O-genki desu ka?
Watashi wa huge cock desu!
I am learning Japanese, pretty much only to say the above haiku and to give my drawings of ligers super cool Japanese names. I'm probably the best artist I know...
Anyhoo, when I worked security (for Mr. Eddie Murphy), life was dull unless you went outside to watch the bums, who seemed to live only to entertain those higher up on the social ladder. There was Iceman, who would throw food in the trash, pick it out and eat it, there was Roy Garret, who would allow multiple men (and men only) to run the length of his Hershey highway every night, there was James, the homeless man who wore a tube top and cutoff shorts and walked in heels, and would also enjoy the feel of a hardened cock every now and again, even showering in the little fountain in the park (like sadly a lot of those bums did) with many a dude sitting in the benches watching, and I would assume thinking about joining.
There was the bum who waited out in the freezing cold because he saw a bunch of change in my car, and I took the change out and threw it in the gutter and peeled out, throwing snow and slush all over him while he tried to get the coins out of the gutter, there was the many times during the summer when the bums would build a fort out of cardboard boxes, blankets and failure, hook a little black and white television up to one of the plugins in the park and watch Jerry Springer while they did eachother's hair, and the time some cracked out hooker went in the ittle alley behind the park and let the homeless guys run a train on her. Good times.
I have to say, though, that out of all them Mr. Klamm was the gayest one of them all, and I was never sure he was a bona fide bum. Mr. Klamm was in the Marines, was apparently incredibly strong though he was only about 5'3, and was as gay as the year is long. He had been banned from the Town Pavilion for attempting to rape a man in the men's restroom up in the food court, and got his rocks off by calling us and asking if he was allowed back into the building, to which we were always supposed to answer no. I know I have told this story before, but I was reminiscing today about those less fortunate and how much smaller the "less fortunate" than the Stevester group was getting. I was also thinking about other encounters with the homeless that are funny.
When we (meaning the brown belts from my dojo) were going to test for black belt, we had stopped in some shithole town between here and Joplin, of which there are many, in order to purchase gas and snacks. While my instructor was filling up, some bum moseyed over and started telling his gay ass sob story about how he only needed 5 or 6 dollars to buy a house and blah blah blahtsky. My instructor, who is for all intents and purposes much too nice, gave the loser 6 bucks, which he promptly took into the store and purchased alcohol with, much as I expected.
The instructor's son, who was not as nice, and also a 4th degree black belt, informed the bum that though his dad was nice, he was not, and took the bottle from the loser and poured it out on the ground, throwing it away in the process. The downtrodden loser looked forlornly at his pissed away liquor, then at the 9 black belts standing within 5 feet of him, and thought better of it, sulking away to scam someone else.
On our way home from our test, Thad, our thinnest black belt, informed us that he needed to make pee pee. Since we were int he middle of nowhere, my instructor pulled off the highway and drove a ways down a gravel road by a field so he could go. Instead of getting out and going right by the van, he walked maybe 20 yards into this freshly tilled field and started pissing right in the middle of it.
Whilst this was going on the farmer who owned the field was seen watching from his barn, which is pretty gay in itself because from his vantage point he would have been able to see Thad's Johnson. Anyway, he comes running out from behind his barn, yelling obscenities and carrying a baseball bat with him, not knowing what kind of mess he was potentially walking into. We begged our instructor to stop the van so he could catch up, and he drove slowly enough the farmer could almost keep up for about 50 yards, but Old McDonald gave up.
I have no clue what the main gist of this post is, I like rambling on though. Let's take a different path tomorrow, shall we?