I spent some time with some chronic, hard-core homeless men on the street recently. (DO NOT DO THIS–IT IS EXTREMELY DANGEROUS)  Here’s what they told me their life is like.

Suppose you decided to go camping.  You do this because you just lost your job and you have some extra time on your hands before you get back on your feet.  Ahhhh!  The great outdoors calls!  Sounds like a lot of fun.  Only this time, you can’t take your tent or your camping gear.  And, you’re going to camp in the city–downtown.  And it’s illegal to camp downtown, but you have to do it anyway.  Oh yeah, you can’t take any extra clothes with you.  Or money.  Or food.  Or ID.

On your first day, you mostly wander around looking for a place to camp.  There are a lot of other campers around so there must be plenty of places, right, and I’m sure they’re all friendly and will be willing to help you out, right?  Wrong.

You’ve been at this for around 8 hours and your feet are starting to hurt from walking on concrete all day.  Forgot… you don’t have another pair of shoes–that sucks.

Duct-taped shoes suck!

You also start to get hungry and thirsty.  Whoops!  No money.  Now what?  You get really, really hungry.  Hungry enough that you ask a stranger for a few bucks.  The first stranger ignores you and keeps walking.  You ask a second stranger who tells you to fuck off and go get a job.  Okay, maybe you can stop camping if you get a job.  Oh yeah, no ID.  No address either.  Can’t get a job with no ID and no address.

It’s getting dark and you’re really tired.  A couple from Decatur in a beat-up Volvo stop and offer you a blanket and some saltines.  They make you pray with them.  They leave and you look for a place to sleep.  There are a lot of other campers walking around.  They all have plastic bags.  The camper in you says to sleep in the park under a tree.  You curl up with your blanket and eat your saltines.  You eventually fall asleep.  You’re awakened by another camper who’s kicking you in the head.  Hard.  “Where’s your shit?” he demands.  You have no idea what he’s talking about.  He kicks you again and takes your blanket.  Not a good night so far.

A dangerous nap in the park

You have to take a crap.  No bathroom in sight.  You go to McDonald’s to go to the bathroom.  “Get out!  If you’re not buying anything then get out!  No campers allowed!”  the manager screams at you.  You go to the convenience store.  Same thing.  No campers allowed.  You have to go really bad, so you walk behind the dumpster out back and take a crap behind it.  This is also against the law and eventually you’ll probably get arrested for doing this, but no public or private businesses will let you use their bathrooms.  No toilet paper.  Too bad.  You smell food in the dumpster and you start looking through trash bags.  You find a half-eaten cheese-burger and take a bite.  Under the circumstances, this tastes wildly delicious.  Suddenly, you’re hit in the back of the head with a board by another camper.  “Get the fuck out of my dumpster, mother-fucker.”    You try to run, but you can’t, so you walk as fast as you can.  To nowhere.  You didn’t realize that campers own the dumpsters.  Your head hurts badly and you’re cut.  Nothing life-threatening, but the blood is getting sticky in your hair.  You might have a concussion.

You stayed up all night, you lost your blanket and got your ass beat twice.  Welcome to the campground.  You have about 48 more hours to get better at this or you’ll die or be killed.  You find a small group of campers outside a church.  One of them is sleeping on some cardboard.

The others are sitting in a stairwell.  Each of them has a styrofoam plate with food.  “Where’d you get that?” you ask.  They point to the back of the church.  “You missed it.  They done serving today.  They gonna serve again on Saturday.”  Today’s Wednesday.  You’re really hungry.   “You want some of this?” one of the other campers holds up a plate with mac and cheese and collard greens on it.  “Yes” you reply.  “C’mon then.”  The camper motions for you to come up the steps and behind a makeshift wall of cardboard.  You reluctantly go up there with him.  The camper pulls his cock out.  “I don’t understand” you say.  The other campers laugh at you.  “Suck my dick.  You want this food, then you suck my dick.”  He explains that “sucking dick” is a form of currency on the campground.  You want some food, or better yet–protection while you sleep?  Then you’re going to have to come to grips with sucking dick.

You reluctantly suck some dick for the first time.  No need to go into more detail.  It starts to rain.  Another camper asks if you want to stay dry on the stairwell with them. Guess what that’s going to cost you.

This is the reality of homelessness, and this story was described to my by a man named Joshua who’s been on the streets for about 8 months now.  I have much more to share, and I will in coming posts.

Here’s the irony.  The people on the street all have one singular focus:  Stay alive another day with the lowest amount of bullshit possible.  Yeah, they have a strange currency, but their mission is the same.  The ones that aren’t drunks or junkies are proud of who they are.  They’re just in a fucked-up mess that’s really tough to get out of.  The clean and sober ones have each others’ backs and are approachable.  They want to share their stories.  They want us to remember who they were, and they badly want to be that person again.  We need to help them.

