So, a homeless guy walks up to a stranger and says, “I haven’t eaten in so long I’ve forgotten how it tastes.” Stranger says, “It tastes about the same.”
BOO! HISS!! Yeah, I feel the same outrage that you do. I’m completely unhinged and on board with your indignation. There’s absolutely no levity in homelessness.
… Unlike the plethora of Helen Keller jokes: What was Helen Keller’s favorite color? Corduroy. How did Helen Keller’s parents punish her? They left the plunger in the toilet. What did Helen Keller say when she found the cheese grater? It was the most violent book she’d ever read.
Or blonde jokes: Three blondes were walking through the forest when they came upon a set of tracks. The first blonde said, “Those are deer tracks.” The second blonde said, “No, those are elk tracks.” The third blonde said, “You’re both wrong. Those are moose tracks. The blondes were still arguing when the train hit them. Q: What do you call a swimming pool full of blondes? A: Frosted Flakes. Q: What job function does a blonde have in an M&M factory? A. Proofreader.
Or the gutter variety lame (but still funny) jokes: Two guys are walking down the street and see a dog on the lawn, licking his balls. One guy says to the other, “Man, I sure wish I could do that.” The other guy says, “Don’t you think you ought to pet him first?”
… there’s a really good reason why there aren’t a lot of jokes about homeless people.
BECAUSE BEING HOMELESS SUCKS!
IT’S F’ING INSANELY BEYOND TERRIBLE!
THERE’S NOTHING REMOTELY AMUSING ABOUT IT!
It’s far worse than that totally gross, but apparently becoming common practice among new mothers of eating their placenta, ya know that bloody after birth discharge messy stuff. Placenta paté? Placenta omelets? Placenta polenta? At least she has something to eat, for crying out loud!
I had a former colleague whose address was wherever his car was parked. I was totally freaked out about his situation. Made me jazzed to get my mortgage statements each month and know that I could pay the insane property tax price in SoCal. I seriously don’t mind paying these bills! That goes for insurance bills, utilities, refuse hauling, gardener, pool man, handyman, cleaning lady, bug exterminator, cell phone and cable TV invoices as well as the frivolous amounts of moolah I spend at that coffee place that’s so ubiquitous they no longer even use their name on their logo.
Until a couple of years ago, my friend worked in Hollywood. In the film publicity biz. At The Walt Disney Studios. He wasn’t an exec, just a hard-working “cast member.” So, this guy decides to do something to better his life. To continue his formal education. Long story short, he’s accepted into a good school. Moves to Michigan. Does well with his classes. Then the economy tanks. Guy is laid off from a part-time job. Can’t find another. Even a soul-numbing gig behind the Clinique counter at freakin’ Macy’s. Guy runs out of money. Forced to drop out of school. Lives on potatoes (for the cost and various ways of preparation, he said). Eventually, can’t pay his rent. Loses apartment. Moves in with a friend. Friend changes her mind. Guy gets a room in an icky motel @ $35.00 a night. Eventually runs out of what little coin he’d saved. Sleeps in his car. Calls parents for help. Is told to go away. Hits a homeless shelter in Detroit. Conditions are so appalling and dangerous he flees. Police hassle him for sleeping in his car parked on a residential street. Cell phone gets turned off. All communication, save for using the internet at libraries, is gone. What the hell is he (or anyone in this predicament) to do? When one falls so far down that deep hole, how does one climb back up and crawl out without showering for an interview or having a phone to receive a job offer? How did this happen? How could it have been avoided? Crappy karma? A broken mirror? Voodoo spell? Bio-waste known as “Scary Shari” Draper, choking the life-force energy out of every being on the planet (an inside joke that this friend, and readers of my novel Tricks of the Trade, and a buncha Hollywood insiders will get.)
Stay tuned for a happy ending. In the meantime ...
These are some of the notes I received from my homeless chum. I don’t know how he manages to maintain a decent sense of humor, but he actually does. More power, man. [Ed. note: Verbatim]
FRIEND: “Yep, it sucks. I just went out to the parking lot and cried in my car! I haven’t slept in 3 nights. I slept a little (maybe two hours) at that sketchy Salvation Army, where I didn’t shower. Too many crackheads and everything I own is in my car. My Low Fuel Light is on in my car.
