Howdy and Happy Thanksgiving, folks. Jesus the hobo here. I realized I haven't written anything in a long while, not since my "techno hobo" post about the barcode and stuff. But it ain't for lack of inspiration.
Nope, as we're moving into the digital age with smartphones and whatnot, us hobos have gotta adapt too. I've been busy tinkering around with that techno stuff now, been designing an app for the smartphone that lets you listen in on scanner signals.
If you're in need of a scanner when riding the rails and you are in possession of a smartphone, you can download the application when it's available. I'm thinkin' of callin' it "Hobo Radio". I made it so you can set your location and it gives you many stations of railroads, police depar'ments, fire stations and much more. Just listening to it for a few minutes can get you information on which train is going where and whether or not you've been spotted by any suspecting eyes.
Anyway, I'm just rambling. Back to the subject!
It's Thanksgiving again. Most Thanksgivings for a hobo are pretty difficult. With no family to speak of, no warm house to lay your head, or a cozy fahr to brill yer meat over (no Hilton for the hobos, y'know), it's little wonder hobos gotta go huntin' if they want a nice meal and find a decent place to squat so's we can reminisce about all them thar things to be thankful for.
I'm pretty thankful, alright. Like for my small circle of hobo friends I call my "family". Every Thanksgiving we go cat hunting. Why cat hunting and not turkey or chicken hunting you ask? Well, cats are easier to find than turkeys, and hunting chickens usually pisses off chicken farmers who don't take too kindly to hobos in th' first place.
Many a hobo has been shot at or beaten by an angry chicken farmer. But at least we don't end up like the weasels, foxes, wolves or chicken hawks who dare to venture inside the chicken coops. No siree...we hobos stick to cats for Thanksgiving dinner. Strays mostly, because nobody misses them. Kind of like hobos and prostitutes. That's why serial killers murder our kind, 'cause they think nobody will miss us, or notice we're missing. That's another story for another day though.
So we caught ourselves a few strays yesterday. One of 'em was a little mangy, but I hadn't eaten for several days and I was famished, so I was ready to let the feast begin.
We settled inside an abandoned barn last night, after our cat huntin', and soon fell asleep. During my tossin' and a tumblin' I had a weird dream. A nightmare, really.
Fairly often 'round Thanksgiving time, or at the very least, times when my hobo family gathers to make a huge meal together, there's a comraderie that's like no other. This time in the dream, however, there was something about all of us going out and hunting cats that was different than them other times.
In the process of the hunt we killed many cats. More than usual, for whatever reason there was so many of 'em. And there was this fat-ass cat out in the area we were hunting, and again, for whatever reason, my kin decided to trap this particular cat and make it the centerpiece of our meal, because it was big and juicy. Made all our mouths water in the dream.
The next moment, we're all sitting at a huge table. I'm sitting 'tween my hobo clan. There was Groucho, Sleazy, Stumpy, Dopey, Raggedy Ann and Andy.
Groucho was grouchy which is why he was called that. Don't cross Groucho if'n you want t' keep your head. He takes no crap from nobody.
Then there's Sleazy, who's just that, sleazy. He spent most of his life on the street turning tricks with old men, but he's got a heart of gold.
Stumpy is a war veteran, fought in Vietnam or some shit, and he has no legs and is missing his left arm and his right eye. For all we know he could have lost them in a trash truck accident when he fell asleep in a dumpster, but you didn't hear that from me.
Dopey had used too many prescription drugs, so she's dopey all the time. She's just naturally high now and we have to look out for her or she can put herself in dangerous situations. One time we found her trying to snuggle up with a hibernatin' bear. That gave us all quite a start. So we try to not let her out of our sight.
Raggedy Ann and Andy are quite the pair, they look just like the fictional characters, and have been a couple for lord knows how many years.
So anyway, we're all preparing our kills for cooking. I'm watching as Raggedy Ann is holding down their cat and Andy shoves a stick in the cat's butt so he can roast it on a spit. A lot of air (or some other type of body gas) is released, and the entire cat caves in. It caved in flat like a deflated football to our surprise.
While that was happening, they're talking about something, I can't remember what they were saying. But it might have been "BLARGHEDY BLERGHEDY BLAR!" Maybe it had something to do with their deflated cat, but it's probably unimportant.
Suddenly the deflated cat jumped to life and struggled to get off the stick and almost got away, when Groucho grabbed a cleaver and chopped off all it's legs. Horrific scene for anyone to witness in real life, but just as horrible in a dream. I'm all for humane treatment of animals, even when ya gotta eat and have to kill it.
The odd thing was there was no blood when Groucho cut that deflated cat's legs off. As a matter of fact, it looked like the nubs where the cat's legs were had completely healed over as quickly as they had been chopped off.
The cat struggled to move and to run away, but it only managed to fall over. Pretty soon it inflated and floated off the table into the sky and flew away. I stared in awe at what just happened, not realizing it was a dream 'n all.
Around this time, I realized that the entire family is in the middle of discussing Andy and Raggedy Ann's marriage and how her first marriage was just a marriage of convenience. At first, they just got a civil union, but later on decided to get really married...whatever that is. Raggedy Ann then went on to say that she married her current husband, Andy, because it seemed like it was meant to be, but now that the cat they caught was causing a scene it made her have her doubts.
Raggedy Ann blamed Andy for the problem. Andy blamed her for being raggedy. Groucho blamed them both for not making sure the cat was dead before they started to prepare it. Stumpy was hitting both the cat and Dopey with an umbrella. Sleazy was running off into the woods cryin'. Everybody was a hollerin' and a screamin'.
They was all arguin' and a arguin'. Back 'n forth and back n' forth they went. I couldn't believe how badly our Thanksgiving was turnin' out. We became a typical dysfunctional family in that moment. It all made me sick to my stomach, and frankly, it ruined my appetite and my desire for any kind of family gathering ever again.
And then I woke up with a start.
Now I'm not much in believing a dream has any specific meaning, if dreams have any meaning at all. Having a dream about humpin' your dog doesn't mean you forgot to take the trash out last Tuesday. It just means that during REM sleep your synapses fire in a specific yet random pattern and trigger a series of nonspecific visions that have no basis in reality.
Or maybe they're just the brain's way of working out your troubles so ya don't go batshit insane. I got no idea. I'm a hobo and I've yet to see anything, one way or the other, to the contrary.
But that's the last time I ever sniff glue right before bedtime or eat another cat again. I'mma stick to eatin' vegetables and roadkill. And at least the family is still together for now. Happy Thanksgiving.
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