I was walking down the street the other day, being harassed by this gutterpup, and I asked him:
“Hey, if you're so hurting for money, why don't you try to get a job?"
His reply, "All that's available is minimum wage jobs, and I ain't no dishwasher!"
“Really?”, I thought. “Well, let's see. You're dressed in rags, you're missing teeth, you're drunk and you smell like urine. Damn, don't tell me...let me guess. Oh, OK, you're an ex-CEO who just went through corporate downsizing and bad investment advice. Hey, just be happy you didn’t invest with Madoff or work for AIG, because then you would be in a really bad situation!”
The guy I was chatting with then told me he couldn't get a good job because he didn't have an address. Gee, do you know why you don't have an address? Because you don’t have a fucking home and aren’t trying to get one, that's why! My feelings are, if you want to sit on your ass all day and ask for change, become a fucking toll booth collector!
What really can get me pissed are the young homeless. I see people in their mid 20's and they're asking me for money. I always see one guy walking around with his trench coat and just panhandling away. He asks for cash so he can buy some food. Oh, and of course as he is doing this he's smoking a cigarette. Hey, jerk off, put down the GPC, Player, Harley or what ever piece of shit you're smoking, (which by the way if you smoke a carton of those cheap smokes, I do think you'll get gum disease immediately) and use that money for some grub. Hell, I think it is fifty cent tacos at Del Taco these days. The best part about this guy is, one day he was walking around town with a rat on his shoulder. He had a white rat, perched on him. Hey, bet that looks good at a job interview. Rodents are always a selling point when you want to prove you're a dependable employee. (Of course this rat was probably a harder worker than the transient who he was hanging with.) So get your act together Willard and stop bugging me.
He's not the only younger bum I see. I love these kids who are wearing Doc Martins, have thousands of body piercings and have really expensive tattoos all over their bodies. They want my change? Guess what? It's not my job to finance the Goth Nation! So turn off the Cure music and get a paper route jerk-off! Hell, I'd rather see these guys sucking dick on Hollywood Boulevard, then give them some coinage. Oh, and who knows, maybe they'd run into some celebrity looking for someone to solicit. Some of these “stars” really need the press after that masterpiece that was supposed to be their comeback went straight to DVD, and TMZ is always looking for some story!
But just when I thought I have seen everything, something new arises. I had a homeless guy begging for change because his homeless babe was pregnant. And I was thinking, how did this guy get laid? He's homeless for Christ's sake! I know good looking guys with great jobs who can't get ass, and this derelict is laying pipe! What's his pick up line?"What do I do for a living? Uh, I'm a bum. I'm a bum who lives in a box. Actually, I have two boxes. It's a duplex."
I saw this situation and thought one word. Condoms! No. Make it two words. Don't fuck! Because I know my tax dollar will end up paying for his kid. But finally, I did look at his lady and gave her some change. What the hell, she did have a bum in the oven!
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
The Homeless - Part 2
So why is it that every homeless person has a story for you? And why do they think that you actually want to hear it? Like I have the time to listen! I know this guy has all the time in the world to tell his tale, because, well, he is fucking homeless!!! He has nowhere to go, except maybe down the alley to urinate, while I have things to do. Stories, stories and more fucking stories! Well hey, Hobo Joe, join the club and write a best seller about your downfall. Who knows, maybe you will become an F-list celebrity and end up on some shitty “celebrealty” show on VH1. Or maybe you can write a screenplay about your woes, because everybody in Los Angeles writes a screenplay. Oh and before, and before you ask, no you can't borrow my screenwriting software. Maybe one of your bum friends using the computer in the Public Library and helps smell the place up has Final Draft! Oh, and that story of yours? Sorry, I don't have the patience to listen.
"My name is Sheldon, and I just took the bus from Detroit and have no money. Can you help me out?"
No, I can’t. And to be honest, I don’t care. But here's some advice, Sheldon. Next time you plan a trip, allow for spending money. For Christ's sake, go to AAA or something, they have a lot of ways to save on your travels. I mean shit, Sheldon wants some sympathy. He actually wants sympathy from me? Damn, he's on vacation and I'm not. He should be giving me some change so I can plan a cruise.