I can’t drive anywhere, but I can’t stay in this town. I just want one night of sleep without worrying the cops will now notice my moving van (car) again. I switched neighborhoods last night, but of course, a cop cruised by slowly at 4 a.m. (I was still up and watching every set of headlights), so I left for fear that he’d turn around. Headed to Meijer and just sat there. Then here to the library where I’ve been for 7 hours. No food, just drinking fountain water. I could barely read anything because it was all blurry. I think I may have seen an article on how sleep deprivation can kill you 🙂 I may have a place to be starting Thursday, but I’ll never make it!”
An expected follow-up: “He more or less backed out. Or seemed apprehensive. He did buy me Chicken McNuggets, though. I saw his house, definitely decorated by a woman in the 1950s. Anyways, he just didn’t say much, and when I left, he said, “let me know how it goes.” The decor wouldn’t have worked for me anyway, primarily due to his lack of a TV….. no TV!?”
Just this morning: “I doubt he’ll change his mind. But it doesn’t really matter anyway. I’m getting used to disappointment 😦 On a positive note, I did work 8 hours yesterday. $48! Since I hadn’t showered in a week, I got my motel room for $35, $10 in gas (which, given the current gas prices, amounted to just over 1/4 tank), and $2 in food. I was left with one dollar. But by 11pm last night, I couldn’t sleep because I was STILL so hungry. I laid in bed last night contemplating how I would spend that one dollar on food today. But then it occurred to me, if I only have one dollar to eat on Friday, that will leave me with nothing to eat; being so hungry and only having the one dollar, I figured what difference did it make whether I had no food on Friday or whether it was no food on Saturday? So, at 11:30pm last night, I made a beeline for Taco Bell and spent my last dollar. I chose to begin my “no food” regiment today. Now, if I were a smart man, I would have skipped the motel, but more $$ in my gas tank, and had more $$ for food. But my body was SO dirty. I hadn’t changed clothes all week, including underwear and socks. In fact, I could feel my feet sticking to the insides of my shoes. I badly needed to wash. I hope another job comes up soon, but with it being Friday, I’ll most likely have to wait until Monday morning to see if something else turns up on the job front. And that’s only a “maybe.” It’s gonna be a long weekend.”
IT’S THE JOURNEY, MAN
(Bullshit)
I'm just sayin’ that this dude, and every other dislocated human being on the planet, was once someone’s baby, with a clean slate and unlimited potential. With a smile. Who cried. Wanted hugs. And plush animal toys. And more hugs. And more kisses. All the body contact stuff that every miraculous soul in the universe needs and craves, and of which no number of iPhones or 80” flat-screen televisions or Starbucks double ristretto venti nonfat organic chocolate brownie frappuccino extra hot coffees can ever replace.
The world is a contradiction between the platinum haves and hungry have-nots. It’s Kardashians constantly-in-your-face obvious: If you’ve got “IT” (whatever commodity “IT” is this week), unzip it, bring it out for public display in the perfect California sunshine and show it off for fun and profit beside your pebble-teched swimming pool––the one with the built-in liquor bar and the saltwater hot tub and the fixed underwater digital camera for catching skin and genitalia for your collection of pool porn). Build that McMansion on the corner lot. Out-do Louis XVI with a super-sized Beverly Hills estate. But for god’s sake, avert your eyes from anything remotely unpleasant like um, er, headline news. Stick to the “reality” of The Real Wives of Beverly Hills, Millionaire Matchmaker, or Fat Daddy Wants to Buy a Freakin’ Trophy Baby Wife. Ya know? The important stuff.
So. To my homeless friend. To every other hungry and displaced being on the planet facing an unexpectedly derailed life and asking the totally reasonable questions: “What the fuck? How am I going to survive another minute, hour, day? I’m alone and afraid, but what can I do?” I get all metaphysical and tree-huggy and Zen on the saying that “thoughts are things.” I’m absolutely sending you my most powerful thought vibrations for serenity and peace and jobs and food and clothes and apartments and girlfriends and transcendent love and sex and soap bubbles filled with unlimited possibilities and Napa Valley wines.
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