May 26 in the year of our lord two thousand and eleven.
There was nothing to distinguish today from any of the other meaningless days that haunt my existence. After spending a great deal of my morning deciding if obtaining alcohol was worth the effort of getting dressed and interacting with the asshole inhabitants of this town it was decided that being sober was much worse.
I prepared myself to walk the gauntlet of homeless beggars and communal hippies that have taken over the sidewalks of this fucked up town. There’s not much to do to prepare for them except rid my pockets of change and grab my whoopin’ stick. So far I have never actually had to use the stick but who knows, today may be my lucky day.
Within minutes I was dressed and ready to face the world. With my whoopin’ stick in hand, I exited the security of my dilapidated apartment building. The outside was just as I had left it 6 days ago. The god damn birds were still singing their annoying song and the sun had yet to incinerate everyone as I had hoped. I guess all dreams can’t come true. I am living proof of that.
As the fresh air hit my lungs it mixed with the various types of mold that grew wildly on the walls of my improperly ventilated and infrequently cleaned apartment. The fresh air and the mold, in a battle between good and evil, fought it out on their microscopic battlefield. Within seconds the victor was clear and the mold was being expelled in the form of a bright green jiggling blob of mucus.
I trudged on.
Around the corner the city was bustling with the sights and sounds of people doing god knows what at 10:30 in the morning on a fucking Tuesday. There were street vendors selling shit, a big group of black guys talking shit, and a bunch of homeless hippies that smelled like shit.
As soon as I rounded the corner I approached the first of many sidewalk communes. A group of 7 or 8 dirt bags sat in a semi-circle circle heckling each passerby.
“Got a dollar?” one of them would say.
“Fucking fascist,” he would reply when people refused.
With my whoopin’ stick firmly in hand I walked confidently into the danger zone.
“Got a dollar?” asked one of the dirt bags.
“Several,” I said as I made no attempt to stop.
“Fucking fascist!” yelled the dirt bags as if on cue.
Walking further down Main Street, I witnessed the usual bullshit that plagues this city as though it were stuck in some horrible time loop. Like that movie groundhog day. Remember that movie? You know, how everything just reset each day with the same people doing the exact same shit every day? Well, that’s what this town is like.
To my right was “the professor”, a 60′s grad student that dropped one too many hits of acid. He likes to stand on the corner in a tattered old cap and gown and give lectures on the craziest shit. One time I stood mesmerized by the finding’s of his groundbreaking study that methodically proved that the world ended hundreds of years ago and we are all just random memories of different times in history smashed together to make a coherent new reality. Today he was going on about how cats secretly rule the world when we are sleeping. I’ve heard this one before; it’s not bad if you’re high as fuck.
Sitting in front of the coffee shop was “the writer”. You can always tell who the writer is because he usually wears an out of style hat and possesses a pocket watch for some reason. They also seem to like to hang out at coffee shops even though they can’t afford to actually buy any coffee, and the cooler they are, the less technology they use. This guy has a large notebook and a pencil (non-mechanical mind you) which means he’s the fucking bee’s knees. And in my experience, the cooler they are, the worse their writing is. It’s one of gods little jokes. Kind of like giving a pedophile a ten inch cock.
As I drift along in my musings I am suddenly ripped from my day dream by an unknown invader.
“Got any change?” asked the voice.
“Yeah, I do,” I said just as I had before.
“Can I have it?” asked the voice.
I looked down to see a solitary homeless man sitting on the sidewalk.
“No.” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“I need it,” I lied.
“For what?” he asked.
“None of your god damn is business is what,” I said.
“So, what you’re saying is that you refuse to help your fellow man?” he asked with a condescending smile.
Usually when things like this happen I move on but for some reason I just couldn’t do that this time.
“On the contrary, I am helping you by not giving you money,” I said as I took to my street talkin’ stance.
“How the hell did you ever come up with that brilliant notion?” asked the homeless man, obviously annoyed by my answer.
“Well”, I said as I looked him in the eyes. “If I were to just give you some money then I would be sending the message that it’s o.k. to sit around all day like a lazy sack of shit and beg for money rather than work for it. Now, some people think that’s alright, but they are usually doing the same thing or else have a shit ton of money and feel guilty about it. I work hard for what little money I have so why the fuck should I feel obligated to give it to a man who refuses to work for it? Because Jesus says so? I’m pretty sure if Jesus were here he would put your filthy ass to work for your fish. Now, I have no problem giving you some money but you need to get it the same way I did, by earning it.”
The old man gave me a puzzled look as he digested my words.
“How?” he asked.
“I don’t care”, I said as I reached into my pocket. “I have a dollar here I can spare. Do something that’s worth a dollar.”
The old man scratched his head and said, “Fuck you.”
“That’s not worth a dollar,” I said.
The old man laughed and said, “Fine. I’ll play your game. I’ll tell you a story.”
“O.K., great,” I said cheerfully.
“Which one would you rather hear? The one about me being molested as a child, by two different men, while my mother watched, or the one where my wife and children are killed by a drunk driver? Perhaps you would like to hear about my tour in Vietnam when I killed women and children for fun. You pick.”
“The one about killing women and children sounds interesting,” I said.
The old man shook his head.
“You’re missing the point, son. You’re making judgments about me based on your own experiences. You seem to be an able bodied young man with a bright future. I am a decrepit old man with nothing but a dark past. How easy do you think it is to keep a job when the memories of my life haunt me every waking moment and when every child I see reminds me of my dead children or one of the hundreds of children I killed out of pure hatred for an entire race of people? So, before you go judging me, perhaps you should take other factors into consideration. Now kindly go fuck yourself, you spoiled son of a bitch.”
With that the old man closed his eyes as to tell me the conversation was over. I stood there digesting his words.
“Shit”, I said finally. “That was worth 2 whole god damn dollars. I haven’t seen acting like that since Rain Man.”
The old man smiled.
“It was pretty good wasn’t it?” he said as he stroked his beard with pride. “I used to be in a theater troop before I became addicted to meth.”
“Damn near had me convinced,” I said as I reached for my wallet. “Here’s two bucks, get a beer you lazy fucker.”
“Will do”, said the old man as he took the money. “Have fun being a self righteous, spoiled prick.”
“You got it, old timer,” I said as I continued walking. “You got it.”
Its days like this that make me glad to be alive.
With Love,
Penis Condom
