Ordering Lunch at the Apocalypse

I have to really cut down on the length of my posts.

These damn things seem to go on and on. I can't seem to make my fingers shut the fuck up. I had this problem once before if you remember way back when I started this blog. There was just too many things to report about being homeless. It was just that my entire life was so absurd and so stupid that I couldn't get it down on paper fast enough. I'm back in the same saddle again.

So, I'm on a quest now to keep these blog posts short. To say my bit and get it over with. But like anything, it's only an effort, and you must make room for false starts. The things that don't go right the first time, like trying to write shorter blog posts. It's just that before, I used a word processor, and when I reached the end of a single page, I knew when to stop. But Blogger doesn't tell you shit. It just keeps going and going and going. I don't even think I can max it out.

So, I have to find a way to do this, and I think I know how. Firstly, by writing only two and a half inch paragraphs, and only six or seven paragraphs a post. See if I can keep that up or explode trying. I'm already looking a a week's backlog of posts. If I write shorter and more frequently, god knows what will happen. I might end up with a months backlog. And that would not be fun now wouldn't it?

But I still have a lot more to talk about. The New York Subway system, which is becoming a madhouse now. I can't believe that I rode on it every day before my Social Phobia settled in good. It's a literal madhouse during rush hour. Mark my words, someone is going to snap one day. It's going to be one of those mild mannered types, like Clark Kent, and he's just going to begin beating passengers over the head with his brief case.

A lot of people believe that god will bring an end to the world by means of fire and brimstone, earth- quakes and volcanoes and last but not least, victorious angels. Oh, and also the rapture. Well, people, you got it all wrong. The Apocalypse is already brewing, and it's bubbling forth every day between the hours of Eight to Six underground. It's called the New York subway system rush hour. Yeah, these people are going to start to eat each other soon.

Personally I'm growing more and more frightened to use the subway at all. And I never go during the rush hour unless stupid assed Social Services makes a fucking mandatory meeting that I have to go to and arrive on time, although they can arrive asshole late. But I know when I ride the subways that the end is near. Why? Because the costs keep rising to ride it? No. Because the people are insane? No. Because of the sagging American Economy? No. Because of the subway musicians, acts and beggars, the new prophets, that ply the subway system for change.

Yeah, ESPE- CIALLY those two fucking Black guys with the fucking bongo drums. I HATE those fucking guys. Why? Well it's not that they suck as bongo drummers. I mean, they're pretty damn good and would even be able to put Ricky Ricardo to shame. But bongos are not to be played in an enclosed space, inside of a tunnel, under the ground. The sound will literally rip bone and sinew from your body. The sonic vibrations are alarmingly high. And I don't know how they do it, but they are always the very NEXT door away from me. Uggh, I want to poke out my eye, screaming and throw it at them.

The beggars, wow, they are feeling the economic pinch too. Before they used to just walk down the center of the train, their grubby hands, wrapped in filthy cloth, waving in front of people's faces as they walk past. Now some even give dissertations on their circumstances. I love to hear these guys. But you're thinking it the wrong way when I say I LOVE this. Because I do. I am amazed how LITTLE the average New Yorker knows about homelessness. I know...I used to be a Streeter, the worst kind of homelessness. These comedians stand around with long faces, and ratty, dirty and torn clothing as if this is how they dress all day long. Some of these guys are probably enrolled in acting school, and are trying to see if they can convince people that they could genuinely play any role they choose.

Now I'm NOT saying that ALL subway homeless people are frauds, because I used to be one of them. My favorite train was the F train until it got cold and it would pop up out of the underground near the end and freeze my ass off. But here's the thing. You would have never even known I was homeless. I was just a guy who fell asleep on the train while going somewhere. Shit, the police would come down the aisle of the train and roust the sleeping homeless stretched across the seats, literally arresting them for the night (most likely though making them sit all night, awake, on a platform bench with other officers). Then they would get to me. "Sir, sir!" They would call out, awakening me. "You shouldn't sleep on the train, there are kids who will rob you if you do." Thank you for your service, officer, I would reply. Just like that. A ticket to ride all night.

