Charity

Never trust where your money goes when you donate to charity.. perfect example in this pic. Greedy drunks!

Fair Warning

Hungry?

A few months ago I was working at my old job and I realized that I was not earning enough money to eat. I was literally earning about a dollar and six cents an hour. So I had the bright idea of applying for food stamps. Just so you know, the gov doesn't really use paper stamps, they have modernized and now hand out chase debit cards! My friends all laughed at me but I thought, "I'm a tax payer in dire need of government assistance". So I rode my bike down to the local Foodstamp building in the bad part of town. When I arrived I noticed something very strange. The waiting room was full of baggy pants and over sized tshirts.. understandably. The shock was the number of fancy electronic gadgets that these people were fiddling with. It seemed that every teenage mother had an Iphone, an Ipod, a sidekick and a Blackberry. I don't even own an Ipod! How was it that these people could afford all these gadgets and were here waiting in line for government aid to purchase fruit loops and topramon? I was down to $1.07 in my bank account, I worked full time, ate in, didn't splurge on electronics and could barely afford my phone bill. I suddenly felt very poor and somewhat white trashish. I mean I was the only person there of "non-color". It was weird and I felt very intimidated. The wait was of course very long, it was a government building after all. And after 6 hours and not one number closer to my spot at the window I gave up. I figured that with out a crack addicted baby to use as collateral the chances of me qualifying for food stamps were pretty slim. So I got up and rode my bike to McDonalds and bought one dollar menu cheese burger with the $1.07 I had in my bank account. Maybe next time. When I'm really hungry again.

Craigslist Post of the Week

I found this gem today.. amazing!


Seeking to Feminize Fat (Flat) Feet

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Reply to: pers-622198729@craigslist.org
Date: 2008-03-28, 5:38PM EDT


Seeking chub, thick or fat guys into having me worship their feet and/or paint their toenails and transform their feet into sexy women's feet. I am looking for my face to be smothered by thick, flat, fat soles while I j/o. I am also very into fat BBW CD/TV who wear sexy heels and form fitting skin tight outfits (spandex leggings etc). Please respond if you are serious about this and can meet/host TONIGHT.




Location: Nassau
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Unemployed

For the last three weeks I have been unemployed. It has been very strange not having to rush to a terrible job in the morning. Not having to smile at a boss that knows less about her own business as I do. Not having to say "no problem" when you really want to stab them in the eye socket with a pencil. Now I spend my days trolling the craigslist job board and watching Weeds on Netflix. I barely shower some days. I order in. I spend all my money without leaving the house. The money that I am not earning. Unemployed.

Marry me?

Spending Money

When I was in college my mom and I tried to make amends. After many years of running away she finally took an interest in my life. There were times growing up that she would disappear for months at a time, surfacing in small hick towns with a new boyfriend and a new trailer. It was hard keeping track of her nomadic ways. It was even harder depending on her as a parent. But once college came I made sure that she would be there for me. It saved our relationship. I remember once I received one of her famous care packages. They were usually full of unnecessary objects. Broken coffee mugs, zip lock bags full or safety pins. Weird romance novels were my favorite. My mom has always been kinda the cool mom. The kind that would smoke pot in fornt of her ten year old son then ride off into the sunset on the back of a Harley. I kinda hated her for that. Being the cool Mom sucked for the kid. The kid always had to make coffee for her, and buy cigs for her, and basically be her parent. That's what sucked about having a cool mom. Although, when I was in college she did send me the best care packages. A few times I did find tiny zip locks full of bad stuff. Meth was an easy sell. She always included a note.. In case you need some extra spending money! Like I would really sell free drugs. No way, me and my friends would snort that shit in one night. Be up for ten! This is were the true love for my mother came about. I admired her even more. Just imagine the kind of strength it takes to be so bold as to mail crystal meth to your son. Amazing. She's kinda famous.

Secrets

For years now I have been secretly addicted to Craigslist. I like to read all the insane postings on the M for M section. SOme of the things I run across are beyond weird and some are just plain gross. Once in a while I run across an insanly funny post. Like this one bellow posted today.



What I am Making for Breakfast Tomorrow and Sunday - 35 (Upper East Side)

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Reply to: pers-613994823@craigslist.org
Date: 2008-03-21, 4:14PM EDT


On the weekends, I like to make myself a nice breakfast. For me, breakfast means eggs. I try to watch my cholesterol so I usually have egg white omelettes or use Egg Beaters, which taste just like whole eggs. I will probably make some scrambled Egg Beaters (I like their garden vegetable or southwestern variety) with some melted American cheese and lots of black pepper. I will have it with rye toast and, if I can find them at the supermarket after work today, breakfast sausage made with mostly turkey - low fat but delicious. I also am quite fond of turkey bacon but only if it is Oscar Meyer, Louis Rich or Butterball - avoid Jenni-O (it is horrible).

The perfect accompaniment to this would be a nice, wet, sloppy blow job. If you want a nice breakfast, write me - we suck each other, then eat.

