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Man takes Halloween Costume too far by Oakland’s Most Homeless Man Added January 21st, 2006 It is mid November. Most people are thinking about turkeys and Christmas or candles if you do that Hebrew thing. But, not one man. In the halls of Dill’s Pantyhose Inc.’s main building, there was an odd site. Working at a desk with everyone else was none other than an overweight mummy, typing up a report on the trends in the Midwest.  Well, I didn’t get his name, see, cuz’ I’m no fancy real reporter. I get the news straight, from the common non-working man. I represent a huge class of underappreciated citizens without the likes of homes. The popular notation for such a situation would be homeless, and of the homeless, it is know that I am the most homeless of them all.
But, that is besides the point. This man had a steady job, he was getting’ paid – and he still went crazy. His friends said they’re not his friends and that they only know him in passing, and didn’t know if this was normal behavior. I found that quite suspect. In fact, sources have told me that this man actually spent Halloween by himself, he did not attend a costume party or engage in trick-or-treating. Several sources claimed he had been in the mummy costume for months, and it was not related to Halloween. I have been living outside of his apartment now for several weeks, possibly three, maybe three and a half. I have been living off of his left overs, which include large amounts football pads. Yes, those shoulder pads, and footballs, and sunglasses and jerseys. They were ripped, but obviously too small for such a fat man, maybe he tried them on and ripped them, but he had been constantly in the mummy costume for weeks, and the time line didn’t match up. So, I moved onto his roof. There, I could see inside of his home, where he was holding a college football quarterback hostage, slicing off little pieces of the footballer’s biceps and feeding them back to him. It was ingenious. But, that left only the mummy part left to unravel. Why, why was he acting like a mummy? It just made no sense. So, I smoked some PCP and took a break. Fuck this reportin’ shit I concluded, the man’s a fag, that’s the only explanation. But, I had to be sure. See, that is the curse of the common non-working man. We have a tendency to not follow through with things, and, I didn’t. I’m not sure at all that he’s a homosexual, for in fact I have seen the man have no human contact other than the footballer. It also seemed his motivations with the boy were not sexually motivated, he merely stuffed his face with large meals right in front of the poor boy while screaming at him “Don’t Call me Fat! Don’t call me fat! Stop it! Stop calling me fat!” It was a hilarious site.  But, then I realized something. PCP plays some strange tricks on a poor man’s brain, especially in the area of time. After much thought, I realized I smoked the PCP much earlier, and in fact the fat mummy man had indeed not kidnapped a young footballer. He hadn’t even been dressed up as a mummy, and he didn’t work for a pantyhose company. I never even left the alley, I was just fucked up and I thought of this. It’s funny when you play it back in reverse, step by step, until you realize it never happened.
Mind plays tricks on a man. Or maybe it don’t. I don’t really give a shit. It’s Fuckin’ 2003, a man’s gotta’ be able to know what’s real and who’s not. It’s all part of a man’s dignity, his survival skills, to know who’s real and what’s not. If you smoke crack and you freak out and attack some little white kid on a skateboard foaming at the mouthe acting like you the devil and shit, you ain’t gonna’ survive long bein’ homeless. Me, I’m the best. One time I lived inside someone’s chimney for four years eatin’ coal and ashes. They found me out, I run, and get me the best home I ever done had. I live right next to the furniture factory, I get all the stuff they don’t want, and I work for 43 years to build myself a home. Then, I wake up one day, and the factory and my home are flooded from a hurricane. The moral of the story? Know your limits, don’t smoke crack on Thursdays around 22nd Street, keep it real, be polite to strangers, especially tall people, and don’t ever, under any circumstances, forget what you are talking about mid sentence. 2006 |