Living in L.A., I've noticed there are the most untalented bums in America out here. I grew up back East, and damn the talent pool was great. These motherfuckers perfected their craft and you'd gladly give them some change. And they had to be good, top of their game because of the competition. Everyday was like the NFL pre-season trying to impress and make the team. Dudes just trying to keep their fucking job! One guy would have a picture frame over his head, and say, "I've been framed!" Another would have a sign that said, "I just want what America needs," and then he'd flip it over and it would say, "Change." I mean shit, these dudes were smooth. They would be gold medal winners in the Homeless games.
Best story I ever heard, though, and it was great, was in good ole' NYC. Shit, bums will do anything there. You can throw change at their feet and they'll dance for you. Just like the way Spider did it to bullets from Joe Pesci in the movie Goodfellas. Hell, a bum would jump through a flaming ring if the price was right. Shit, if you had lots a change and a big top, you could create a Bum Circus!
Anyway, back to the best homeless story I have ever heard. This guy comes up to me dressed in rags and starts saying how he came up to the city to work on his thesis, because he is a grad student, and he got jumped and the guys took everything. So he then goes on to say what they stole. His books, his TI-30 calculator, his glasses, his back pack, etc. And he says, he says he had to get the rags he was wearing from the shelter. It was a pretty touching story, but then he closed the deal. He pulled out a fake I.D. card from the University of Maryland. Now that is a bum who is trying. When you go to lengths of making bogus identification material, you get an "A" for effort. Of course I could tell it wasn’t real, because it reminded me of the ones I'd make when trying to get into bars when I was underage. (The bouncer would always laugh at me, and say, putting a picture, with typewriter typing and a piece of letterhead from a college through a laminating machine isn't cutting it.)
Well I ended up giving that guy with a great story some cash, even though I knew he was making everything up. Oh, and it's not that I'm totally cynical, and thought he was completely full of shit and a complete liar. I just found it odd that I saw him telling a parking meter the same story a few hours earlier.
Do you know what I also hate? I hate when these people ask for "spare change." "Got any spare change? Come on man, give me some spare change! Spare change, I need spare change!”
Actually, “no, I don’t.” I plan to use it all, so it's not "spare." But I do have a spare tire. Maybe you can go to Venice Beach, use it as a Hula Hoop and make a living entertaining people. You can be called “The Incredible Rubber Spinning Vagabond!” Hell you can now call yourself a Performance Artist.
To be continued...
"My name is Sheldon, and I just took the bus from Detroit and have no money. Can you help me out?"
No, I can’t. And to be honest, I don’t care. But here's some advice, Sheldon. Next time you plan a trip, allow for spending money. For Christ's sake, go to AAA or something, they have a lot of ways to save on your travels. I mean shit, Sheldon wants some sympathy. He actually wants sympathy from me? Damn, he's on vacation and I'm not. He should be giving me some change so I can plan a cruise.
Living in L.A., I've noticed there are the most untalented bums in America out here. I grew up back East, and damn the talent pool was great. These motherfuckers perfected their craft and you'd gladly give them some change. And they had to be good, top of their game because of the competition. Everyday was like the NFL pre-season trying to impress and make the team. Dudes just trying to keep their fucking job! One guy would have a picture frame over his head, and say, "I've been framed!" Another would have a sign that said, "I just want what America needs," and then he'd flip it over and it would say, "Change." I mean shit, these dudes were smooth. They would be gold medal winners in the Homeless games.
Best story I ever heard, though, and it was great, was in good ole' NYC. Shit, bums will do anything there. You can throw change at their feet and they'll dance for you. Just like the way Spider did it to bullets from Joe Pesci in the movie Goodfellas. Hell, a bum would jump through a flaming ring if the price was right. Shit, if you had lots a change and a big top, you could create a Bum Circus!
