddled with trash and drug paraphernalia, that it just begs me to wonder, City of Denver, why in the world can’t we hide our horse feces?