Re: A Call for Donations

From Gary Harris

Sun, 22 Oct 1995

Deanna K. Tobin blurted this:

SarahS4151 wrote: "This is absurd knitting for the homeless??? If the homeless need knitted things, they have PLENTY of TIME to make their own. maybe they could even sell them and make money? What a concept. "

"I do not wish to beat this into the ground, however I felt that I had to respond to this post. You say you are from the west... perhaps it is not cold there. Over 100 homeless people die each winter from the cold in Boston alone. That is a far greater number of people than those who died in the cypress structure in oakland in the 1989 earthquake... an event that received national coverage. I cannot condemn people to a lonely death because they made some mistakes in life. I cannot think of a finer use for extra wool than to save a person who has had so little pleasure and comfort. "

Man, sometimes I wished I lived in the city. I'd love to stumble on a Homeless Popsicle. Think of the fun you and your new friend could have. Though the frostbite of the pecker would be severe, but worth every pain-wracked minute.

Seriously though, a 100, gosh I'd have never believed it, where I live we never see homeless people, the old ladies around here call the sheriff and he comes in and gets them and leaves and we never see them anymore. I've always wondered where the sheriff takes those old dudes. That's another thing, why is it that there is like a 10:1 homeless men to homeless women ratio? I'll bet it's tough to get a date, unless your a homeless homosexual.

I think instead of knitting scarves you all oughta be knitting straight-jackets, cuz them homeless fellers are crazy.

OBHomelessDudeStory:

Was out in the parking lot of some dress shop, my wife was getting an expensive gown to be a bridesmaid in a wedding. When this shopping cart wheels into view in my rear view. This tall thin dude is pushing it, well, I made the mistake of making eye contact (I know rule #1 is never make eye contact with the homeless or the retarded).

He wheels his cart of trash and stuff over next to my car. "Nice car you have", thanks I tell him (I was driving my '74 Dart Sport, very nice car). "What time you got?" he asks. "2:37PM" I say. "Nice watch, is it american made?" he asks again. "Nope", I say, it's Japan made.

This is when he got weird. He threw his hands in the air and screams, "Goddamned fucking japanese, we whip 'em and then let them whip us day after day, fucking japanese is the reason I lost my job!!!" At this point he slams his hands down on the hood of my beautiful car.

Out comes the Colt Cobra from the glove box, time to tell Mr. Homeless dude a few facts of life.

He sees the gun and I guess those last two neurons smashed together because he became quite lucid at this point.

"Gosh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hit your car." he stammered, wide eyed. I just slide the gun into my pocket and grab the steel knuckles from my visor, and wrap the 1/2 pound of steel within my hand.

"Not as sorry as you're gonna be!" I then walk up to him and swing my fist in a haymaker for his pelvis point. My hand nearly exploded from the shock of the rings of steel around my fingers smashing into his pointy pelvis. A feral scream erupts from his throat as he falls to the ground. Luckily the dress shop is off the highway in a grove of trees, and behind it is the projects, lucky for me. I threw him on his cart and wheeled him around back of the store.

He starts mewling softly from his cart, blood is staining his already putrid pants and runs back to his buttocks (he's lying butt-down on the cart). He looks at me with pleading, blood-shot eyes, he doesn't want what he knows is to come, but is powerless to stop it, or me.

I dump him and his cart out, and grab the leg of a mannequin (what was this doing in the cart? Now I'm dealing with a pervert and a loonie). I beat him with it, it is pretty thick plastic and makes a good impression on him as to the seriousness of his offense to my car. I tire of the batting practice and stop beating his bloody, tear stained face with the leg and throw it aside. I then start using my steel knucks for what they were designed to do, give clues to the clueless.

I started on his legs, ankles really. I beat in both of his ankles with three, short stiff jabs, blood starts to cover my hand, I think to myself I hope he doesn't have AIDS. I then smash his shinbones with punch after punch, the bones making a gory mess protruding from his legs. I pause only shortly on the knees, giving time for one punch to each cap. Then I punch the other side of his pelvis as hard as I can, the pain in my hand made me wince, but it's a dirty job.

I heard a sound behind me, the ladies in the dress shop had heard the screaming, and came out to investigate and watched, transfixed, as I beat the homeless man to oblivion. Interrupted, I give two quick punches to his forehead, causing two jolts of pain to erupt in my hand (god I was sore for a week), and his forehead caved in.

One of the women puked, but the rest were, oddly, smiling.

"That bastard comes in here all the time, stinking up the place and running off the customers," the owner said to me. "Thanks for helping us out, guess we'll find him tomorrow and call the cops, the gang activity in the projects has been heavy lately" she said, "now come inside and lets get you cleaned up."

Now see, homeless people are just like the rest of us, they just need a little love, a little compassion, and once in a while, they need a clue.

I see you need a clue as well, let me just grab them steel knuckles, while I e-mail your admin for your home address.........

Gary Harris

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Why, Gary, you are a man of many talents! How comforting to learn you've expanded your horizons from raping your disabled relatives to murine sadism. [Todd Buckingham to me]
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