Anyway, back to the best homeless story I have ever heard. This guy comes up to me dressed in rags and starts saying how he came up to the city to work on his thesis, because he is a grad student, and he got jumped and the guys took everything. So he then goes on to say what they stole. His books, his TI-30 calculator, his glasses, his back pack, etc. And he says, he says he had to get the rags he was wearing from the shelter. It was a pretty touching story, but then he closed the deal. He pulled out a fake I.D. card from the University of Maryland. Now that is a bum who is trying. When you go to lengths of making bogus identification material, you get an "A" for effort. Of course I could tell it wasn’t real, because it reminded me of the ones I'd make when trying to get into bars when I was underage. (The bouncer would always laugh at me, and say, putting a picture, with typewriter typing and a piece of letterhead from a college through a laminating machine isn't cutting it.)
Well I ended up giving that guy with a great story some cash, even though I knew he was making everything up. Oh, and it's not that I'm totally cynical, and thought he was completely full of shit and a complete liar. I just found it odd that I saw him telling a parking meter the same story a few hours earlier.
Do you know what I also hate? I hate when these people ask for "spare change." "Got any spare change? Come on man, give me some spare change! Spare change, I need spare change!”
Actually, “no, I don’t.” I plan to use it all, so it's not "spare." But I do have a spare tire. Maybe you can go to Venice Beach, use it as a Hula Hoop and make a living entertaining people. You can be called “The Incredible Rubber Spinning Vagabond!” Hell you can now call yourself a Performance Artist.
To be continued...
Saturday, August 29, 2009
The Homeless - Part 1
So I'm walking to a bar the other night. My favorite type of bar, which my friends and me call an Old Man's bar. You know the type. Dark and dingy, with a disgusting bathroom that hasn't been cleaned in twelve years and has that cloth paper towel dispenser that you pull on and it rolls around and basically recycles itself. A place you can still smoke in even though it's illegal, has piss beer on tap, but has a killer juke box. A place that has people who should have been extras in the flick, "Barfly," especially that real old timer named Schmidty who is tossing boilermakers using raw gut whiskey.
So I'm pumped to kick back and enjoy, when suddenly on my way some homeless guy approaches me. "You got fifty cents for a cup of joe?" He asks. ”Oh yeah, I do. Hey, guess what? I work so I can support your fucking coffee break! Hey I have an idea, why don't I give you a twenty spot, you can hit Starbucks and get a triple mocha, soy, caramel, wheat grass cappuccino? And then you can go to a titty bar and use the change to get a lap dance? Or hey, maybe I'll give you my credit card and you can go to a book store and get "Panhandling for Dummies, you fucking dunce!"
These street urchins are always asking me for money. And I'm thinking when did someone stamp ATM on my damn forehead? Do I look like a cash machine? No! But I do know that I have a big forehead, but the last time I looked it didn't say Bank of Cooper on it. Oh, and the best part, the best part is if you don't give them any coinage suddenly you're the jerk-off, the dickhead, the Big Bad Wolf. Shit, man I don’t want to huff and puff and blow their box down! But these guys look at me like I'm some kind of unsympathetic prick. And when you do deny them, they always have a come back, a polite comment that is said with total hate. They have their own language, and I think it's called Bumonics. They’ll say something like, "Have a good night," which when translated means "Screw you, Mr. Tight Pockets." Or they will say, "God bless you!" which means the same as "Have a good night." (Of course my response to "God bless you" is usually, "Yes he has blessed me more than you, because the last time I looked, I wasn't fucking homeless!")
This kind of shit drives me crazy. The other night I see a guy. And this is a big guy. This is a really big guy. Actually to be honest, a really, really big, fat fucking guy. Basically a Range Rover on feet. This guy could take the place of fifty sandbags and help stop a flood. And he has no shirt on. This Biggest Loser reject has no shirt on and is out in public! His flabby gut is hanging out, almost down to his knees and basically he was sweating butter and gravy. Oh, and to make it worse, he had no belt on, so his ass crack is in view for everyone to see. (Bon appettit to the people eating on the patio he was next to.) So then this sloppy motherfucker has the nerve to ask me for cash for food! For food! I'm thinking, "Dude, you've eaten enough!" Try a new path, you Louis Anderson/H.R. Puffenstuff hybrid! Re-organize and re-direct your bum marketing strategy. Ask people for a few bucks for Jenny Craig or Weight Watchers, and I'd bet you'd do a lot better. Hell, if the guy told me that is what he needed money for, I'd hook him up with a fiver and try to get him to meet Valerie Bertinelli!
