Thursday, December 05, 2013

Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #44)





THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK

By Daniel Canada c.2010




CHAPTER THREE
PERSONALITIES OF THE HOMELESS



HULDAH THE MOLERAT is a sight for sore eyes. If being ugly is something to brag about, then she’s the next contestant in the Miss Universes Blind Judges Contest. “Huldah the Mole Rat” hit every-and I mean every-branch of the ugly tree on her way down, when she was born. And she fell face-forward! Being ugly is really not anyone’s fault, not even the parents. Shit happens. The problem with “Huldah the Mole Rat” is that not only is she ugly as fornication, she has a bad attitude to accommodate it as well.


Come on, “Huldah!” Cut yourself some slack.  That’s another unnecessary strike against you.

Huldah the Mole Rat’s disposition is so bad, that even if she was a beauty queen, she would be considered a monster, for her temperament alone. For one, she’s a serious crack head. Yes. “Huldah the Mole Rat” likes to get her high on every day. You’ll always see her either very high, or on the other end of the spectrum, on the dope-fiend nod. Conversely, whenever “Huldah” sobers up from get her high, she’s one of the worst creatures on earth to be around. She will go out of her way to pick a fight with any person who happens to catch her heated glare. If she thinks she can’t handle the beef she started, she feels she can always depend upon the backing of her fellow crack head friends.

And believe me, there’s plenty of them around her.

You see, "Skeksies" like “Huldah the Mole Rat” has many “hang-arounds” that she drags about throughout the day by her pants legs. These cats wait around with her for her monthly SSI check and then they all go out and blow it on…well, crack! So, whenever she gets into a pinch, she can always depend upon one of the dope-fiends, from her entourage, to straighten out any mess she’s gotten tangled into. So don’t be surprised if you walk by a soup kitchen-“Huldah the Mole Rat” likes to hang around the Bowery Mission in particular-and hear the loudest mouth in the crowd, yapping away and popping mucho smack.

Yeah, old “Huldah the Mole Rat” loves attention, and let’s face it-no pun intended-but if you were as ugly as “Huldah the Mole Rat” you’d probably do anything it takes to get someone’s attention too. Having a big-ass-mouth helps in this kind of situation. So, if she starts a fight with you, pay her no never mind. She hates that. But, if you do pay her any attention and feed into her psychosis, she’ll put her fingers in her mouth and make a loud whistle-call, and twelve of her "Skeksy" crack-head-friends will materialize out of thin air, and throw you a good old fashion-country-ass-beating. 

It’s a sight to see a bunch of "Skeksies" all up in arms over trivial bullshit. But that’s what you’ll get for messing with “Huldah the Mole Rat.” Believe it or not, “Huldah the Mole Rat” actually has her own SRO, Single Room Occupancy, provided for her by welfare, so there’s no need for her to be hanging out in the streets and eating at soup kitchens and churches, in the first place. She seems to long for the association and life-style of the homeless and the disenfranchised. Those among the homeless who are her cronies, she takes home with her once and a while, to get them high with the proceeds of her monthly SSI check and to catch a medicinal nap away from the elements. This is the reason she has such a large following in the first place. 

And I bet she thought it was because of her looks.

I’m not insinuating she doesn’t provide her many male friends with a bit more. You can feel free to use your imagination. I prefer not to.

The peculiar thing about soup kitchens is that it is not always filled with "homeless" people, per say. Some of the frequenters have SROs or apartments like "Huldah." Some have jobs, but just can’t afford to pay rent, utilities, and feed themselves. Subsequently, you find an array of people eating at these spots, for a number of reasons.

I just thought I’d point that out.

However, the unfortunate thing is, if you do have to eat at any of these soup kitchens, you’re going to have to put up with the likes of "Skeksies" such as “Huldah the Mole Rat.”

And believe me, there are more of her type out there. I just don’t have the time to cover them all.

It's simply too exhausting.

