Having it All Ass Backwards

12-13% of you guys out there are reading me on your Iphones and Black- berrys.

What are you doing? Reading the old hobobob while you're commuting? Heh, heh, heh. Isn't that cool? You can always read about what will happen to you if you lose that job you're heading to right now. Or even better, you'll know where your boss is going if he gets the damn axe. Hey, that's NOT a nice thought, unless your boss is a real prick, then good riddance.

I woke up this morning with substantially less pain. Last night, being in sheer agony, I went over what I did to my back again and again. All that could come to me was sitting in my damn chair hour after hour, day after day, typing faster than my fingers could fly. And then it dawned on me. Maybe the muscles in my back are so weak and slack slouched on my bed that spending so much time in a chair is beginning to build them back up. I shake my head. There was a time in my life that I spent all day in a chair in the library and slept all night in one in Penn Station and Port Authority. Could this be it? Could this be the problem?

Well, I have a big jar of 100% Whey Protein on top of my cupboards when I used to walk to keep building my muscle mass. I made two glasses of that shit last night and miracle upon miracles, I was almost cured the next morning. Wow. I didn't know if I was going to have to ask for Dr. A to come over with some fucking morphine or rat poison. It wouldn't have mattered to me.

I got up and got ready. I had a Nine O'clock appoint- ment with the New York City Health and Resources Asso- ciation. What is it that they do? Consume your time. Make you bring the same documents all over town to their many offices and sit in waiting rooms. That's all I see them doing. I'm not complaining, I'm just stating a fact. Kill me if I tell you the truth. So, I get moving early enough to make this damn Nine O'clock appointment and walk up to the reception desk, which was a misnomer. It should have been called 'Ugly Assed Spitting Venomous Cobra' Desk.

"Excuse me ma'am..." I begin. She sits back in her chair, her body elongates and raises up over me, a cobra cowl sprouts from around both sides of her head, opening her fanged cobra mouth and spewing a stream of poison right into my face. "Put your appointment letter in the basket and take a seat," she spits. Then she lowers back into her seat and returns to shuffling the papers on her desk. Oooookay! I was going to bust her balls and ask, "You mean this basket here between you and I on the desk that reads 'papers here'?"

But no, I look at the clock, which seemed to tick so slooowly that the second hand seemed to be going in reverse. The time was now a quarter to Nine, so I drop in my appointment letter and take a seat. Two other people are before me. A quarter after nine...I'm still sitting there, looking around for any forms of life, looking stupid. Nine Thirty...I'm still sitting there, scratching my balls. Two social workers come in and call out for the two people that were here before me. No problem. Gee, I'm glad I got here BEFORE Nine, for my Nine O'clock appointment. How lucky was I?

A quarter to ten, two more social workers appear and call out for the two  people that came in after me. What the fuck? I stand and go back to the 'Ugly Assed Spitting Venomous Cobra' Desk and ask, "Excuse me ma'am. I came in...." Again, she rears up over my head, spitting venom. "I have no control over the Workers. They have your paperwork. Take a seat." It was then that it was time to take the head off the snake. But not by me. Someone that mean and nasty has a horrible life most likely. Why add bricks to an already heavy wall. Have a happy life...whore (Smile).

I take a seat. Five minutes to Ten I hear my name called out. Geez I am so glad that I got here a quarter.... I follow this short woman with a huge ass through the typical HRA maze of partitions, suddenly a rat in a labyrinth. We go into her cubicle and I take a seat and look around. It's fascinating that I have been in scores of Social Worker's cubicles and they all...all of them, have the same characteristics. The same constants: 1) they all have photographs of the family and friends, 2) they all have inspirational quotes, 3) they all have at least one inspirational quote from the Bible or some other type of sermon, 4) they all have birthday or seasonal cards hanging up, and 5) they have an inspirational note to themselves, written in their own handwriting.

Oh, and a computer and stacks of papers. All the time. Well, now it's time to really waste time. I sit there and pass along all the paperwork that I pass along every time I'm called to one of these absolutely pointless meetings and when done, she leads me back out of the maze and to the lobby, instructing me to go to the 'Ugly Assed Spitting Venomous Cobra' Desk' and get a metro-card, because the ride home was on them. This was music to m ears because I had long ago ran out of money, except a one way fare on a metro-card that I had found in my wallet. This joint was on 16th street, lower Manhattan. It was my plan to ride the train down and walk back up the Eighty Two blocks to Ninety Eighth street where I lived, some time this year.

But I lucked out. They were going to give me a metro- card. So I approached Sunny-go-lucky and said, "Ma'am, I was told by the Social Worker...." What is your name, she asks not looking up from studying the dust on her paperwork. "Hobobob". She scans one clipboard of names. Hands me another clipboard of names. "Sign your name at the X." I did, she handed me my metro-card and went directly back to her paperwork. I shake my head. So much hostility towards people who are really having it harder than you. Unless they are Skeks, they mean you no harm. If they are Skeks, I really don't blame you.

Well, as my old business partner would say..."Fall into Hell."

No, really you fucking ugly assed snake. Fall your ass into flaming Hell, and please, don't send me a post card.

NO! I'm serious. You can keep your fucking post cards.

Hobobob