Violence and Myths
All myths house truth my dear, demented little Heathens. Hell some times the Myths are more important than the Truths. They carry more weight, captivate our minds, hold our attentions by the balls.
I've thought a great deal about the Hobos I see standing on street corners or at busy intersections holding their cardboard signs inked by sharpies, dictating their pain and woes into little blurbs letting us know that they NEED US to feed, clothe, and keep them going another day, week, or month. Perhaps I should pay them to help me pitch ideas to Hollywood. "Hey, Hobo Man, I want pitch an idea where Britney Spears is secretly an alien princess who has come to sleep with every man on the planet and she has to avoid the other evil aliens who hate sex on Planet Earth that are lead by Tom Cruise and the Pope. Translate that into a cardboard sign for me."
Hobo Man disappears for a minute or two and returns asking for a fiver and giving me a freshly cut piece of cardboard that reads: STUCK UP WHITE MEN WHO HATE
THEMSELVES TRY TO PREVENT BRITNEY FROM SAVING THE WORLD WITH HER SNATCH.
I bow before a Master.
There are times I want to give these homeless men and women money. Especially after I've picked some pockets, but even when the money is legally mine. I hear my friends (and hell from people I damn well Hate too) that all these dirty homeless people are operating the biggest con since George W. promised to smoke Bin Laden out of his Cave. "They're all secret millionaires," I hear. "They make more that you and I while doing nothing all day. Don't give them a goddamn cent. Not. One. Penny."
When I hear this I react differently every time. I'll laugh awkwardly. I'll shake my head. I'll stare at those trying to get me in "The Know" like I've walked in on them fucking my sister. Often though my imagination begins to churn and all those sick freaks out there know that once my imagination is firing on all cylinders it's time to scream and run for the hills.
So what's the deal? Eh? Am I really watching the world's greatest Con job? (Second only to the criminal acts on Wall Street maybe?) I think well there HAS to be some kind of truth to it. These people that want to tell you just how corrupt these poor folk are must be educated to some degree right? This brings me back to Myths and Truths. I bet that there have been a handful of Hobos over the years that are scamming us. Someone, once upon a time, found out about them and revealed the TRUTH. This Truth has now evolved from a little demon to a steroid-induced three-headed dragon of a MYTH, so now the Myth drives people to talk about the "Truth" they know about these so-called poor, draining us of our money before going home to clean up and drive their Porsches and eat fish eggs that cost more than your heating bill. I bet these few rat bastards are responsible for the truly hopeless and downfallen to be ignored because "educated" pricks I occasionally call "friends" think they're Grifters of the highest motherfucking order.
In my infinite wisdom and sweet desire for Justice (and because I am a devious whore of ideas) I have devised a plan to take this MYTH back for my Hobos.
Soon you will find me on street corners and intersections and every where else I can searching my true Hobos out. The ones that can barely move due to their unfortunate situation. I will take them with me. Feed them. Give them clothes. Nurture their souls.
Then the training will begin. Boot Camp of a sort. (And I know all about breaking a man or woman and building them back up. Hell most of the Hobos are already broken. So they don't have far to go.) I will fashion them into a brilliant and deadly ideal. I will give them a reason, a purpose. I will give them a Mission.
Together me and my new brethren will find these liars, these fakers, these creators of Myths. We shall storm their concrete castles, their Fancy Liars Clubs, their overpriced unoriginal ideas of what happiness is, and drag them kicking and screaming from their places bought by those who felt sorry for them. Here we'll get these blubbering villains to make new signs. We'll give them new sharpies and the finest damn cardboard they've ever seen. We'll make them make sign after sign begging us not to crucify them in the streets, begging us to let the poor fuckers live. This time however they won't find the promise of mercy and charity so richly found. My Hobos aren't the shadows of human beings they were before. No sir. They're the sharp edge of the sword of Justice and so help us Baby Jesus some evil fucks need to get cut.
So it is here, one by one we'll pick these vultures off, until we've taken back the Myth and restored the good name of those that depend on society. After that though, well, we'll need a new Mission.
When the last creator of the Hobo Myth has been executed in the most gruesome stye possible with as much imagination as I can throw at it, I will turn these men and women and train them on some new ideals. I see our culture, our society, and I think that perhaps it would be better off doing some things my way.
My Hobos and I, we're going to make some goddamn changes around here.
And create us a New Myth.
