Editor's Quick Tips, Vol. #10

Today's Topic: Roofs.

Remember when you had a roof over your head? It kept the rain from washing the dirt of your honest labor off of you (clean people who make less than $100,000 per year being the biggest boner-killer ever for the mustachioed puppy-rapists whom our society has deemed uniquely qualified for regular feedings of freshly-tasered hobo-meat). Now you sit in a drainage ditch as the shit excreted by those hirsute dog-boinkers washes around your trash-bag-enclosed legs, your tears mixing and mingling with a particularly acidic rain which would until recently have been possible only within the sulferic atmosphere of Earth's sister-planet, Venus, which the Earth will soon begin incestually to bone thanks to a synecdochal celestial ass-fuck made possible by the collective hard-ons of the turd-slurping Rich.

Why aren't you angry? Why aren't you and I burning a bank right now?

Revealed: Financial Realities Dictated By Dictator Bush

Literally everything costs money now, thanks to the declassified financial dictums of our recent asshole-polishing, self-styled Emperor. Blink? You now owe $7 to some advertising agency; it's called a "willfully missed advertisement-absorption" in marketing / accounting / shit-gobbling circles. Fart? $5 pre-emptively past-due to Lockheed-Martin, because flatulence has been determined by the Supreme Court to be a contravention of patented jet-propulsion systems. Thanks, Alito! What follows is a quick, wildly partial list of some small number of the things for which you personally, already, owe some corporation, because corporations are God and have access to massive metaphors with which to poke your soft, inviting colon.

• Banks: $2 ATM fee; $3 paper-money fee; $4 fee required to walk through door; $5 charge for walking on floor inside building; Air (anywhere on planet) $6 per breath; $7 charged for each penny withdrawn from account; $8 each second, for no reason, because why the fuck not?
  
• Convenience Stores: $1 fee for using debit cards; $84 fee for all cash transactions; bread costs $9,400 due to the taxes duly levied by the corporation which owns and operates your digestive tract.
• Electric Power Company: $4,000,000,007 monthly fee, thanks to God-given monopoly straight out of Gilded Age; $10 surcharge per microwatt-hour of power used; $4,104 fee assessed upon reception of each bill; 1.9 quarts of your blood to be consumed by vampiric CEO for each baby born, anywhere; 3 tons of dynamite inserted / detonated in each human's asshole annually, because hey, it's fun to watch guts being blown sky-high.
• Municipal Courts: All "court costs" to be paid either through castration or clitorectomy; judges' salaries now equal to GDP of entire universe and are paid entirely with revenue raised via resale of marijuana seized during routine, random traffic stops of any and all people whose skin has an albedo of less than 0.1; $5 surtax levied upon each human being on this Earth for each and every Republican judge who enjoys being publicly buggered by multiple elephants (99.87% of them fit this description).
• "Democracy": Each vote now requires payment to Wal-Mart in the amount of $47,376,082.93; only Rich People are, statutorily, henceforth allowed to vote; abject idiocy is a precondition and must be proven via willingness to eat asbestos while being smacked in the face with a titanium dildo 604 times; people too smart to pass test will be butt-raped by robots and shot into space, with Dick Cheney (who will robotically butt-rape them some more, for His astral pleasure).
• Healthcare: $18,074 surcharge for each illness; $1.99 fee (already past-due) per cell in your body (counting of which is your own responsibility and dereliction of which count is punishable by gonad-cancer); each case of gonad-cancer subject to (nominal!) $67,003,071.09 fee; failure to pay gonad-cancer fee punishable by live grenade shoved up ass by a laughing Dick-Cheney-borg.
• Restaurants: Required to serve boiled turds to all human customers; mustard no longer available; mustard gas $57,831.98 extra; rotting flesh of dead people whose skin has albedo of less than 0.1 now considered a delicacy.
• Heartbeats: $505.99 each; free-beat coupons available from CEO of whatever corporation owns the McDonald's brand; cost of coupon: 14,720 squatting blowjobs (jalapeno-consumption a prerequisite; peppers not supplied).
  

