Hobos in Heat

The heat sent us all over the edge. The hobos took this to the next level and went completely diabolical on us all.

Despite the fact that it’s 100-plus degrees out there:

· Do not try to panhandle the dog owners by singing incomprehensible jazz ditties as though we’re on the stinking B train to nowhere and it’s not four billion degrees out and we’re all unsuspecting tourists who happened to be walking our dogs in the park with wads of cash and wearing all kinds of expensive bedazzles, because that’s what we do.

· Do not decide to take a leak on the side of a Jeep parked inconspicuously on the fucking street. Why the Jeep? Why not the Honda? And why not the various nooks and crannies throughout the Village that already smell like major distilled ball and twat juice? And when you’re finished, while lacing up your size 52 pants around your fifteen-inch waist, the pants bunching weirdly around your little body, do not greet an unsuspecting (horrified) pedestrian with this expression of “what the fuck you looking at ho?”

· Do not fan yourself with your shit-stained knickers while on the subway platform. It makes the already horrifying heat index of four hundred degrees (hotter than you need to cook a turkey) even worse.

· Do not threaten five-pound white poodles and tell the cops that you were attacked by one unless its name was Scratchy the White Poodle, because he really will fuck your shit up.

· Do not forget to take your meds, and if you feel it necessary to invoke your recent release from St. Vincent’s and list among your ailments anorexia, attention deficit disorder, migraines, falling arches, mosquito bites, zits, heat rash, tennis elbow, and dementia, you might want to actually consider the validity of your statement. If you had all these fine maladies, would you be able to string all these words together? And would you introduce yourself by saying you are not asking for money, when in fact you are? If you had been released from St. Vincent’s five minutes ago (which is located at Seventh and 13th), would you pass straight through the doors to the northernmost part of Central Park?

· Do not ask for money so that you can escape your abusive boyfriend by showing your victim two dollars and saying, “I need to get a cab to Brooklyn, and I only have two dollars.” Because your victim might reply, “A subway ride costs two dollars.”

· Do not take your daily morning shit on the Great Hill, right on the rocks, where the crack turds will cook into a puddle of drug-laced goodness. Because it smells unbelievable, and it makes the dogs crazy. And it makes the dogs high. Crazy high. Full of crazy crackhead hobo poop like crazy high.