To be continued...
So I'm pumped to kick back and enjoy, when suddenly on my way some homeless guy approaches me. "You got fifty cents for a cup of joe?" He asks. ”Oh yeah, I do. Hey, guess what? I work so I can support your fucking coffee break! Hey I have an idea, why don't I give you a twenty spot, you can hit Starbucks and get a triple mocha, soy, caramel, wheat grass cappuccino? And then you can go to a titty bar and use the change to get a lap dance? Or hey, maybe I'll give you my credit card and you can go to a book store and get "Panhandling for Dummies, you fucking dunce!"
These street urchins are always asking me for money. And I'm thinking when did someone stamp ATM on my damn forehead? Do I look like a cash machine? No! But I do know that I have a big forehead, but the last time I looked it didn't say Bank of Cooper on it. Oh, and the best part, the best part is if you don't give them any coinage suddenly you're the jerk-off, the dickhead, the Big Bad Wolf. Shit, man I don’t want to huff and puff and blow their box down! But these guys look at me like I'm some kind of unsympathetic prick. And when you do deny them, they always have a come back, a polite comment that is said with total hate. They have their own language, and I think it's called Bumonics. They’ll say something like, "Have a good night," which when translated means "Screw you, Mr. Tight Pockets." Or they will say, "God bless you!" which means the same as "Have a good night." (Of course my response to "God bless you" is usually, "Yes he has blessed me more than you, because the last time I looked, I wasn't fucking homeless!")
This kind of shit drives me crazy. The other night I see a guy. And this is a big guy. This is a really big guy. Actually to be honest, a really, really big, fat fucking guy. Basically a Range Rover on feet. This guy could take the place of fifty sandbags and help stop a flood. And he has no shirt on. This Biggest Loser reject has no shirt on and is out in public! His flabby gut is hanging out, almost down to his knees and basically he was sweating butter and gravy. Oh, and to make it worse, he had no belt on, so his ass crack is in view for everyone to see. (Bon appettit to the people eating on the patio he was next to.) So then this sloppy motherfucker has the nerve to ask me for cash for food! For food! I'm thinking, "Dude, you've eaten enough!" Try a new path, you Louis Anderson/H.R. Puffenstuff hybrid! Re-organize and re-direct your bum marketing strategy. Ask people for a few bucks for Jenny Craig or Weight Watchers, and I'd bet you'd do a lot better. Hell, if the guy told me that is what he needed money for, I'd hook him up with a fiver and try to get him to meet Valerie Bertinelli!
To be continued...
Friday, August 28, 2009
Armenians (Conclusion)
Actually, I'm not mocking the Armenians. Because I am working on an Armenian Reality Show that I want to pitch. But it will be for American TV, not an Armenian TV channel. I don't know if you have ever seen Armenian TV, but it is so bad it is awesome. Almost all the commercials they run for restaurants or clubs seem to have Moby's song Play jamming in the background. (Oh, and I am sure they called for the rights to use it.)
I saw a video on Armenian TV and it was so bad, it was great. There was this chubby guy, with a full head of hair, full beard and of course the uni-brow dancing around. He looked like Sasquatch cutting a rug. And he was wearing a tight black button down shirt, chains a showing and tight black jeans. And he was really dancing hard and belting out the tunes. While belting out some garbled crap that I couldn't understand, he was in front of a Green Screen. And on the screen was all these random pictures, I guess he was trying to tell a story, but I was completely lost. The pictures kept flashing on for a few seconds then would be followed by another picture. There was Mount Rushmore, then an old Armenian lady, then a Mercedes, then a Cell Phone Store in a shopping center, then a Mercedes, a bottle of vodka, a Lexus, then a close up on him grooving. Then back to the pictures, an Armenian flag, a cigarette, a map of California with a star on Glendale, a Falafel...and I'm saying to myself, "What is this director thinking?" The video made those old crappy Mentos commercials look like the winner of the fucking Palme d' Or at the Cannes Film Festival!
That is why I am pitching my show to American TV. The show will follow in the footsteps of that old show on the Bravo network called, "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy." However, my show will be titled, "White Eye for the Armo Guy."
