A Hobo Thanksgiving

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.

Abrascam Lincoln: Box Office Killer

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter...can anyone explain this to me?? 10-year-olds are writing Hollywood scripts again, aren't they?

Even though I'm just a hobo, my opinion is that this is a stretch...really it is. I can come up with better crap than this...in a coma.

No srsly...check it out man.

Here we go:

Once upon a time there was a young boy named Joseph. Joseph was 12-years-old and lived in Salt Lake City, Utah. While walking home from school one day, a blue rabbit jumped out from behind a pile of dead zombie babies and tackled Joseph to the ground. But just when he was about to let out a scream for help, Joseph realized that the blue rabbit was only licking his face, not trying to bite it off.

At that moment, Joseph decided to keep the blue rabbit as a pet. And on the way home he decided to name his pet blue rabbit "Conk."

When Joseph and his new pet finally got home, guess who was standing on the front porch? That's right, it was Joseph 's mother, Marge. And boy was she surprised to see a blue rabbit following Joseph into the yard!

"Whut in tarnation in th' world is that?" shouted Marge (Marge ain't too edumacated, so cut her some slack).

"It's a blue rabbit," answered Joseph.

"UH, DAH, I can see that, Joey, but what on earth is it doing here?" said Marge.

"It's my new pet!" Joseph snapped insolently.

"Oh you think so do ya?" remarked Marge. "I wouldn't get yer hopes up. You know how yer pa hates them blue rabbits. But, well, I s'pose you can keep him 'til yer pa comes home."

And with that Joseph grabbed Conk by the scruff of the neck and led his new pet into the house -- even though he knew his father was probably going to disapprove.

Well, Pa can just SUCK IT, right?

Hey, it's my script, and it's not
my problem if you don't like it.

Once in the house, Joseph and Conk played and played, but then Joseph's favorite television show, "Taxicab Confessions" started. At that point Joseph forgot all about Conk who was having an unsupervised run of the house. And Conk enjoyed himself to no end.

That is until half way through the show when Joseph was brought back to reality when he heard his father shout, "Fuckin' 'ell!! Joseph! Get your ASS in the bathroom...NOW!!" Joseph rushed into the bathroom to see what all the fuss was about.

When he entered the bathroom, there stood his father, Gordo, pointing toward the coat rack which was lying on the floor.

"Will someone please explain that?!" asked his father. Then, as Joseph followed his father's finger to where it was pointing, he instantly knew what his father was so upset about.

There, smack dab on the end, clear down to the middle of the coat rack, was the biggest piece of rabbit shit he had ever seen! "I don't EVEN want to know how that got there," muttered Gordo. "But you had better get it cleaned up now! And you had better get rid of whatever it is that could have done such a thing!"

Well, knowing his father as well as he did, Joseph knew there was no sense even asking his father if he could keep Conk for a pet. So without hesitation, Joseph set out to find where Conk was hiding.

After a few minutes of looking, Joseph discovered Conk crouched beneath the table that was adorned with the cloth that Joseph's father popped his back zits with. "Come on, Conk, it's time to find you a new home. And hey, don't look at me that way, I'm not the one who did the dirty deed on the coat rack!" scolded Joseph. "Thanks to you I'll never get to have my own pet rabbit!! And so then Joseph led Conk out of the house and down to the local Five and Dime. The Five and Dime had a pet section and Joseph knew the owner would find Conk a good home.

So after saying good-bye to Conk the rabbit, and thanking the owner of the Five and Dime, Joseph walked backed home and attempted to drown his sorrows by slamming down a half dozen bottles of bourbon. But Joseph 's pity party came to an abrupt end when his father reminded him about the mess he had neglected to clean up. And low and behold, midway through the clean-up, Joseph suddenly became thankful that someone else was going to have to do it from now on.

However something snapped inside Joseph's head -- he vowed revenge on all blue rabbits from that day forward -- he thought of nothing more than destroying every single blue bunny he could smoke out. But sadly, Joseph spent the rest of his days at the asylum drugged up on Thorazine and Lithium.

And that's how the Book of Mormon was written.

The End.
(or is it?)

See? Isn't that like TEN TIMES better, even without the fancy special effects? Psh, I thought so. :D

 J.J. Abrams and M. Night Shimshamalamadingdong can't even write shit THAT good. :P

Run, rabbit, run.

The Death of a Culture

Aug. 22, 1920 - June 5, 2012

 You don't have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just give them a Kindle. =P

Jesus has Left the Building

There is nothing wrong with your computers. 

Do not attempt to adjust your monitors. I am controlling transmission. 

If I wish to make it louder, I will bring up the volume. If I wish to make it softer, I will tune it to a whisper. 

I will control the horizontal. I will control the vertical. 

I can roll the image, make it flutter. I can change the focus to a soft blur or sharpen it to crystal clarity. 

For the next hour, sit quietly and I will control all that you see and hear. 

I repeat: there is nothing wrong with your computer. You are about to participate in a great adventure. 

