There are plenty of homeless people to go around. There are people that need help.--David Treadwell, president of the Association of Gospel Rescue Missions' mideast district speaking on WILK.
There are plenty of homeless people to go around. Yeah, and he's banking on that. Literally.
It's certainly not a well-kept secret that I could do without the vast majority of these "charitable" outfits that have set up shop in this city. I've recieved my fair share of e-mail hate over the years after having hacked on some idiot magnet or another. And quite frankly, I really don't feel like getting into any scraps over them. One guy hugs a tree, while another puts it to some sort of productive use. Another fella subscribes to the hippiedom nonsense about smoking whatever it is that floats your boat, while the next guy can spot a f>cking slacker at 100 yards. Some folks claim that you should "Love the one you're with," (male, female or otherwise) while still others have no clue as to what the acronym STD stands for.
You do what you gotta do and I'll do what I gotta do. If you wanna help a bunch of able-bodied men survive their latest hangover, by all means, have at it. As for me, I think 99% of them lack for nothing more than a swift kick in the ass and a copy of the Times Leader classifieds. There are folks (mostly chicks screwed-over by their male partners) that are generally down on their luck and need some help. And there are those who's mental faculties have deteriorated to some degree. But from what I've seen in this city of ours, most of our "homeless" males bouncing from agency to agency sure look to me as if they could handle digging a ditch.
No, I'm not happy about this Gospel Rescue Missions outfit trying to set up shop on Park Avenue. And, no, other than drawing up petitions and busing a crowd of angry residents to a zoning hearing; I do not have any idea how to stem the tide of idiot magnets into this city. But...to defeat one's enemies, you need to understand one's enemies. Therefore, I have begun a process whereby I might be able to use the Association of Gospel Rescue Missions online Rescue College resources against this, or any other outfit that tries to round up drunks for profit in this city. Yepper. I ordered me a copy of Beginning Guide to Foundation Grants, a companion book to the Fund Raising Basics course they offer. According to their site, I'll recieve my copy within 3-5 business days, and I will then begin to study how these outfits secure grant dollars for the purposes of attracting idiots, keeping themselves employed and singlehandedly accelerating the reverse-gentrification process that serves to destroy the urban environment.
After I devour the contents of that book, I'll be ordering another one. And another. And yet another. And before too, too long, I should be the foremost authority amongst the average Joe's in this city as to how these "charitable" outfits do what they do. And then, not only will they have a resolute enemy. They will also have a knowledgeable enemy.
Stay tuned on all of that.
Many of you know what I do for a living, so you know I spend quite a bit of time in dreary basements, crawl spaces and voids that no human being should ever be asked to enter. Jokingly, I tell folks that there is not a basement in Luzerne County that doesn't have either some dusty, unused canning jars, or a dusty, unused weightlifting bench in them. On a serious note, you'll more than likely find both in most basements.
Plus, it's next to impossible to find a home that doesn't have both a pressure-treated rear deck and a ton of mulch surrounding the place. It smacks of a "keepin' up with the Jones'" thing to me. Cruise down any street in the more affluent neighborhoods of Luzerne County and search for a home lacking both the deck and the mulch. But don't hold your breath while doing so.
Pick a home, any home, let's say...in Dallas. Yeah, Dallas will do nicely. Take a cruise down Von Rockefeller Drive. Where's that checklist? Deck? 10-4. Mulch? 10-4. Black SUV? 10-4. F>cking stupid magnetic ribbons stuck to said SUV? 10-4. Points for originality? Um, 10-10, sir.
Ah, those f>cking stupid magnetic ribbons. Personally, I hate those f>cking things. What better way to support the troops than to stick a magnet on your M1A1 wannabe? You could send a care package to the troops. Or you could donate an air conditioner to the troops. Or you could send a pallet-load of toys to help the troops win a few hearts and minds. Sound too much like work? F>ck it. Stick a f>cking magnet on the Hummer and hold your cheezy cell phone as high as your head, while blowing away the posted speed limit. An "I support our troops," magnet sure stands out as an impressive effort on your part so long as your car on a monster truck chassis is the only one in the parking lot. Otherwise, from what I can see, damn near everybody and their red-headed step-sisters have a stolen "I support..." magnet on their Essex class vehicles. Sorry, but I'm not impressed.
In response to the stolen magnetic ribbon craze currently sweeping this patriotric (?) country, I had some of my own magnets made. Here's my favorite:
Now, I had a couple of other variations on that basic theme produced at no small cost and shipped directly to me. And I gave one copy of the lovely model shown above to my son. Unilke mine, which are taped inside of the rear window, the boy stuck his on the rear of his pick-up truck. And what happened next? You know. C,mon. Spit it out. You got it! Some asshole ripped it off. So, some hapless asshole in Wilkes-Barre is driving around with my creation proudly displayed on his car. A rusted-out Dodge Neon if I was forced to guess.
If I see that magnet on a vehicle, I'm gonna (use your imagination). Unlike most of the mental incontinents that call 911 for all sorts of idiocy not worthy of a policeman's, or a paramedic's time; I will not call and demand that a police report be filed over something as dumb as a magnetic ribbon.
But...in my most perfect of imagined worlds, the following would one day come over the scanner.