My first guest will be Armand or Edmund, not sure which one yet. And I will convince one of them that a leather jacket over a wife beater is not a fashion statement. Then I will instruct him to lose the Adidas sweat pants and loafers with no socks, because it just isn't cutting it. And finally, I will tell him to lose the Drakkar Noir, because it is not 1988 anymore!
I joke, I am not doing that show. But I am going to start producing Armenian porn, because from my visits to the Video Store, it seems they like the porn...a lot! I saw one of them walking out of the back room with that little privacy curtain and he had a stack of 8 pornos! 8 fucking pornos! And he wasn't even trying to be non-chalant! This guy had no shame. In fact, he was trying to find out if porno qualified for the rent one get one free promotion! 8 porns! And I'm thinking, geez, how many times can one jerk off in a weekend?
Sidebar here. I personally don't masturbate to porn. I'm such an Egotist at times, when I masturbate, I fantasize about myself masturbating. Maybe a little too much information, but fuck it, we're all friends here.
I do think the Armenian porn should be a success though. I've found my first Porn Star and his name is Ron Jeremyian. So look for our first project soon. It is called "Kiss My Fleshkabob!"
I saw a video on Armenian TV and it was so bad, it was great. There was this chubby guy, with a full head of hair, full beard and of course the uni-brow dancing around. He looked like Sasquatch cutting a rug. And he was wearing a tight black button down shirt, chains a showing and tight black jeans. And he was really dancing hard and belting out the tunes. While belting out some garbled crap that I couldn't understand, he was in front of a Green Screen. And on the screen was all these random pictures, I guess he was trying to tell a story, but I was completely lost. The pictures kept flashing on for a few seconds then would be followed by another picture. There was Mount Rushmore, then an old Armenian lady, then a Mercedes, then a Cell Phone Store in a shopping center, then a Mercedes, a bottle of vodka, a Lexus, then a close up on him grooving. Then back to the pictures, an Armenian flag, a cigarette, a map of California with a star on Glendale, a Falafel...and I'm saying to myself, "What is this director thinking?" The video made those old crappy Mentos commercials look like the winner of the fucking Palme d' Or at the Cannes Film Festival!
That is why I am pitching my show to American TV. The show will follow in the footsteps of that old show on the Bravo network called, "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy." However, my show will be titled, "White Eye for the Armo Guy."
My first guest will be Armand or Edmund, not sure which one yet. And I will convince one of them that a leather jacket over a wife beater is not a fashion statement. Then I will instruct him to lose the Adidas sweat pants and loafers with no socks, because it just isn't cutting it. And finally, I will tell him to lose the Drakkar Noir, because it is not 1988 anymore!
I joke, I am not doing that show. But I am going to start producing Armenian porn, because from my visits to the Video Store, it seems they like the porn...a lot! I saw one of them walking out of the back room with that little privacy curtain and he had a stack of 8 pornos! 8 fucking pornos! And he wasn't even trying to be non-chalant! This guy had no shame. In fact, he was trying to find out if porno qualified for the rent one get one free promotion! 8 porns! And I'm thinking, geez, how many times can one jerk off in a weekend?
Sidebar here. I personally don't masturbate to porn. I'm such an Egotist at times, when I masturbate, I fantasize about myself masturbating. Maybe a little too much information, but fuck it, we're all friends here.
I do think the Armenian porn should be a success though. I've found my first Porn Star and his name is Ron Jeremyian. So look for our first project soon. It is called "Kiss My Fleshkabob!"
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Armenians
I just got back from Armenia, and man there was a lot of people from Glendale over there!
I joke, I joke, I like the Armenians, but to be honest, before I moved to Los Angeles, specifically Burbank, I had no idea what an Armenian was. The closest we had to them back in South Jersey were Italians...to be exact Guidos. However I grew up in a Jewish town, so we actually had Jewish Guidos. Guys like Moeshe D'Antonio, Himey Esposito, Dominic Rosenstein and Vinnie Greenberg.
These guys were great. They would walk around with a thick gold chain with a Jewish Star and wear a pinky ring with a Mezuzah on it, eating delicacies like Minestrone and Gelfite Fish soup and Brisket Parmesan. The best would be when they were about to get in a fight:
"Do you know who I am? Do you know who I am? Don't fuck with me, I'll fucking sue you!...Fucking Goyam!