Here’s the bottom line.  I’ve spent time with these people.  They were all somebody’s little boy or girl at one point.  They were your school-mates and neighbors.  We rode bikes with them.  They had lives, but they hit a shit-pile of bad luck.  Some are ex-convicts, some are drug addicts and most “self-medicate” with alcohol.  But all of them are humans and are hurting. You can help them.

Quit giving your stuff to Goodwill and Salvation Army.  Give to a shelter or a mission that gives your donations directly to the people that need it most.  You’ve got 5 pairs of Nikes in your closet.  Screw your stupid garage sale.  Do you really need to sell them for $2?  Here’s what I’d like you to do.  I want you to gather up 6 pairs of shoes–especially men’s shoes.  Then I want you to look through your closet and stuff a bag full of clothes and put it in your car.  Drive your car to a Homeless Mission and selflessly give your stuff away.  I personally like the Clifton Sanctuary Mission on CT. Ave off of McClendon and the Open Door Community on Ponce across from Fellini’s.  Your donations go directly to the people that need your stuff.

Homeless Joe asked me this morning, “What’s the greatest nation in the world?  DoNation!” he replied.  “What’s the greatest city?  Generocity!” he replied.  I know times are tough for all of us.  I’m not asking for your money–just stuff you don’t use or need anymore that can make a difference for someone else.

Contact me if you have stuff and don’t know where to take it.  I’ll pick it up and take it for you, or tell you where to go.

Sorry for the super long post.

Karma.

Abeerforbreakfast

Ping site

I took another Pall Mall from the pack on the desk and fired it up.  I needed it to get through this.  I smoked it hard like the way Sean Penn smokes.

“Okay,” I said, “Mom was bleeding like crazy and shaking.  Her eyes were rolling but it seemed like she was trying to tell me something.  Artemus was talking super fast in Spanish and English at the same time, which was something he couldn’t help when he’d get real excited.  Nothing he said made any sense.  I just couldn’t comprehend anything at that moment.  Seconds seemed like hours and at some point Artemus stopped talking and looked painfully into my eyes.  He had this ability to speak to me without words.

Suddenly a childhood image flashed before my eyes of a time when I was at a horse race with Artemus and my Mom.  Two horses collided during the race and one fell.  The one that fell — a beautiful pitch black Arabian with crimson and yellow silks and a braided mane– crashed into the fence and its’ leg got broke that instant.  I was close enough to hear it snap.  I’ll never forget the sound – just like a dry branch breaking.  Crisp.  The jockey was thrown but not badly hurt.  The jockey got up, ran to the horse and the horse tried to keep running.  I just got sick looking at the horses’ leg broken like a chicken bone — clearly in two pieces, just dangling instead of holding straight — unable to support the weight and will of the body it belonged to.  It was a pathetic and profoundly pitiful sight.  That majestic animal was reduced so quickly to a helpless creature in the matter of seconds.  The jockey stopped the horse and got it to lie down on the ground.  Two men and a woman ran over to the horse.  The horse fell on its’ side shaking, trying to get up and it was breathing and snorting really heavy.  The loose red clay kicked up from the other horses on the track made a thick dust cloud, but I could still see.  The jockey laid on the horses side to keep it from trying to get up and kissed the horse over and over and kept stroking its’ head.  One of the other men held the horses’ head down with his knees to keep it from struggling.  The woman started crying hysterically and running in short circles on the track — first one direction, then another.  She was wearing a white dress with big blue polka dots.  Her hair was braided too and she had a ribbon that matched the horses’ silks.  Her hands alternately covered her face and pushed fists violently towards the ground.  She let out a desperate cry to the sky.  One of the two men took the saddle and the blanket off of the horse and covered the horse’s head with the blanket.  The horse was calm at this point.  Next thing I know I hear “Bang!” then “Bang!” again. One of the men stood over the horse with a smoking pistol in his hand.  The horse twitched for a minute and then lay still.  The jockey patted the horse’s dead body and then walked away without looking back.  I could literally see a tear fall from the jockey’s cheek and hit the red clay on the track.  I thought of that image as I held my mother in my arms.  It was a horrible memory.

Mom’s body continued to twitch violently and her black hair was getting thick with blood even though I couldn’t really see the color of blood in the darkness and the rain.  I took my hand and brushed her hair out of her face and gave her a kiss.  She stared at me.  I could tell that at that moment she was alert.  She forced a smile at me as if to say “yes, and I love you.”

I had to stop talking for a moment to catch my breath.

“Forgive me,” I whispered to her.  I held her close, kissed her on the cheek, her forehead and softly on her lips.  I held her for a moment and saw one of my tears land on her cheek.  Artemus stroked the tear from her cheek, and then kissed her hand.  I watched her squeeze his hands tightly at first, then relax.  She took a very deep breath.  Then I took her head and twisted as hard and as fast as I could.  Her neck snapped and it was over.  The suffering was over.  Her body fell limp in my arms.  Artemus and I both sat in the rain for about a half hour— just sobbing.  All three of us just held each other.”

I looked at the Judge and said “Judge Jones.  Do you know why they killed that horse?”

