Kiss Me, Kiss Me, I'm Sociable

I said that I was going to make for shorter blog posts and I meant it!

I cut my last story in half... why? Because I'm going to cut myself off until I learn how to say things faster and more concise. Like talking about that fucking Frankenstein, Loch Ness, Sasquatch, Big Foot fucker that was in the elevator with me earlier today. I wanted to wire him up to a power bank running the block and light up his world. Might have only caused him to blink and wonder what the smell of charred flesh was all about, but then again, it might have been fun.



I got home and unpacked all of that food, which wasn't a lot in any real sense of the word, but then again, in the soup kitchen/ food pantry logic, it's not supposed to. Neither is it supposed to be a SOLUTION to hunger, just a SUPPLEMENT to the programs out there. Case in point, when I was homeless: the soup kitchens did not feed you all day. They provided ONE meal ONCE a day sometimes ONCE a week. That was it. What they did was SUPPLEMENT each other. You went here for breakfast on one day or five days, you where over there for lunch on one day, or three days, and you went way over there for dinner on this day and that day.



To survive, you had to learn a complex rhythm that suited your living. Where you made your 'homebase', and trust me, with a lot of these social programs, they want you to pick a certain portion of town that you call home. A certain location of a sidewalk, back alley or dumpster that you can use as an address. You can't say, MARCY projects. You have to say, East Village, Lower west side. Midtown, Midtown above 42nd street, blah, blah, blah. You just can't be HOMELESS and in New York.



So, later, I hit the elevator again, which is not working, or it is, it's just being held by a Skek some wheres. I go back into my room and take a nap. I sleep for an hour and when I wake up, I have ten minutes to make it to the next food pantry. I rise, head to the elevator and listen as it pings, passing floor after floor, meaning that it's running again. I take it down and head out to a line next to the nearby church. You know, the one with the idiots at the front running it who can't recognize your name unless ALL of the letters are in it. Even the spaces between the letters have to be just right, or they'll get thoroughly confused.



They also give me a grocery bag filled with dry goods, and best of all, that high tech soy milk, which is in those little boxes that can last forever. I love those milks! I transfer everything into my trusty, handy pantry bag and work my way out of the line of hungry people looking for something to supplement their food stamps to make it though to the rest of the week. I wonder why it is this way? Is it to allow other organizations a chance to donate to homeless causes for tax benefits? Or is it just an engineered shortcoming to get people to get off welfare if they have to live off starvation rations??  I just don't know how this is supposed to work.

But maybe I'm not supposed to. Ever think of that?



On getting home, I run into what I now call....The U_DA_BUTLA mentality. It happens to a lot of New Yorkers and homeless people, or mainly Skeks, especially because I'm homeless and I don't do that shit! DA_BUTLER  syndrome is the New Yorker based belief that if you open a door, you are automatically holding it for the jackass on the other side, who then rushes ahead to beat you through the threshold. When they cruise right by you, they don't even care to say thank you for holding the door open for them, 'cause  U_DA_BUTLA (urban vernacular translation from 'You are the Butler' for those of you that can't read the vernacular)!



So, what I do for these shit for brains sonsa- bitches is just let the door go to crown them in the face as close to the last second as possible. And when they do have to make an emergency stop and catch the door for themselves, they stop with an attitude and say: "Gee Thanks," sarcastically. Just walk through the threshold, ignore those bitches, and be on your way 'cause DEY_B_DA_BUTLA! I scored twice at this in three days. One in Port Authority with this Tourist Girl that thought she was a New Yorker, and today with a jackass Skek. I just love to fuck people up when they least expect it. People just don't know that if I see a type of behavior that is selfish long enough, I will find a way to counteract it with something embarrassing or an outright denial of the behavior.



I do this because I am a hobo that has to frequent food pantries just to last the week. I bet the engineers of this food system didn't expect THAT kind of behavior to come from their shortsightedness. There's always a bumper crop when you work failure into a system.

Right?

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2011/01/kiss-me-kiss-me-i-sociable.html
Visit i dont want tobe anything other than me for Daily Updated Hairstyles Collection