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Hobo Wars Episode 5: The Bumpire Strikes Back

In my previous article I stated that the homeless would not fuck with me again.   Right now I am sad to report that those words were a tad bit premature.   Now I know how Bush felt when he addressed the US a few months into the Iraq War with a giant ‘Mission Accomplished’ banner in the background; that, by the way, he totally knew nothing about.  You see, I failed to listen to the sage advice of many famous tacticians from the past.   That advice was, simply, don’t pick fights with people who have nothing to lose because there is nothing to be gained from fighting them and no way to make them stop.   The homeless, apparently, couldn’t care less if you stink up their little hobo carts and they don’t seem to mind too badly if you throw them out.    They’ll just find another cart to steal and fill with random junk and garbage, and bring it back.   Frustrating, kind of like a mongrel dog you just want to go away, so you pitch a stick and the ugly thing just keeps bringing it back no matter how many times you throw it into traffic.

The battlements of the mighty Hobocity.

So, it seems that I have underestimated my homeless foes, and that they have decided to strike back by forming a grand hobo armada in the back of the building.  As I write this, there are probably somewhere in the neighborhood of 15-20 homeless people living in the lot behind they building.   They have gloriously erected a testament to the times which I lovingly refer to as ‘Hobo City’  or as one of my co-workers called it ‘Bum Fest 09.’  Hobocity is a wondrous place, where the denizens can enjoy all the perks of their downtown location, stinky old blankets adorn the fences of the lot to mark their turf, they have plentiful stolen lawn chairs on which to sit all day and contemplate things like cannibalism and optimal change harvesting locations, a nice building to use as a bathroom, and they proudly send hobo war parties out to collect change and food as well as cash registers.   You heard me.   Cash registers.   This homeless army has got ridiculous.   I thought it was bad when I first wrote about it but holy shit it’s turning into a regular sitcom.  So get this, a couple of days ago several of the hobos from hobocity wandered to a business that is literally 50 feet from the lot they are staying in, shoved their way through lines of waiting customers, and fucking grabbed the cash register and walked out like they owned the fucking thing! 

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1, 2, 3, 4… I Declare a Hobo War!

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.  

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