580: County...run this magnet. Romeo, India, Bravo, Bravo, Oscar, November, Sierra...
Anyway, if you happen to run across that particular magnetic ribbon on any vehicle other than mine, you also happened to run across a useless asshole that'll steal anything that isn't nailed down.
That's about it for the latest BOLO (be on the lookout for) alert.
I don't know about the rest of ya, but I got me a tan. And I didn't even go and lay in one of those coffins at the local tanning salon with all of those skinny divorcees. Two weekend days, two bikeabouts. Two bikeabouts, sun tan. Gee, that was easy. And I didn't have to pay anyone for the right to a tan. Can you even imagine laying in a coffin to get a tan so as to prove to all of your friends what an outdoor go-getter you are? What a young and vibrant image you project. It's all bullsp*t, but the male divorcees seem to like it. It kinda reminds me of when the overweight folks endlessly circle the Price Chopper lot looking for the closest parking spot possible to the store. Wouldn't want to walk 100 yards for those frozen Weight Watcher products, would they? Technically speaking, that'd be like exercise. And we wouldn't want to suffer through that and the low-carb diet, too.
Reminds me of the bygone restaurant management days when the severely overweight folks would order ice cream sundaes the size of asteroids, and then ask if he had diet sprinkles to top them off with. You have no idea how hard it was to keep a straight face. Or they'd order a huge sundae littered with candies, and then request diet whipped cream. One lady wanted to know if we had diet ice cream. You wanna lose weight, but you can't skip the desserts? You want an incredible tan, but you'd prefer lying in a coffin to paddling a kayak? Is it me?
Whatever. I enjoyed two rather lengthy bikeabouts this weekend. I never, ever thought of my weekend rides as a workout. Others probably would, but I find them to be a great form of relaxation. I wander about aimlessly and...well, that's about it. I wander about aimlessly.
And then I bought that trail bike for Gage Andrew. He weighs about 35 pounds and that bike weighs more than that. But even with that much weight dragging along behind me, these rides still didn't approach that of a workout. And now I've added a front mount kiddie seat to the equation. Some bicycle pro tried to talk me out of buying this latest device after seeing a picture of the trail bike, and in the process, insulted me repeatedly. I guess if I don't dress like those pansy boys from Europe in their spandex, I'm just not worthy on the bike curcuit. Whatever. The spandex boys can think whatever they want.
So I bought the front mount kiddie seat, which means I've not only got Gage Andrew trailing along behind me, now I've got one of the two toddlers seated right in front of me and directly behind my handlebars. It's a lot of weight, but evidenced by the past two days rides, it doesn't affect my balance. So we're good to go. Although, it does cause me to break a sweat.
Taylor sat in the front seat for 3 hours today and loved every minute of it. Zack took the helm yesterday and passed out inside of an hour and a half. He was comical. His helmet kept swaying back and forth between my forearms, which I thought was quite a hoot. Eventually, he just collapsed forward and spent the rest of the bikeabout with his helmet laying on the handlebars. Oh, and Gage took his first tumble off of the trail bike on Public Square today. I kept reminding him to hang on and I think he's got the message now that he met the tarmac all close like. He said the miniature bike gloves saved him. Yeah. Whatever works.
See that pic? We were cruising along in the alley behind the South parking garage when I heard this god awful noise behind me. I spun the bike train around and spotted that rental van jammed in a place where it shouldn't have dared to go. Although, it's kind of typical coming from folks renting vehicles much larger than what they're normally used to driving. Yo! They post those low overhang warning signs for a reason, kiddies. The truck is 6' 6" high and the garage is posted at 6' 4" low. You make the call!
So I headed towards the stuck truck and the driver went sprinting past us in the other direction. Once I got the kiddies dismounted, I called police headquarters and reported the latest from Livingston Lane. No, not 911. I dialed 826-8106. I like fast service. Anywho, I thought the non-dude was abandoning the rental truck. Just before a police cruiser arrived, two folks I assumed to be friends of the fleeing driver showed up and assessed the situation. And before long the chickie let loose with, "He's such a f>cking idiot!!!"
So they flattened the tires, had one guy stand on the tail for some added weight, and got the thing out of there with some damage to the top. And possibly some damaged tires. And judging by what the chickie had to say, maybe even a damaged relationship. When they return that rental to Joisey, they had better hope the guy responsible for inspecting the returning trucks is a total slacker. The odds are probably in their favor.
This is a keeper.
Ahem! Listen to me tell it, sh*t-for-brains. Head on down to the local library and find a dictionary. And iffin' you can operate the thing without assistance, set a scary personal precedent and try looking up the word "alleged." Do it. Educate your functionally illiterate self. That's "alleged." Trust me, it won't hurt too much to exercise your brain. One more time: "Alleged."
You should find something along the lines of accused but not proven or convicted. Or in your case, something akin to an alleged intellectual.
The city should shut me the farg up?
Bill of Rights
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.
Put that in your step-daddy's funky-looking crack pipe and smoke it on the wet side of the bed!
Me gotsta go.
Do me a favor. If you happen upon a toddler snoozing away on a bike, try not to run over it. Okay?
RIBBONS ARE EFFING STUPID!