Editor's Quick Tips, Vol. #9

Today's topic: Bills

Bills, in case you're a Rich Person and are doing research into the shitpool we poor folks have to swim in (and eat from) are pieces of paper that issue forth from some turd-gargling Rich Person's computer. They demand ransom in the form of exorbitant amounts of money, of which only Rich People are in possession. These demands are legal--and reasonable--because Rich People are Congressionally permitted to use actual human beings for toilets. Tip: shit goes in the mouth, and piss goes in the eyes. This is the natural order, and its very nature excuses it from examination. So, poor people, enjoy those turds. It's the only food that God will ever allow you to eat, and he works in mysterious ways, so shut up about the fact that you have shit wedged betwixt your incisors.

Pay your bills, or you'll die. Can't pay your power bill? You'll die either by freezing or by eating rancid (because unrefrigerated) meat carved from the bones of people even poorer than you (I just blew you lint-swallowers' minds). Can't pay your water bill? You can't flush your toilet, and will die from shit-borne bacterial infections. Can't shovel money into some arbitrary hole? Six men will come and put dynamite in your asshole, after they eat your eyeballs and jizz into the sockets.

Word to the wise.

Editor's Quick Tips, Vol. #8

Today's Topic: Transportation

If you live in one of this nation's one (1) cities with adequate public transportation, fuck you. Cletus and I are stuck out here in the sticks (i.e. a city of 168,293 people), where even traversing a single store requires a 14-mile walk. I used to have feet, but they've been worn down to always-bleeding stumps, due to friction, and to corporate glee. I once received $3 to perform a bandaging of my gangrenous foot-stumps at a Wal-Mart management retreat. I got a standing ovation; I think several of the richest men in attendance shot jizz-loads into their shorts when they saw the blood.

Your car was stolen from you by a judge, who decreed monarchically from his (they're white men by law, judges) platinum-bidet-throne that your sole mode of transportation shall be skating upon your own feces. This decree is particularly frustrating to hobos, because judge-feces covers literally every surface on this Earth.

Need to get somewhere in order to make a living? Tough titty. Starve to death, please. Your life is a severe inconvenience to the cracker-ass, shit-slurping, dog-fucking judges whose whims are the dictums which define whether or not you'll be so hungry as to start eating your own flesh.

Bon appetit!

Your Future, In This Apocalyptic World

If Chipmunks are currently feasting upon your malnourished body, and complaining to Chef Entropy about the quality of the food even as you sit aghast, you're not alone. All is void, as legislated by Congress. President Obama will probably eventually enact some level of relief for hobos, but you will as a result of Bush's afterglow be long dead before Obama is inaugurated, meaning that you're already dead. If you're surprised, shut up, dead guy, because some possum is already munching your remains. If you see a rodent theme in these remarks, then you're right on the mark. Rodents will rule, starting Thursday. As the protein component of their diet, you deserve to be informed of your destiny.

Unfortunately, your destiny has been sold to China. Eat turd, a menu selection cooked up for you by House Minority Leader John Boehner.

Signed,
Editor (and Cletus).

Editor's Quick Tips, Vol. #7

Today's Topic: Rich People

Rich People think they're sooooooooooo fucking smart, just because your teeth are rotting and your liver is poisoned with lead from the stuff they make and you cry all day and they discover your secret identity. Big deal.

Want to feel proud, Rich People? Quit shitting in the creek where I get the water with which I make my ramen noodles.

These posts are supposed to contain my tips for fellow hobos. Quit hogging the key light, Rich People. Hobos, steal a Rich Person's mail. There may be a 4,000th credit card in there or something.

The end.

Five Poverty-Worsening Chain Reactions

Poverty doesn't just happen. Poverty just happens. One day you're eating a roast-beef sandwich in an apartment, and then a few days later you're scraping dried mustard off of discarded sandwich wrappers in an abandoned security-guard shack at the old closed foundry over off Broad St. It all starts with one tiny, honest mistake. And now that we Americans have traded economies with China, we can all expect an even higher likelihood that some seemingly innocuous thing we don't even realize we're doing will soon lead to us all performing sexual favors on feral dogs in exchange for clumps of delicious, life-sustaining hair. Let me show you how it works.

