A Mouthful of Despite

Thanksgiving at the Spot.

How long as it been since I've had Thanksgiving? Hell, years. When I was homeless I used to enjoy Thanksgiving on the street. I used to go to all of the soup kitchens and places such as that to get dinner and food and all the good stuff. Obsidian and I would hit so many places that we would have enough food to feed a fucking army and have eaten so much that we had to waddle back home to the front steps of the Manhattan Public Library to sleep. The pixies, the mice, would then feed on all of the food we collected so that in the morning we had to throw everything away. But that was Thanksgiving for us. But for the traditional Thanksgiving with family and friends...I don't remember the last time that occurred. I just don't.

Well, today, I wanted to enjoy some of that spirit, and some of that food. The only drawback? Two many people, especially skeks in the dining hall downstairs. So when I left this morning to pick up my meds and some toilet tissue, aka Ass-wipe, I ran into Sugar Plum and asked her if it would be alright to come downstairs with some Glad containers, and fill up on food. She said yes, so I should come down around two O'clock. Well, you know what I did. I sat in my room and locked myself on my screenplay and novel. I was so busy writing that when I was done I turned around and looked at the clock and it was already thirty minutes past the hour.

Well, all I had to do actually is get dressed. You know I'm so clean and anal that all of my Glad containers are clean and stacked in nice orderly stacks by size atop my cupboard. It was just a matter of filling a plastic bag with the amounts that I was certain that I would need and get busy. Upon stepping out of my room I could feel the electricity in the air. I waited for the elevator to do the Skeksie ride, something that I have to explain to you later. But after a long skeksie ride down I get out on the first floor and there is a literal army of Skeks standing there with Tupperware containers or just paper plates, one atop the other full of food. Nice, right? I move in, wading through them as they pack in the elevator and I sneak around to the entrance of the cafeteria.

Inside, it is lightly packed. I look about, and around and find the serving table on the other side of the room. Time to play commando. I work my way around the edges of the room, watching as the skeksies look like REAL skeks eating, hunched over their food, using their fingers and not utensils, packing their faces, smearing food around their glistening lips. I've always hated eating with them. It was actually the hardest part of living and eating in the missions and soup kitchens. But no more. I can eat by myself, in my tiny room and feel good. I make it to the serving tables where Snow White and Sugar Plum are there serving. When I reach them I feel comfortable. They have that way about them. They seem to glow warmth and I feel safe suddenly. They carefully take my Glad Containers and fill them up with food.

They even separate them for me at my urging. I dislike it when the rice and collards and macaroni and chese, and turkey is all squashed in the same container. That way I can't just serve myself what I like the most and don't like. They are kind enough to separate them. I am happy and head to the elevator with a bag filled with food. Unfortunately the Skeks have finished the Ham and most of the Turkey. I get the scraps, but that's alright. I have no problem with that. When you are homeless, you must get used to scraps at times. You take it without flinching or distress. It's just a fact of life, like getting up some days with body aches.

I find, standing before the doors of the lift, are a small army of skeks carrying plates of food. I swim through them to the stairs and begin my painful ascent. I rise to the seventh floor and stop to catch my breath. Above I hear Bat Faced Bitch and a few more of the crows on the floor talk about going back down again to get more food. Typical Skeks. Get it all, fuck everyone else. It's all for me and none for you. That's how they think. These are the type of Skeks that went with us before the church one thanksgiving and the church was literally giving away new sneakers to everyone on the line. All you had to do was to state your size. This was one of the most wonderful gifts for the straight homeless because your shoes are the first things to die when you are are the streets.

Well, these fucking selfish assed Skeks got on the line for sneakers, got a pair, and then stashed them in a bag and got back on the line, over and over. Now let me ask you, what the fuck does a homeless man need with five pairs of sneakers? And I'm certain that they ran out of them for the rest so what good was that? Selfish pricks. The only thing that I can think of that would motivate such stupid fucks would be the idea that they were some form of bust-ass entrepreneurs. Either they believed that normal people would stop to buy anything like sneakers off some flea bitten, bedbug ridden homeless man, OR that there was a homeless man somewhere that would be able to shell out the cash that he would probably ask for. If they could, why the fuck would all of us be forming a line in front of the church for sneakers in the first place? Useless motherfuckers.