No, I'm talking about those lying bitches that crank and moan and try to pull a fast one. Now I can give you the tell-tale signs of these charlatans, but you have to be discerning, because they might actually be homeless people if you don't put the entire puzzle together. Then you're hurting an innocent Skeksie and not these fucking liars that hide among them to make a decent living off the charity of others. Which isn't wrong, unless you DON'T need the money. Then that's wrong.

So lets go into a sign of the Apoca- lypse, shall we? Let's talk about these subway actors. Well, like I said before, they moan how they 1) have no place to sleep. I was there. I used to sleep in front of office buildings, behind flower pots so as not to be seen by security guards, 2) how they are destitute. I look at their filthy clothing and skin, wondering what kind of axle grease they are using to dirty themselves up with. Several dead giveaways. Such as his physical condition. I used to go to the Bowery Mission in lower Manhattan every week, take a free shower and they will provide the soap and towels, a hair cut, and new clothes. Once a week. I could even ask for a suit if I needed one. So there is no reason for this clown to look the way that he does. You DON'T HAVE TO LOOK LIKE THAT in New York City. You don't. I have friends that have seen me from time to time and have never seen me in filthy rags, shoes with holes in them (shit the Bowery even can supply you with shoes), and dirty skin.

And that he doesn't stink. I will tell you now. If you don't wash your FEET in a week, you will begin to give off an odor just like SHIT. I mean a clean, fresh, smoldering pile of shit. And this will just come from your feet! Hell, my sneakers were filled with bacteria from my feet because I couldn't wash the sneakers. I could wash my feet, but not the sneakers, and the Bowery didn't have shoes in my size at the time. Then I was admitted into Bellevue Hospital emergency ward and the nurses took them off. They literally ran out of the partition. They had to tie the sneakers up in an airtight plastic bag. My feet were fine, the sneakers had accumulated so much bacteria though that they reeked from here to high heaven.

If a homeless person that shitty looking doesn't run you out of the train car with his stink...HE IS NOT HOMELESS. And 3) they cry that they haven't eaten in days. Please. In THIS city? There are so many soup kitchens that you can in fact gain weight being homeless. And they are so organized, you can start in lower Manhattan and follow their schedules of feeding uptown, one after the other, eating through every neighborhood from morning until night. Like I said. I gained weight when I was homeless. And I went a year with three pennies in my pocket and nothing more. How much food do you think I bought, or how much did I have to panhandle for on the streets? None, nothing, nada.

Then it's the other ones, the sorry cases. They enter the train car and hold up some stupid placard, announcing some obscure organization that is helping little children with no ears, young mothers with moles on their noses, old men with jock itch, women with yeast infections, or some other stupid cause for you to please donate to. Then they show you this beaten to death hand made badge, proving to you that they are officially authorized by this organization to collect money in their name. All proceeds go to helping the whatever. Right. Believe that if you want to.

Now once again, for all of you sensitive ones out there. The Hobo is NOT saying that every homeless person that you see in New York with a cup in their hands is not a homeless person but instead someone perpetrating a fraud. No, there are indeed persons who have given up completely, like Skeks, and panhandling for coins and cash is their way of keeping a commercial connection to a society that has passed them through its digestive tract and out it's anus. They say no more to society and go it all on their own, in any wacky way that they can. But then, there are definitely some, who are indeed soul-less enough to prey on your generosity. I'm giving you pointers on how to spot those fuckers.

We New Yorkers are riding the rails of the Apoca- lypse. We see the signs, but we can't make them out. But you'd better, because I'm not going to be around much longer to hold back the four winds of destruction for youse. When I'm gone, when I die, I guarantee you all, EVERYONE and EVERYTHING will cease to exist the second life passes from me. So you'd better do what you can now. It'll soon all be over.

Heed the sign that this post is long enough.

Hobobob