1. You're excited about some project you're working on, and you forget to check your mailbox for a few days. You miss your water bill and your service is disconnected. You call the water company and are told that it will cost as much as buying a 12-bedroom house in the Hamptons in order to have your service restored--apparently because each molecule of water costs $6,347.02 to manufacture.
2. You show up at a sales meeting smelling like a basketball player's feet, because you haven't been able to shower in two weeks. You do not make the sale. No money is coming in because of the visible stinklines rising from your torso. Your electric, phone, and internet services are subsequently disconnected, making your dreams of finding work impossible.
3. You can't afford to repair your car so that it will pass the emissions test, and so the state will not allow you to renew your plates. You are pulled over by one of the 9,567,371 police officers who boredly cruise your suburb (pop. 6,000) looking to boost municipal revenue. You are ticketed and sent before a judge, but your auto insurance expires before the court date arrives. The judge suspends your driver's license, gleefully bangs your car into a twisted wreck with his gavel, strips you naked, douses your entire body with lighter fluid and sets you ablaze, has you publicly flayed on the local ABC affiliate, and chews off your legs. You are thrown into a dumpster by a pair of fat, laughing bailiffs.
4. Unable to climb out of the dumpster because of your burns and leglessness, you survive for a few days by drinking flat bottle-remnants of EXTREME EXPLOSION COLA! and swallowing the odd rancid pinto bean or two. Finally, you and the rest of the trash are loaded into a truck and hauled off to the landfill.
5. You are buried under a bunch of heartless Rich People's discarded iPods and property deeds. You suffocate within a few minutes.

Think it can't happen to you? It's already starting. You're welcome.

Recipe: Hobo Risotto

Ingredients:

• White rice
• Ketchup packets
• Despair

Over a period of three months, collect discarded ketchup packets in the parking lot of the McDonald's next to the pawn shop which you visit daily, in vain, trying to sell your teeth and/or your left shoe. Yes, you could buy a whole bottle of ketchup if that bastard pawnbroker would only pay you a fair price ($400) for your left maxillary second molar. What a skinflint asshole that guy is. Anyway, once you've collected 15 or more ketchup packets, boil up some rice. Squirt ketchup packets into rice, stir, and consume between involuntary dry heaves. This recipe is easy to chew, even without a left maxillary second molar. See how everything works out neatly for you?

Hobo Business Proposition

As you all (i.e. Cletus) know, I'm trying to get my fabulous and insanely lucrative kitty-cat-lint-sculpture business going. How would you like to get in on the ground floor with an investment in this exciting growth industry? Are you drooling on your gravy-stained, stolen-from-Goodwill shirt yet? I am, but it's probably just a symptom of advanced scurvy or something.

I'm not asking for money, because of course Hank Paulson has outlawed money. No, that would be silly, whereas fashioning kitty-cat-lint-sculptures for bartering capital is anything but silly. What I need is lint--mountains upon mountains of delicious, nutritious, pliably-sculptable lint. Have wads of it in your dryer? Harvest it religiously from your stanky belly button? Sitting on a large lint-cache obtained through existing bartering channels you've devised? I want your lint, dammit, and I'm not too proud to beg.

Each pound of lint you send me will purchase one share of stock in Kitty-Cat-Lint-Sculptures, Ltd. You'll be paid dividends in the form of whatever I receive by way of kitty-cat-lint-sculpture-barter. Say I trade a lovely piece for a bottle of malt liquor: I'll mail you a Dixie cup full of booze. Sit back and watch the profits roll in as I do all the work!

Mail your lint to:
Kitty-Cat-Lint-Sculptures, Ltd.
C/O MATERIAL ACQUISITIONS
108 Hawkins St., Apt. 5
Chattanooga, TN 37415

Editor's Quick Tips, Vol. #6

Today's Topic: Phones.

As a confirmed hobo, you are not permitted to use telephones. Trust me, I tried it. I picked mine up yesterday and nothing happened, unless you want to consider the unmet need to converse with the outside world to be a "happening." It isn't, so shut up and go cry again.

If you need to talk to someone who is elsewhere, you'll simply have to walk to wherever that person is. That person will not be there when you get there. It's funny to everyone except you, so shut up and go cry again.

This whole thing is designed by rich people to keep you poor, if not to make you even more poorer than you already are. Such is the way of the world. If you don't know that by now, you'll know it by tomorrow. Pass me that bottle.