Spread the Wealth

2008 held many firsts for many people. One of my firsts was that I went to a pumpkin patch. It was crazy fun; we saw the Lock Ness Monster and rode a train. The old man ate a hot dog, and when that happens everyone's day is a little better.

The pumpkin I picked out was beautiful. It was a striped and speckled white and orange pumpkin, fat and round, and brought sunshine to my life everyday that I walked out my front door.

Yesterday, I was gone for 13 hours volunteering. When I came back, my pumpkin was gone.
The hobo left one of my pumpkins, a traditional orange one that I love just as much, but they stole my spotted owl. I call it stealing, maybe you call it spreading the wealth around.

Does Barack Obama advocate stealing pumpkins? He advocates volunteering. In fact Barack Obama says he will force everyone to volunteer. He will take away your freedom unless you volunteer; not take away your pumpkins. I volunteered and it's not even inaguration day yet, so why did some bum spread my pumpkins around?

No one stole my pumpkin last year. It was 100 pounds. No one stole it I presume because they physically couldn't. If they could have, I'm sure they would have.

(Check out those awesome leaves! Oh yeah!)

Clueless

If you are wondering, the best lottery game currently raving amongst the hobo community is: CLUE. Technically you are paying for those lottery tickets, but hey - you are just spreading the wealth around right?

When we first walked into Albertsons we overheard a conversation between Mr. Cokehead and some little school kid.

Bum: "Don't drop out of school kid,... just trust me, don't."

Free PSA, and the first time I ever trusted a bum!

Shockingly, he got one foot in front of the other with enough prowess to make it from the front doors over to the customer service counter where he purchased two clue lottery tickets for $15 each. I thought he had frosting in his eyes they were so totally glazed over. After his 6 minute transaction, he stepped over to the side, and horded in on the next customers transaction.

Bum: "Really, you oughta get one of these clue tickets."

Customer: "Okay? I think I'm covered."

Bum: "No! You have to!"

Customer: "Alright, I'll take that into consideration."

Bum: "Seriously, they are so awesome! You scratch here and here and then over here, and then this over here (imagine pointing) tells you your winnings and then down here you scratch and you get something extra special. They are definitely worth the money, I always at least break even."

Priceless.

Plausible Deniability

The rumors are true, I'm a poser.

But the suburbs have a couple perks. I can't think of any, but I'm sure there are some; kind of like the new president.

Ode to the Library

Oh, very nice, to be oogled and dawdled over by the weirdo bums and skeezy hobo's downtown.

Such a simple task: walk down the street to the library. Not here.

Jaw open. Eyes wide. Crrrreaked neck. Nostrils flared. Smelly Body. Unkempt hair. And business suit, weird, and go figure. Licking lips.

"Oh, yeah, oh yeeeaaaah. Nice!"

Really people, I don't look that good; not nearly. But then again, I guess that is the point because if I did look that good, the only people oogling and dawdling wouldn't all be homeless.

Our library has benches lining the sidewalks around the block upon which the library rests. These benches are made of concrete with Latin inscriptions comprised of the benefits of knowledge and reading. I've always found the juxtaposition between what the library represents and the majority of individuals who take up post around the library fascinating.

For one, there are the regular drug dealers. The regular drug dealers who deal in broad daylight, in front of the public library; which brings into question how/why if the one remaining drug free person in the NW knows where to gain the easiest access to some c/toke, how/why such reckless exchanges are tolerated.

The wig lady. Why is she called the wig lady? Oh, just because she will never be seen without 4-9 wigs atop her massive head. You know those folks who can't go to the mailbox without applying a fresh face of make-up? This lady can't, nay won't, roam the city streets which she calls home without her many wigs.

And for my last description: The Frauds. These are the ones who you can spot a mile away, even when there is fog, because they've got a clipboard and eyes that scream, "I want you," kinda like that Uncle Sam recruitment poster, except the Uncle Sam poster isn't going to first of all speak, much less ask you for 5 minutes of your time which really means 5 hours. Nor is it going to take your signature and use it to fraudulently sign up for 50 different voter registration cards and then vote for NObama, or 50 different credit card/porn sites/work at home offers respectively totalling 150, not to mention all the new phone calls your voicemail can't contain because it wasn't really created to save useless pre-recorded messages.

This is my ode to the library!

Where Am I?

For many, many years - too long in fact - I worked at the mall. At the time, I remember thinking that the mall was pretty nice. I remember enjoying going there, spending lunch in the food court, I think I even spent some of my days off there. For a while, we even lived across the street. Unless my judgement was grossly miscalculated, this mall has taken a drastic turn for the worse.

Today as I was walking through the mall on my way to the bathroom I walked past a gaggle of girls behaving mischievously.

One of them looked directly at me and shouted, "Don't look at me like that," as she cocked her head side to side.

My eyes darted back and forth and I turned to scan my surroundings. "What?" I almost mustered. Luckily I witnessed the girl behind me giving Miss Thang the evil eye before I mustered a syllable and found myself in the middle of an altercation.

A few moments later I found myself in the bathroom. Whether it was the same group of girls, or a different group remains to be determined, but I overheard this conversation:

"My friend was in here once, and she was jus sitting there doin' her thing, mindin' her bizness when..."

"Yeaaa?" the other girl encouraged.

"Whack!"

"She gots smacked on the toliet?"

"That's right! She was just there, on the toliet, when some *$#&@ smacked her on the head!"

"Dammmmn, how?" her friend inquired. (I too wondered how this occurred...)

"The $%^@& came over the top of the stall. I guess she pissed them off or sumthing, because right then as she was peeing they thuomped her across the face."

"That is crazy! I hope that don't happen none to me."

Well sister, me too, I hope that don't happen none to me.