You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to — 
The Completely Out-Of-The-Way Limits.

 

Apply caution. Do not attempt to drive or operate heavy machinery as vision will be affected. Legal high, self hypnosis. Warning: may cause blurred vision, eyes will explode! CAUTION! I repeat: EYES WILL EXPLODE!!!1 8D

On that note: Ladies and Gentlemen, Jesus has Left the Building.

Izquierdo I say!

 

Things Longer Than Kim Kardashian's Marriage

Somebody's been VERY naughty this year.

Inanimate Objects Love Me Even if You Don't

(click to embiggen)

New super-addictive drug "T-Party" discovered; millions of users already addicted

Above: User snorting "T-Palin," a purified version of "T-Party"

As a hobo, I encounter many-an addictive substance on a daily basis, many of which have spent a decent amount of time hidden in my rectum. Of all these substances, however, none are as potent as "T-Party," a new super-addictive drug invented by Republicans and fed to an under-educated populace over-eager for a simplification of our ever-more complicated world, a world-view free of global-warming, national-debt and other compound-hyphenated-nouns.

The largest supplier of "T-Party" is "Fox News." While they have always been infamous for their conservative slant, yellow journalism and spreading lies, the creation and distribution of "T-Party" amongst the American public transformed the organization from an annoying source of faux-news into the most prominent drug cartel in the United States. Their most recent breakthrough is a derivative of T-Party called "T-Palin," which has further indoctrinated millions of elderly Medicare recipients into accepting a world view that Government-Run Health Insurance is unconstitutional, despite the fact that 99% of seniors over the age of 65 voluntarily participate in Medicare, the single largest health insurance institution...run by the government.

Probably my worst photoshop ever, but hey, I'm a hobo and the librarian is watching me closely to make sure I don't steal this computer...which I intend to do just as soon as my friend "Slippery Pete" creates a diversion by smearing extra-crunchy peanut butter on his nude body and screaming "Who wants to try my FREE shit?!" 

Derived from the chemical compound "Aristocratic Nucleic Acid" produced by Rush Limbaux's testicles, "T-Party" or "T-Rex" as it is known on the streets/bars that serve you beer-in-a-can, has already claimed the rational capacity of millions of people in the U.S. If you suspect a loved one of being addicted to T-Party, the following warning signs are helpful in getting them help: A sudden, uncontrollable love of Professional Wrestling; Referring to "Glenn Beck" as an "intellectual"; Using the word "News" when referring to "Fox News" programs; Holding contradicting political opinions, such as "Get Government out of Medicare" or "Eliminate the Deficit of $400 billion by making $60 billion in cuts."

If, after evaluating these symptoms, you suspect a loved on of being addicted to T-Party, please call our national hotline and one of our trained Philosophy major will work with you on a 12-step reason-based treatment to re-integrate your loved one into objective reality.

This is a nude photo of  Sarah Palin. This isn't related to my metaphor of Republican propaganda as a drug, in as much as I just want to remind everyone how much of a stupid and unqualified moron Sarah Palin is.

"Turtles All The Way Down"

Hey folks! Having problems staying awake in your 12-hour day of drudgery for pennies on the dollar just to watch your fat cat corporate bosses get rich off the fruits of your labor?


Well you're in luck!


Considering that our friendly, socially aware, and morally conscious federal government has decided to cut spending on fighting methamphetamine production--YOU can score a few tons of the crap to keep you up for weeks--For nothing but your entire lifetime income!


Today is the first day of the rest of your life.

Ahhh...isn't the American Dream just grand?


May this not be the fate of all Daryl Krogen's nationwide from this day forward.

Source

The Girl Who Silenced the UN For 5 Minutes

At a 1992 UN Earth Summit conference in Rio de Janeiro, 12-year-old Severn Suzuki put the smack down on stunned listeners.

"Making Grown Men Shut-Up and Listen Since 1991."
Karma's a "bitch", ain't it?

brought to you by
Static at krapsody.com
a maverick in the world of Hobo Blogging.

We're Homeless Goddammit

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Let me introduce you to our plight.
We are considered the lowest common denominator.
We sleep on your inner city sidewalks. We rely on your infrequent charity.
We weep behind abandoned buildings. We survive on the generosity of a select few.

We are the homeless goddammit, and we are no longer willing to be ignored!



I find it to be a complete dichotomy that Republican and Democrat House Members and candidates of the USA can raise millions of dollars in contributions in such a short time to fund a resistance for/or against health care reform, for/or against a war in foreign "terror"tories, for/or against other obscene and ludicrous agendas that only serve plutocrats.

The capitalist class comprises those who own and control the means of production, the tools, land, factories, and money to invest. Capitalism thrives on the weakest members of it's society. It capitalizes upon and exploits their labors, the working class sells it labor because they have no other means to earn a livelihood.

Slavery has a new definition, a deceptive word that is called employment. And if you don't have that (whatever the reason being) even if through no fault of your own, you don't deserve rights reserved (to varying degrees) for those who do.

