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There is a thing about the streets.
There is a thing about living with Skeksies. There is a thing about leaving a roof, front door, bed and heated/air conditioned room, and shelter from the heat and cold. There is a thing about having possessions and creature comforts that you take for granted. If you’ve ever had all of your personal belongings and home removed from you, you learned something. I have. Trust me, it’s indelibly written against my psyche like etched stone.
Do you think it’s not? Do you think you’d forget living on the streets, having no home? Spending night after night in Penn Station, or day after day in the library or Starbucks? Would you forget having everything that you own on your back? Do you think you would forget two years of that, an then another year in the shelter system? I think about what I’m doing now, and how I’m living and that it’s a step up from abject poverty, and there is nothing that you can compare it to. Believe me, unless you are killed in a violent way, there is no comparison.
Oh, don’t jump up my ass because I said that. People die violently every fucking day. But its not every day that YOU end up destitute, and I am talking about YOU. I’m not talking about the person that was killed violently. They’ve been dealt a hand worse than mine. And I’m admitting to that. I’m talking about people who have never tasted either. If you have never been killed violently, or have lost everything you’ve ever owned and lived on the streets, you are living a charmed life. If you have had any of the above, you can agree with me. It really sucks. It sucks so bad that it causes the head of a dick to burst like a over-inflated basketball.
And now, sitting in front of my computer and coming up with nothing, I am wondering on how the fuck I’m going to get out of this mess. This SRO, this life. I want to live in a home, with rooms, and a bathroom and furniture and lamps and storage space. I’m not bitching though. Don’t get me wrong. I would vomit if I’d have to leave here and go back to the streets. I’m appreciative, trust me. I just would like better. Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you like to work and live better and meet someone hot and live with her while fucking behind her back with even younger and hotter women? Wouldn’t you like to drive a nice car drunk, and smash it into inanimate objects that are heavier.
Wouldn’t you like to eat good food, and then drink like a fish and puke it up on your best friend’s lap. I want to live a better life, and that shouldn’t be begrudged me. I want to live with my dick in the air before everything goes down-hill and I turn into an old fucking geezer. Then nobody will want me. I want to see my books published and go on book signing tours. I want to do more than sit at the mercy of the asshole stupid Social Services who treat hard working Americans who fall on tough times like criminals.
I’ve worked every fucking day of my life since I was 16 years old, paying into Unemploy- ment and Welfare my entire working life for damn near 30 years and these bitches deny me Unemployment and then bitch and moan that I’ve asked to be on Welfare for three years. You do the math. Three years over Thirty and am I fucking in tears that I’m drawing from it? I would LOVED to have been drawing from my unemployment but the FEDS POCKETED all of that. A freebie. It’s that kind of selfish shit that makes me fucking proud to be on Welfare. I was so proud in the beginning that I accepted living on the streets and having all my shit sold to others without giving me a penny.
I was so proud that I lived out of soup kitchens than to accept a handout for two years. Do you think you can do that? Do you? But I woke up. Fuck living on the streets for these fucks. Fuck it. So I put my ass in gear and demanded what was due me. Welfare is due me. Period. I have enough hate inside of me to take everyone on that wants to debate that shit. Now, in my life I need it. They said for fucking 30 years that the reason why they were taking it was for when I got into a tight spot, like the same said for Unemployment. Once I’m in a tight spot, I get the fucking double talk. Well, now I’m in a tight spot and I’m looking to collect.
Yeah, I’m looking for a back handed payback because I didn’t die on the fucking street for them and let them off of the hook for what they owe me. So here we are. They giving through the nose and I’m taking. They are pissed and are trying their damnest to get me off their backs, and I’ve got my hooks so deep into them that the ends are poking out of their dicks. They can kiss my entire asshole.
Sorry to be pissed. I’m just re-reading this choke hold of a Allowance restriction letter and being cut back on my starvation rates and I’m gritting my teeth. I can take an ass fucking as deep as they have cock length. They’d better nut up if they think this fucking is over. I’m going to wear down whatever fuck they have in them. I’m a whore? Sure then. Fuck it.
I sprinkle crack into my pipe and light it, taking a long draw, and relaxing. I kick my feel up on my wallet filled with big money and finger the clit of two whores carrying my babies, ready to hop on welfare the minute they give birth to my bastards, and I’m doing it all on your dime because I never worked a fucking day in my life.
I hope I burn in Hell.
Hobobob
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