And it will be glorious.
Amen.
(c) Shawn J. Douglas 2009
I've thought a great deal about the Hobos I see standing on street corners or at busy intersections holding their cardboard signs inked by sharpies, dictating their pain and woes into little blurbs letting us know that they NEED US to feed, clothe, and keep them going another day, week, or month. Perhaps I should pay them to help me pitch ideas to Hollywood. "Hey, Hobo Man, I want pitch an idea where Britney Spears is secretly an alien princess who has come to sleep with every man on the planet and she has to avoid the other evil aliens who hate sex on Planet Earth that are lead by Tom Cruise and the Pope. Translate that into a cardboard sign for me."
Hobo Man disappears for a minute or two and returns asking for a fiver and giving me a freshly cut piece of cardboard that reads: STUCK UP WHITE MEN WHO HATE
THEMSELVES TRY TO PREVENT BRITNEY FROM SAVING THE WORLD WITH HER SNATCH.
I bow before a Master.
There are times I want to give these homeless men and women money. Especially after I've picked some pockets, but even when the money is legally mine. I hear my friends (and hell from people I damn well Hate too) that all these dirty homeless people are operating the biggest con since George W. promised to smoke Bin Laden out of his Cave. "They're all secret millionaires," I hear. "They make more that you and I while doing nothing all day. Don't give them a goddamn cent. Not. One. Penny."
When I hear this I react differently every time. I'll laugh awkwardly. I'll shake my head. I'll stare at those trying to get me in "The Know" like I've walked in on them fucking my sister. Often though my imagination begins to churn and all those sick freaks out there know that once my imagination is firing on all cylinders it's time to scream and run for the hills.
So what's the deal? Eh? Am I really watching the world's greatest Con job? (Second only to the criminal acts on Wall Street maybe?) I think well there HAS to be some kind of truth to it. These people that want to tell you just how corrupt these poor folk are must be educated to some degree right? This brings me back to Myths and Truths. I bet that there have been a handful of Hobos over the years that are scamming us. Someone, once upon a time, found out about them and revealed the TRUTH. This Truth has now evolved from a little demon to a steroid-induced three-headed dragon of a MYTH, so now the Myth drives people to talk about the "Truth" they know about these so-called poor, draining us of our money before going home to clean up and drive their Porsches and eat fish eggs that cost more than your heating bill. I bet these few rat bastards are responsible for the truly hopeless and downfallen to be ignored because "educated" pricks I occasionally call "friends" think they're Grifters of the highest motherfucking order.
In my infinite wisdom and sweet desire for Justice (and because I am a devious whore of ideas) I have devised a plan to take this MYTH back for my Hobos.
Soon you will find me on street corners and intersections and every where else I can searching my true Hobos out. The ones that can barely move due to their unfortunate situation. I will take them with me. Feed them. Give them clothes. Nurture their souls.
Then the training will begin. Boot Camp of a sort. (And I know all about breaking a man or woman and building them back up. Hell most of the Hobos are already broken. So they don't have far to go.) I will fashion them into a brilliant and deadly ideal. I will give them a reason, a purpose. I will give them a Mission.
Together me and my new brethren will find these liars, these fakers, these creators of Myths. We shall storm their concrete castles, their Fancy Liars Clubs, their overpriced unoriginal ideas of what happiness is, and drag them kicking and screaming from their places bought by those who felt sorry for them. Here we'll get these blubbering villains to make new signs. We'll give them new sharpies and the finest damn cardboard they've ever seen. We'll make them make sign after sign begging us not to crucify them in the streets, begging us to let the poor fuckers live. This time however they won't find the promise of mercy and charity so richly found. My Hobos aren't the shadows of human beings they were before. No sir. They're the sharp edge of the sword of Justice and so help us Baby Jesus some evil fucks need to get cut.
So it is here, one by one we'll pick these vultures off, until we've taken back the Myth and restored the good name of those that depend on society. After that though, well, we'll need a new Mission.
When the last creator of the Hobo Myth has been executed in the most gruesome stye possible with as much imagination as I can throw at it, I will turn these men and women and train them on some new ideals. I see our culture, our society, and I think that perhaps it would be better off doing some things my way.
My Hobos and I, we're going to make some goddamn changes around here.
And create us a New Myth.
And it will be glorious.
Amen.
(c) Shawn J. Douglas 2009