It's leaders encourage ugly shout-fests, and almost all politicians do not themselves exactly rant, but they do distort the same, and sometimes they lie...all for the sake of The Almighty Dollar.

But little to none of the same efforts are made for the homeless, the elderly, the mentally ill, or the terminally ill who require cures for their illness and prostration, nor for people suffering worldwide from famine, genocide, and yes, more disease.



We are disposable people. We might as well be invisible.

But without us, your system would not exist.

This is my response in a public setting to the ridiculous and contemptible tactics world leaders propagate, by encouraging its citizens to consume beyond their means, collecting debt that can never be repaid, and the system grows and maintains this status quo that only serves to alienate its slaves from one another.

By using and harnessing the power of the internets (while freedom of speech is still accepted, and is legal practice, and the web is still largely unregulated) I have since thought that I might not be harsh enough on the denizens of America.

Now you can reinforce the message I give and send an even stronger one.

Stop admiring your diamond rings, and gas sucking SUVs parked in your driveways if you are still lucky enough to own a home. Put down your remote controls. Hang up your newest 'As seen on TV' products, and answer the call.

With the media closely watching both parties' third quarter fundraising totals, nothing would put fear in the hearts of extremists who are propagating nonsense about our world, if we stop paying attention to the subversive tactics and propaganda meant to distract people from looking at the real issues.

The issues being our fellow man, woman, and child. Your neighbor, your waiter, your taxi driver, your convenience store clerk. And those left to fend for themselves, for one reason or another, without food, shelter, security, rights, and in essence devoid of freedoms you take for granted daily.



Show your support for humanity. If every person donated pennies on the dollar to the charity of their choice, imagine how much money could be raised?

This is what the Internal Revenue Service does. Only it takes involuntary donations. Yet, low income Americans allow the IRS to rob them of their tax dollars every year.

The middle class is not an exception, no matter how untouched and comfortable they think they are. They are just as much slaves to the system as everyone else under a greedy merciless regime who profit off the labor of the disadvantaged.

These same middle and low income citizens allow the Social Security system to rob them blind as they end up paying for someone else's retirement, for which the wealthy pay little or, in most cases, no tax towards whatsoever. Yet most say this system will be bankrupt before the pending retirement of 78 million baby boomers can collect.

The citizens don't see it, or recognize it, or they don't think their voices count.
But even worse, some don't seem to care. That's why we, the few, have to respond.

This is our make-or-break time for humanity. Please give generously, if not your donated time, or money, at the very least - your consideration, as thoughts carry power. And the power of positive thought is unstoppable.

Thank you.

~Jesus

This message brought to you by: We're Homeless Goddammit

Where it is the month of October. It is raining, and some nondescript average little town looks totally deserted. It is tough times, everybody is in debt, and everybody lives on credit.

Suddenly, a rich tourist comes to town. He enters the only hotel, lays a golden note on the reception counter, and goes to inspect the rooms upstairs in order to pick one.

The hotel proprietor takes the golden note and runs to pay his debt to the butcher. The Butcher takes the golden note, and runs to pay his debt to the pig farmer.

The pig farmer takes the golden note, and runs to pay his debt to the supplier of his feed and fuel. The supplier of feed and fuel takes the golden note and runs to pay his debt to the town’s prostitute that in these hard times, gave her “services” on credit.

The hooker runs to the hotel, and pays off her debt with the golden note to the hotel proprietor to pay for the rooms that she rented when she brought her clients there.

The hotel proprietor then lays the golden note back on the counter so that the rich tourist will not suspect anything.

At that moment, the rich tourist comes down after inspecting the rooms, and takes his golden note, after saying that he did not like any of the rooms, and leaves town.

No one earned anything. However, the whole town is now without debt, and looks to the future with a lot of optimism.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the Government is doing business……

Ladies and Fentlemen, Jesus has left the building...

...or rather, I've left the two shopping carts and plastic covering that I refer to as my "building" and have entered an actual building known as a "public library." So in reality, I, Jesus, have "entered" the building, not "left" as I previously stated...though I will be leaving soon since the workers here leer at me with disgust and dismay.

It isn't my fault that public libraries are "public," i.e., "free" for anyone. Though since I don't have an address they might say that I don't qualify for the residency requirements for the library, but there is a community P.O. Box at the shelter that allows us to apply for jobs and other activities and services that require a valid address. Beforehand, I would just use the library's address, because let's be honest, who uses "mail" these days anyway. Even Obama said recently that "Fed-Ex and UPS...they're doing great. It's the Post Office that's always having problems."

Thank God there's a T.V. at the shelter, or else I'd have to go back to stealing newspapers and evesdropping on conversations, which you can imagine is difficult for a homeless person due to our distinct characteristics that include (but are not limited to): offensive odor; dirty and/or tattered clothing; basket of misc. seemingly useless objects parked outside of said library; tendency to talk loudly to oneself and/or others.