Tonight, Coworker Dennis and I went out to a gay bar to be gay. At one point, I left him to guard our vodka-and-cranberries, and went out to take a phone call. On the smoking patio, I met the one straight dude in the place. Also? He was homeless. Also? He introduced himself to me by trying to kiss my neck.
Dubya. Tee. Eff. I could so clean up with the mentally unstable.
4 thoughts on “The Wrong Signals”
by “clean up” do you mean: have crazy homeless people sex, wake up in strange places, get your stuff stolen, and get Contact Crazy?
Cuz that’s probably true. It’d be better to “clean up” in the sense of receiving massive quanties of monies, property and jewelry, but that’s difficult.
Because, generally, the rich and mentally unstable are a bit on the rare side.
The Howard Hughes of the world are few and far between. Sadly.
Don’t knock it till you try it; there’s no outrageous cable bills when you’re homeless.
There’s also no outrageous cable bills when you don’t have cable?
Yeah, but then you might as well be, like, homeless.