I find that the best way to deal with nincompoops like “Huldah the Mole Rat” is in basic terms to act as if they don’t exist. Yep. Ignore the hell out of them. Eventually they’ll get tired of seeking your attention and eventually crawl back under the slimy rock from whence they came.

Remember the territory you’re in. Homeless and hungry equals soup kitchens, which equal "Skeksys" like “Huldah the Mole Rat.”

What else can I tell you?

You want me to tickle your ears by painting a rosy picture?

Sorry Pal. You’ll have to get that from the preacher in the storefront church next door.


Friday, November 22, 2013

Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #42)





THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK

By Daniel Canada c.2010







CHAPTER THREE

PERSONALITIES OF THE HOMELESS (Continued)




ANIMAL is not human. Thus the obvious name. He is the reason why creationist are having such a darn hard time in schools and courtrooms around the country, convincing the public that such a thing as evolution doesn't exist.

 
Well, I have news for you scholars on both sides of the fence.

I have solid and irrefutable confirmation that evolution is true. Believe it or not, I've found the most sort after "missing link!" And I’m not being overly unsympathetic either. I’m just a writer, reporting on one of the most outstanding piece of news since the fall of the Berlin Wall. What is more, I’m simply giving an account about one of the most pathetic of creatures known to mankind. 
 
“Animal” has a slack jaw, like the Neanderthal, unkempt hair that hasn't been groomed since the nineteen-fifties. The poor bloke hasn't bathed since running water was fetched from an open well. Forget about the stench of his breath! I'll spare you the grisly details. Even though there are ample opportunities for a homeless person to snatch a change of clothing and to wash up, “Animal” refuses to do so. 

Perhaps it's a political statement of protest. The world has witnessed even wilder forms of political protest in the past, like the dousing of gasoline and lighting afire a bunch of Buddhist monks, peacefully sitting in lotus positions on the ground.

That kind of stuff.
 
What's the most baffling aspect of Animal’s hygienic protest has to be his finger nails. Now, I've seen fashion magazines, where women show off the length of their nails, and I’m sure there's got to be a Guinness World record holder for the longest finger nails. Okay, Animal's finger nails couldn't qualify him for any Guinness world record, but you could see they must not have been cut for at least a decade.

And they're just as dirty and cruddy too!

Gosh!

I’m catching a bad fit of the willies just writing about this. To tell you the truth, I’m going to be in need of much therapy after the completion of this memoir.

 When “Animal” appears out of nowhere on the soup lines, all heads turn in utter disbelief towards him, except a few of his good cronies, who must have gotten use to the sight of him. A primitive grovel, which must be his speech, is elicited from his slack-jawed mouth when he speaks. The scary thing about it is that some of the "Skeks" actually understand what he's saying. 

Talk about reverse evolution.

How in the world did they reached the point where they can understand him is beyond my powers of comprehension. That ought to get the scientist on both side of the evolution camp at it again.

Charles Darwin is turning in his grave.
 
The thing is “Animal” doesn't give a hoot in fiery hell what you or I think about him. Life as a "Skek”…Correction! As a “Skelsy” on the street is better than life in the caves of the Alps, I imagine. So I’ll cut him some slack. In reality, “Skelsies” like “Animal” probably started off like you and I-I said probably. He might’ve been thinking that his stint on the streets was going to be a temporary one. Things got as little out of hand and a few plans got twisted. 

Shit happens. 

Nonetheless, the deal is when the shit happens out here, if you don't recover fast enough, it will become permanent, my precious. 
 
So, never lose hope if you find yourself in Skekville. I just made that word up this moment. Of course, there's always the Fifty-Ninth Street Bridge, but that's a long ways down, and if you're at present living out here, chances are you probably already fell a long ways down. Therefore, I’m not going to rub salt in an already festering wound. 
 
So listen up!  

These are your options. Get the heck off the streets at your earliest convenience, by any means necessary, or find yourself standing in a soup line, one day, listening to “Animal” speaking Neanderthal. And then suddenly realize you actually understand what the hell he's saying.  

Uuuughah!

(To be continued...)