Well, obviously the very good thing about scraps OF Thanks- giving is when they come BEFORE Thanks- giving. Yeah, this is actually two days before the blessed event and I like to think that on Thanksgiving I can make a big score. My cupboards could use it. I didn't go to any of the food pantries this month so I'm shy some food, but with the foodstuffs that I've collected now, and hopefully some later, I should be sitting pretty until December 2010, the greatest month ever to hit mankind. Oh no, not for the celebration, but the food. Yeah, the Christmas morning dinner at Madison Square Garden will scare you.

Every year, these maniacs truck in more food than the entire weight of the Macy's Thanks- giving Day Parade; and millions of people, the destitute and the homeless come in with just Glad Containers, handing them over and allowing them to pack them full. Some of these motherfuckers leave with shopping carts filled with food that the helpers at Madison Square just shovel out in abundance. You can do this, or you can just get a plate of grub and sit down to eat like a fucking human being. What I DON'T like about this shit is that the fucking Skeks can't even say thank you to these people on the other side of the table with the smiles. Fuck, a Skek couldn't care less that these people could actually be in a HOUSE, with LOVED ONES, and plenty of FOOD for themselves and Christmas CAROLS, and the Yule TIDE, Christmas TREE, Garlands, Ornaments, Candy and all that fucking shit, really enjoying the holiday. But rather they opt to stand here in this huge building and shovel out food to your stink ASS!

And these fucking Skeks couldn't even say THANK YOU!! They just greedily hand plastic containers to them and rush to the next volunteer with another as if there are too many Skeks ahead that can possibly eat everything in the Garden. True wastes of sperm. I tell you, when I go, I not only say thank you to each and every one, and also Merry Christmas, BUT I also take the time to thank them for spending Christmas with us and doing this. It brings smiles of satisfaction to them and me. It's called GRATITUDE. That's the major problem with Skeks, and the reason why they have devolved into animals. They lack of gratitude. They are oblivious to everyone in the world save themselves. They are the epitome of selfishness.

They have allowed themselves to become sub-human. Less than human. And when you are dumb enough to become that, you give human beings ample reason to not only look down upon you as a lower life form, but to terminate you as one. Like a nest of cockroaches, or rats or other vermin. You become that for them and they will treat you as such. I try my best to remember that once I was a man. A happy man with a family and home and job. I was once someone highly respected in the small town that I was from. I was of some value to my friends and relatives. I'll never forget that, and never forget what it was to be like that. To have an education, to sound like someone other than the Cosby Kids or Step and Fetchit when I speak, and to stand tall, even though I don't look like I should be able to.

I lay out a modest Thanksgiving plate when I get home, store the rest. I give thanks and have a tasty meal that isn't my fucking flat assed, microwaved shit and watch a little television. It's surprising now that I can't sit still to watch it for hours any longer. I have to get up and write. It's a maddening itch that I can't scratch enough. It's driving me crazy. I have a million things to do, and it's not enough to keep me busy. I am running to and fro all day in my tiny room, from mopping the floor on my hands and knees to my screenplay to washing the dishes and sorting laundry to writing short stories, working on books of poetry, re-writing a novel and keeping up with emails. I am fucking two people now. My maniac days have arrived. Hallelujah!

The normal day has too few hours. And now that I can't sleep, it's even worse. I gobble up all the time that I can get and take cat naps now. An hour here, an hour there. My dreams are vivid as real life and bright and powerful. My sleep, no matter how short, is amazingly restful. I don't know what months of this will do to me, but this is just on 5mgs of Abilify.

I wonder if I could up the dosage?

Hobobob