But back to the Armenians. I will tell you, they are some hairy Bastards! Now don't get me wrong, I'm a hairy guy too! Seriously. When I go to the beach kids are like:
"Mommy can I pet him?"
And I'm like, "Back off kid, I'm not a fucking Manatee, OK?"
I mean, I mean it's bad. Put it this way, my cats use a lint brush on me, OK? If I was to get waxed, it would take a lot of those fucking Yankee Candles. Hopefully, Almond Cookie or Coconut Bay! But hey, that's my tastes.
I once shaved my chest and lost about two inches from my jacket size. In fact at times if I'm hitting the town, I shave lines in my stomach to resemble abs. Then when I wear a tight shirt, I look ripped!
But these Armenian guys blow me away with their body hair. It's like, "Holy Shit!" No contest from me. I had dinner with a few of them and when I joined the table, it looked like Curious George was eating with a bunch of Gorillas!
The best part about them is their Uni-brow! What the hell is that all about? Don't they look in the fucking mirror in the morning? Put it this way. It is a known fact that a moustache and your eye brows should not be parallel lines!
Seriously, don't their friends say anything? I saw one guy and this is no lie, I swear. Think back to when you were a kid. Remember for school you would have to draw a picture of the beach? You would make squiggly lines to represent the waves in the ocean, draw a palm tree and the sun, and then make a little swoop thing that looked like a fat, messy letter v to be a bird flying over the water. Well this guy's Uni-brow looked like that bird you crayoned in 4th grade. What the fuck? I was like:
"Hey, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, why don't you mix a Mach 3 into your grooming routine!"
And of course he had no idea what I was talking about.
To be continued...
I joke, I joke, I like the Armenians, but to be honest, before I moved to Los Angeles, specifically Burbank, I had no idea what an Armenian was. The closest we had to them back in South Jersey were Italians...to be exact Guidos. However I grew up in a Jewish town, so we actually had Jewish Guidos. Guys like Moeshe D'Antonio, Himey Esposito, Dominic Rosenstein and Vinnie Greenberg.
These guys were great. They would walk around with a thick gold chain with a Jewish Star and wear a pinky ring with a Mezuzah on it, eating delicacies like Minestrone and Gelfite Fish soup and Brisket Parmesan. The best would be when they were about to get in a fight:
"Do you know who I am? Do you know who I am? Don't fuck with me, I'll fucking sue you!...Fucking Goyam!
But back to the Armenians. I will tell you, they are some hairy Bastards! Now don't get me wrong, I'm a hairy guy too! Seriously. When I go to the beach kids are like:
"Mommy can I pet him?"
And I'm like, "Back off kid, I'm not a fucking Manatee, OK?"
I mean, I mean it's bad. Put it this way, my cats use a lint brush on me, OK? If I was to get waxed, it would take a lot of those fucking Yankee Candles. Hopefully, Almond Cookie or Coconut Bay! But hey, that's my tastes.
I once shaved my chest and lost about two inches from my jacket size. In fact at times if I'm hitting the town, I shave lines in my stomach to resemble abs. Then when I wear a tight shirt, I look ripped!
But these Armenian guys blow me away with their body hair. It's like, "Holy Shit!" No contest from me. I had dinner with a few of them and when I joined the table, it looked like Curious George was eating with a bunch of Gorillas!
The best part about them is their Uni-brow! What the hell is that all about? Don't they look in the fucking mirror in the morning? Put it this way. It is a known fact that a moustache and your eye brows should not be parallel lines!
Seriously, don't their friends say anything? I saw one guy and this is no lie, I swear. Think back to when you were a kid. Remember for school you would have to draw a picture of the beach? You would make squiggly lines to represent the waves in the ocean, draw a palm tree and the sun, and then make a little swoop thing that looked like a fat, messy letter v to be a bird flying over the water. Well this guy's Uni-brow looked like that bird you crayoned in 4th grade. What the fuck? I was like:
"Hey, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, why don't you mix a Mach 3 into your grooming routine!"
And of course he had no idea what I was talking about.
To be continued...
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