Everything is wrong with me
Friday, December 30, 2005
 
fun with the homeless, wishes
I always give money to homeless people. I rarely give to organizations, but always to people on the street that ask me for money. I know a lot of people are against this. Their logic is, “Well, if you give that bum money, he’s just going to get drunk, and that’s not going to help him any.” On the contrary, I think it will help him a lot. If you’re homeless and you use the $2 I give you to buy a bottle of Mad Dog, well, then go on with your bad self. If you have to sleep on the street every night, I’m not gonna judge you for wanting to get a lil’ fucked up. Whatever gets you through the night, s’alright, s’alright.

I admit that my willingness to give is not out of the kindness of my heart. It is rather a selfish gesture. I give to people less fortunate to cleanse myself of all my sins, which include but are not limited to lying, swearing, wishing death upon enemies and most women, misogyny, one count of manslaughter, twice masturbating to Dakota Fanning, and hatred toward those less fortunate. My hope is that when I die on September 15, 2008, I will stand before God at the gates of heaven and He’ll say,

God: “Let’s see here…on January 12, 1998, you punched a dog – in the face AND in his testicles – over a turkey club. On March 22, 2001, you lit your roommate’s car on fire because he beat you at Trivial Pursuit. You spent most of April 2004 on a crime spree in Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio. You have paid for sex on numerous occasions, three times with a man – whether or not it was ‘accidental’, as you claim, is not important to Me. And you haven’t been to Church regularly since you were 11. So tell me Jason, why should I let you into heaven?”
Me: “Well, um, I did give a lot of money to homeless people.”
God: [giving me a good look over, conferring with St. Peter, taking a deep breath] “Ok, here’s the deal: 500 years in Purgatory. If you get enough prayers, I’ll knock it down to 400. Take it or leave it.”
Me: “We have a deal!”
[Me and Gary Shandling, who will die only seconds after me on 9/15/08, exchange high fives.]

But I’m not stupid when I give either. If I don’t have any change or spare ones at the ready, I’m not about to be stand with a homeless person, routing through my wallet, only to eventually say, “Sorry, I don’t have any change.” If money is not at the ready, I’ll get change at a nearby store and then give some to the guy. This wariness was heightened when a few months ago a homeless man in the Lower East Side, right around the corner where I used to live, stabbed a guy my age. So I’m not about to get shanked while I’m standing there looking for a dollar bill.

Right now, I’m at home in Philly, and (almost) every morning (read: early afternoon) when I wake up, I head down to the Oregon Diner for breakfast. It’s only a few blocks from where I live, but hey – I’m fat – so I drive. There I get my usual meal: creamed chipped beef (if you don’t know what creamed chipped beef is, my sadness for you could fill an ocean). I then take the CCB back to my dad’s house, where I eat it in peace and quiet.

After parking in the lot of the diner, I was approached by a homeless guy, the first of three that would ask me for money (god I miss being home). A black guy in his late 30’s, he had the bottle of “cleaning fluid” and mess of newspaper and offered to clean my windshield for $1.50. He offered me this as I was walking from the car to the diner, and I told him I didn’t have any change. Then he started following me, asking, “What you need change for? I’m out here tryin’ to hustle!” I shouted back, “I need to get change. I’ll hit you when I get out of the diner.” At this point, he began stomping after me, now yelling, “I said, WHAT YOU NEED CHANGE FOR! You need it for $5? $10? $100? I got it baby! I’M A HUSTLER!” I wasn’t perturbed by this, but rather walked into the diner and went about my business.

I got my creamed chipped beef and my change and left the diner. I gave one homeless guy standing by the entrance a buck. Then I gave a homeless woman laying in the handicapped parking spot of the diner a buck too. As I headed over to my car, I saw the guy who was yelling at me, standing near my car (actually, my mom’s car).

As I walked toward him and the car, he slowly moved away. When I got to the car, I learned why. He had taken it upon himself to “clean” my windshield: there was a disgusting, milky-looking residue smeared all over the windshield, a mix of blue cleaning fluid, newspaper ink, and the windshield’s natural grime. My reaction? That mother fucker. Even though he was yelling and being a dick, I was still going to give him a dollar. And the jerkoff messes up my windshield.

What followed was a parking lot shouting match between me and a homeless guy that I’m almost embarrassed to recount here. When I said, “What the fuck did you do this for?”, he asked for change. When I said, “Look at my fucking windshield!”, he laughed. And kept on laughing. Then I shouted, “Fuck you, dude. I’m going home – TO MY HOME!” I was hoping that this would sting him, what with me pointing out that I have a home and he does not – but he was unphased and kept laughing like a goddamn hyena. I got in the car and drove away, the wiper fluid shooting over the windshield, trying to clean off the mess, cursing the whole way.

There’s no real point to this story, except I admit that in retrospect (since this happened about an hour and a half ago), the homeless guy totally got me. He got some fat white kid to yell and curse at him after he intentionally dirtied his windshield. I was the one looking like the crazy person, yelling at this guy, while he laughed. I only wish that a car full of my friends would have driven by (“Why is Mulgrew getting all red and yelling at that laughing homeless guy?”). Homeless guy: 1, Me: 0.



This is one of several reasons why I love coming home to Philadelphia.

*************************************

It’s been a crazy few days, but it’ll be worth it when Sunday, my favorite day of the year, rolls around. Those of you who have been reading a while know that I am a Mummer. I won’t rehash an explanation of the Mummers Parade here, but you can read all about in a post from last year, which I just reread and found very informative. Good for me.

Next week, I’ll do some sort of year in review post or some crap, but just haven’t had the time to give it a proper review this week. Expect the next post to come either late Tuesday or sometime on Wednesday.

Until then, have a happy and safe New Year’s. I love you all and would be crushed if something were to happen, so be safe (within reason) on New Year’s Eve.

And I’ll save my mushiness for my week-late “year in review” post next week, but 2005 was a PHEEEEnomenal year, solely because of you jagoffs reading, spreading the word, and continuing to come back. I’ll leave it at that for now, but know that I am eternally grateful to each of you for everything that has happened for me in 2005 and I wish you nothing but the happiest of years in 2006.

See you next week and wish me luck on Sunday.



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