I think I’ve mentioned that I work in the ghetto.   If I haven’t well, now I have.  I work in the ghetto.   Not even the loose definition of ghetto.   This is a full-fledged prostitute filled, mostly minority (black and Hispanic people – or as the local mechanics oh-so-cleverly call them –  ‘spooks n’ spics’) populated, drug dealer market, hobo infested, wasteland of humanity.   However, of all these nefarious elements which you find in the delicious cornucopia of human life known as downtown Orlando, there is one that I especially fear for their sheer number, smell, and lack of an education.   I refer, of course, to the hobos.   If you were thinking that I was talking about those damn ‘spooks n’ spics,’ congratulations… you’re racist!

The hobos, yes.  I hate hobos.   They are thicker than fleas in the glorious city of Orlando.   A city, it should be noted, that’s board of tourism refers to as ‘the city beautiful,’ which is such a distortion of the truth that I’m surprised that more people haven’t sued them for false advertising.   I have a fairly good reason for hating hobos, aside from the fact that they lie about being hobos.   You know what I mean if you’d ever been approached by one.   Some smelly dude with a scruffy beard and no teeth will come up to you with some convoluted story about how his family needs bus fare back to where-the-fuck-ever or that they need a few bucks to rent a cab to get to the airport.   Like anyone believes them.   Nothing worse than needing money for booze and cheep bum hookers but to always try the ‘bus fare’ story, poor form Orlando homeless, poor form.  That’s not the reason for my hate of the homeless local to this area.   I’m sure there are some nice homeless guys, full for worldly wisdom and perfectly sane, in fantasy land; however, over here you get the best inner-city bums Orlando has to offer.   The ones that will walk down lanes of traffic at red-lights banging on your car’s window and yelling insults at you if you don’t give them change, or the ones, that have made me hate the homeless in Orlando…. the ones that shit on your building.

'The City Beautiful,' my ass.

You heard me, shitting on the building.   For the past two years I’ve had to work at a building that the homeless like to hang around at night since it’s on the same street as the shelter.    They hang around the building because they use it as a toilet.  A big, stinky, swampy, bum toilet.  Like a giant outdoors truck stop men’s room.  There’s nothing quite like the lingering aroma of urine, shit and broken dreams to snap you into the right frame of mind for a day of mind-numbing tedium at work.   Especially during the summer months, when Florida’s natural humidty and sauna-esque heat gives the air around the building a presence all it’s own and ensures that the funk will linger outdoors waiting to assault your nasal cavities like a stink bomb fermented in rotten eggs, forcing you to nearly gag whenever you mistakenly inhale within 50 yards of the god damn place.  Also, in case you’re wondering why there are streaks on the wall in that picture… what do you think they use as toilet paper?  The thing which angers me the most is that there’s a big grassy feild less than ten feet from our building!   They don’t even need to shit there, it’s obvious they are just doing it out of some sort of really disgusting passive-agressive anger at society for them being homeless.

As a creative solution to the bum shit problem what we’ve been doing to get rid of the stench is to use a pressure washer with a bleach solution in it to overpower the smell and kill the gross musty fog that seems to linger about the back of the building.   At first these attempts were successful, but that just tempted the hobos to up their game.  What probably passed through their minds was something along these lines:  oh dear god my life is a sad joke but I will take out my frustrations on this building thereby reminding humanity of how it broke me by pooping on this building once a month… I would do it more if they’d only clean the place up every other day.  Oh joy!  What luck, they do!  Let me go tell all my bum friends to come along and shit with me.  Hobos unite!

What we failed to account for was that cleaning the stink up would make them do it more, this is where I finally had enough.   After almost two weeks solid of being forced to clean up hobostink, the bums got the idea to move in to the back area of the building.   They brought their carts, and their trash, and their stinky sleeping bags that reek oh so subtly of sweat and tears, and they parked all this shit in the back of the building.

I couldn't get a more detailed shot or much closer, it smelled too bad. The Standard Hobo Mode of Transport. Love the discarded bottles of alcohol, way to live up to the sterotypes guys. Back-up carts.

As a result I wrote, printed out, and posted on the back wall of the building and the dumpster a formal declaration of war, which read:

Dear Homeless,

Your passive-aggressive rage aimed at this building and society in general has grossed me out for the last time.   We’ve been forced to clean up your disgusting fecal matter for months and you’re clearly just doing it to be spiteful.  Well, I’m sick of smelling your piss and shit fermented after a dewy Florida night warm up in the day and spread all over the back of the warehouse like ‘unwashed homeless’ scented air freshener.     It’s not my fault you let your life get so bad you spend your nights shitting on building and crying over the family or friends that are either dead or disowned you or the fact that you will never know happiness again.   If you do not clear out your hobo gear and stop shitting on the building I will be forced to retaliate.

Signed,

Dudelicious McAwesome Xtreme, Anti-Hobo warrior.

P.S.  Go ahead and shit on the building again, I dare you.

Beneath the sign I left a case of water, to at least show that I don’t totally fail to sympathize with our homeless denizens of this great and wonderful city.

They shit on the sign.  Big bum poo streak right down one, the other was knocked to the ground and shat upon.

It gets better.

They peed in the water bottles.

It gets even better… they threw the water bottles filled with pee at the building!   The fucking homeless were waging war on us, but instead of trying to smoke us out they were trying to stink us out.   Well, I was forced to retaliate.

Keep in mind I was pretty angry by this point, so I got the forklift and hoisted their shopping carts in the dumpster.   All their booze, bum clothes, and blankets, all thrown away, and it’s not like they can just fetch the shit out of the dumpster… oh no.   Our dumpster has a bar that locks it shut so that homeless people can’t go digging in our garbage.    Now I couldn’t very well just throw out the carts that were not on our property (see picture number 4 above), so I decided to give the homeless a taste of their own medicine.   I shoveled up all the hoboshit around the back of the building (I wore a mask to keep the stink from making me vomit) and hurled it at the carts like the most foul catapult ever devised by man.   I repeated this process for the piss-filled water bottles.    So now all their stuff is either locked in the dumpster or covered in their shit and piss gloriously brewing into a delicious bouquet of smells for them to stumble across tonight.

If you think my tactics are harsh, simply remember one of Machiavelli’s most famous bits of the advice from The Prince.   If you are going to crush someone, do so completely, so that you have no fear of them retaliating… or shitting on you.  Those homeless won’t fuck with me again.


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