Injans

Shiv

As I often did after a hard night of boozing with the gays I would drive down to 16th and Mission to score some Tar. It was always very late and all the bummies would be safely nestled in the cardboard shacks and trash bag tents. I would walk up to the Mexican trannie bar and ask around trying to score. But this one night I got bamboozled. It was a known fact never to ask a black crack head for Tar. They tended to sell you gum wrapped in plastic or shoe polish in tiny balloons. But this particular night I was desperate, and very drunk. Very. I remember wearing a puffy vest, not the tacky kind from Old Navy, but a cute vintage ski vest. It was a chilly SF night and there were few dealers out. When it became evident that I wasn’t having any luck I approached the crack head. “I gots what you need baby” he assured me. I handed him a twenty and he spit out a tiny balloon. Score I thought. As a precaution all junkies immediately place the balloon in their mouth and bite down on the slimy rubber to check the authenticity. Rats! I was scammed. The sweetness of Bubbleyum alerted me. I quickly ran back and confronted the crack head scamster. Bad move. He quickly produce a shiv and stabbed me on my side. Shit. Oh wait, I’m wearing a puffy vest. Soft armour. Have you ever seen a hungry junkie? They can do some desperate shit. It might have been the booze or my sheer lack of class. But I instantly reached for the closest item to attack him with, a wire government trash can. I smashed it over the poor guys head and took my twenty bucks back. And like a true lady I thanked him and went on my way. I did eventually find some real Heroin and when I returned to the car my friends gasped. I had torn my shirt, had stuffing coming out of my vest and had a nice swollen shiner. But I had my tar!

Dessert?

Once I was invited to a dessert party. I had never been to a dessert party and was very excited at the opportunity to make some amazing costumes. I devoted a whole day at Michael's shopping for spongy foam and plastic strawberries. After hours of painful hot gluing I surfaced with the most amazing hats you have ever seen. We were going to be the hit of the party. My friend and I wore pink and red. I wore a two foot tall pink cake, with white icing and strawberries. He wore a strawberry shortcake bonnet. We looked like total edible fags. I loved it. When we arrived at the party I was shocked to find that not one person had gone in costume. The host polite informed us they when she invited us to her dessert party she wanted us to bring a dessert, not come dressed as one. It was a very sad event. All the adults avoided us and only the nine year old daughter of the host talked to us. Desserts? Maybe I’m not refined enough.

Bus Ride

Once in SF I was ridding the 16 Mission bus at a very late hour. I was very drunk from partying with my gays and had to force myself to stay awake for the hour long ride in the sketchiest part of town. The bus at that hour was full of sordid characters. Bummies, trannies, hookers and drunk migrant workers. But they always kept to them selves. At one point a couple of crack heads got on. I do not exaggerate when I say crack heads. Two black girls wearing pajamas and over sized tshirts and unfinished corn rows. One tall lanky guy held a pillow and the other a fat bull of a woman held a bottle of Jack Daniels. I think they might have not been wearing any shoes either. Crack heads always lose their shoes! When the absent minded bus driver finally took notice of these ladies he immediately stopped the bus. For some strange reason he had an issue with these fine upstanding commuters. He polite asked them to discard the bottle of JD. That’s when things got ugly. Normally I try to stay in the shadows and I am usually the only fag on these late night bus rides. And crack heads love picking on fags. But I was drunk. Very drunk. The crack heads of course refused to part with their beloved JD and the bus was not going anywhere. As we waited some of the commuters became impatient, including me. And when drunks get impatient they get loud. The trannies started to yell at the crack heads, the bummies started to yell at the crack heads. Even some of the other crack heads chimed in. Then I joined in on the fun. “Get off the fucking bus so we can all go home!” Oh oh. Why did I do that, I though to myself. As soon as those words left my mouth I knew that was in for. Gay voices carry. Drunk Gay voices carry even louder. As I tried to make myself smaller by slinking in my seat the meaner of the two crack heads came after me. Stomping down the isle of the bus she came right to me. “What did you say faggot?” She actually said it. She, the barefoot crack head holding an open bottle of Jack Daniels was calling me a Faggot! “Shut the fuck up before I kick your Faggot ass!” she yelled. Holy shit I thought, this is gonna get ugly. And of course no one else on the bus was going to stand up to her, not the bus driver, not the bummies and not even my sisters.. the trannies. Before I had time to react I got socked in the face. Now, you might assume that because I am a fag I wont defend myself.. right? Wrong. I got all kinds of nasty. It suddenly turned into an Indian Jones movie. I was Indy, she was some voodoo witch doctor and I was going to get her fat ass off the bus! I grabbed on the the metal strap hanger and hoisted myself up, kicked my legs out and knocked her down on her ass. It was amazing. With the booze flowing through my veins I was unstoppable. I jumped to my feet and pushed her towards the back exit. As punches flew at me I quickly pushed her fat and smelly ass through the rubber doors and onto the street. I could hear cheers from the sordid bus riders. I managed to run back into the bus only to find out that we were not going anywhere. It turned out that the bus driver had called the police when I got punched instead of physically helping me. We now had to wait for them to arrive. What a waste of effort I though. A few minutes later I saw the flashing lights. The bus driver escorted me out to the curb and then quickly drove off. To my surprise the cops were very cordial. They insisted that we find the crack head that punched me. See in SF they have hate crime laws that kinda protect people like me. Sometimes. This is something that the obviously lezzie cop informed me of. I sat in the back seat as we drove around the block to find my barefoot friend. When we finally found her a few minutes later hiding behind some bushes the cops shinned a light on her and asked me, “is that the fat bitch that punched you?” Yes, yes, hate crime hate crime I shouted. My lezzie copper took this event to heart and was not o nice to the poor crack head. It was amazing seeing her get carted off to the joint. I felt like Milderd Pierce. I even got a ride home, shaving about forty minutes off my commute. Thank god for the SFPD and their many lezzie coppers.

Eyes Closed

There was a point in my life when I would close my eyes and wish that time would fast forward. Now it seems like there is never enough hours in the day. Like I am running away from something, and I am losing the race. Judy Garland use to say that she was always afraid that they would finally catch her. Who they were she never knew. But I can totally understand that feeling. Im not as depressed at it might seem. I swear.