Here’s a question: How many times can I talk about my unwilling involvement in the crazy street person society before you fall asleep at your computers? Perhaps even more pressing, how often can I mention the signal that I apparently emanate (not entirely unlike Batman), visible only to the hobo eye, before it stops? I enjoy master plans a great deal, and I was sort of secretly hoping that by repeatedly mentioning my incessant run-ins with the crazies of
No such luck, it seems.
In the event you’re not already passed out and drooling at the thought of yet another Metalia vs. Hobo tale, I submit to you this little gem that I discovered today.
I am going to hell.
…Which is funny, because I really thought that I’d been to hell already a few weeks ago. In case you were wondering, hell is the small portrait studio wherein J’s sister and I attempted to corral our collective children for a group picture. Did I mention that they’re all under the age of 4? Because I think that ratcheted things up way past, like, general hell and hurled our collective asses right into the seventh circle.
Somehow, though, no one told this to my hobo friend.
I was on my way home, and he boarded the subway at the stop immediately after mine. He looked at me and pointed right at me, saying, “YOU. You need this!” And attempted to hand me, and me alone, a small, yellow card. I demurred politely, but he pressed it into my hand, and smiled at me in a creepy Manson-esque manner. Please note: He gave a card ONLY TO ME. Not the other 45,030,327 people jammed into the subway car. I, and I alone was deemed worthy of his hobo card.
This would be the day I ran out of Purell.
I glanced down at what I imagined was a pee-stained card covered with a fine dusting of crystal meth, and read it. I promptly learned that I was going to hell. The back of the card is covered with some rambling, nonsensical parapgraphs, with certain words placed indiscriminately in quotes.
A sampling: “He is the ‘mediator’…he is your ‘ticket’ to “Heaven”…he is ‘the door.’ It’s proselytizing by way of that old SNL skit where Chris Farley put everything is air quotes (“I don’t ‘bathe regularly,’ I don’t ‘wear deodorant…’”)…just really well-written, all around.
The best part of it by far, though, is the front:
It is the most condescending shit ever (right down to the "DO NOT LITTER" admonition). You will also notice that the side of the card has a number of small creases, from where I, loser that I am, actually “attempted” to “tear” my “ticket” into “heaven.” (See? I "can" do "it," too!)
I was finally able to get my mind off of it when I remembered that in a few days, this bad boy will be making its way to my doorstep. I. Cannot. Wait. (Apropos of which: Any of you out there who have/use a Digital Rebel--are there any books/websites that you find useful in learning to, um...use the magical camera of amazingocity? Please help.)