“Of course I do Thad,” he said, “They loved it.

That’s it.  Uplifting, huh?

Cheers!

Jim

Think about it. Our President is half white and half black. You don’t see him embracing his whiteness, do you? Bi-racial is the new black. Can we use the term “bi-racial” without offense? I’m pretty sure “mulatto” verges on violently not PC.

Gay white male. Cool. Elton John, Clay Aiken, Neil Patrick Harris, Captain Sulu, hell..even Barney Frank is out and he’s a US Senator! There’s no societal down-side to being gay and out anymore. Society’s all grown up now. Gay friends are fun, they’re cool and they’re all the rage.

White female…a black male magnet. Heidi Klum.

White lesbian. Extremely cool. Ellen Degeneres, Wanda Sykes, Lily Tomlin, Melissa Ethridge.

Black male…I should be so lucky. Lenny Kravitz, Denzil Washington, Barack Obama.

Any variety of Hispanic, with the possible exception of being obviously Mexican…extra cool.

White Anglo Saxon Protestant Male…done. Over. Yesterday’s news. It’s just so Hank Hill.

Paper-bag brown will be the color of America in the future. We’re already well on our way. Things are going to get interesting when the last white straight male in America is a minority, and the government and society will have to treat him as such.

The white straight male….a minority in America. Now there’s some food for thought.

Cheers,

Jim

“We flickr, we tweet, we update  facebook…the last piece of our social life that we don’t share with our friends is when we’re on the toilet” said Jim, the founder of Abeerforbreakfast and Crapn.com.

Your friends want to know when you're doing this.

“Personally, I get a little frustrated when I call one of my friends and I get their voice-mail.  How was I supposed to know they were on the crapper?  Now, with Crapn, the user can just send a little “poop” or “pee“  and I’ll know not to call them at that time.”

I'll take that call!! It's that important!!!

“I  envision toilets of the future with Crapn update buttons built-in next to the flush handle…a little #1, and a little #2. Hit the button and send a pee or a poop. This is going to revolutionize our experience in the bathroom. I think society really needs this,” said Jim.  “There is such an obvious void here…and Crapn fills it!”

“I think this is great for celebrities too.  People want to know when Ashton, Brad, Angelina…even Molly Shannon…

Molly, about to take a seat and update on Crapn!

are….well, you know…Crapn! We know everything else about them…this is a natural next step.”

Finally… a social-networking site with real meaning.  Stay tuned for updates!

Bottoms up!

Jim

“Uh, righty.  We’ll take all of the rough-hewn, Georgia mountain structures…tear them down and replace them with a Bavarian village!  Brilliant!  Cheers!  Drinks all ’round.”

Was there some pent-up demand for a Bavarian Village in North Georgia?  I’m sorry, but I really don’t get it.  I did promise to write about the magic of Helen and here it is.  Only in Helen can you turn this:

Into this…..

Huddle House in Helen!

Magic?  You decide.

Be sure you come back later this week.  Tomorrow you’ll understand why the Underground Economy will make the Fair Tax inevitable, and on Friday you’ll see what kind of magic I can perform on a 21 year old hot tub!

My whole trip to N. Ga was a disaster this weekend and it took me

Cheers!

Jim

Read this sign carefully

It’s always good to know that next time you need a flat tire, you’ve got a choice.  I called the number on the sign and asked the owner what he meant.  He hung up on me.

Here’s another great idea in case you need a faster way to get off of your roof.

That's a house. That's its' roof. Yes, that's a sliding board.

I knocked on the front door and met the owner of the house…Buddy.  He either couldn’t pronounce or didn’t want me to use his last name.  I asked him if he sold pool supplies.  (Logical explanation, right?)  “Naw” he said.  “Why do you have a sliding board on the roof?”  I asked.  “We like to get real drunk and use it for rasslin.’” (read: “wrestling”)

Click here for highly disturbing demonstration of roof rasslin’.  Warning:  strong language.

Ya’ll come back now, y’hear?

Cheers,

Jim

Fox News actually did a “how to” piece for wanna be Home Invaders!  Turns out there’s this thing called a “bump key” that’s readily available on the internet for about $50 bucks that can open virtually any door!  It can open your door, my door, my neighbor’s door, every door in the friggin’ country and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.  Not only did the genuises at Fox talk about it, they did a friggin’ demonstration on how to use one…despite what they said. Oh yeah, they also tell you where to get them.

Inquiring thug minds needed to know this.

“I’ve got a great idea! Let’s scare the shit out of everybody and give the thugs that didn’t have this info a “how to” video.  Crime will go up and we’ll have more horriffic news stories to cover!”  I imagine the pitch for the story went something like that.

So, you might as well leave your front door open with a map of your house that tells the thugs where all your stuff is.

In my opinion, some things don’t need to be broadcast…interrogation techniques, one more story on Octomom and instruction on HOW TO BREAK INTO MY F#%^ing HOUSE!

I’m sick of the media.

This took me a full

Cheers,

Jim