Morons

I didn’t have a choice. I never have a choice. Welcome to America, “The land of the fees and the home of the slave”. See, this is how America is, not what they tell you in the fairy tales and on the streets. The real America. You pay someone to take you over here because you’re living in Hell. Out of the frying pan and into “Dente’s inferno”. I must have been a lawyer in my last life.

The land of opportunity. Here, I could get my brother a chair like there are free chairs everywhere. Free chairs on streets paved with gold. They don’t tell you there are homeless people on every street along with whores begging for money. Both are there because they’re broke, just like in our country. But anyone can get ahead here. Anyone can get a job. Yea, for minimum wage. Is that for here or to go?

Go to college. Fill out a FAFSA form. I don’t have a social security number. Then you don’t have college. So much for anyone can get ahead. I guess foreigners aren’t “everyone”. Xenophobia is everywhere. You talk to the subgroups and the subsubgroups and the groupssub and you’ll figure it out. What are those?

Subgroups are people who are Black, Latino or Latina, Asian, Native American or to put it bluntly non-white. Subsubgroups are groups within the subgroups that the subgroup don’t like. Like, in the bad old days, homosexuals in the black community. But these subgroups can go to the umpteenth power sub wise. And groupsubs and those in the main culture who still don’t fit like the white, male, straight ballerina.

Anyway, nobody is getting ahead. So, what do I got to do? I gotta find a chair for my son. My son has . . . I don’t know what he got, but I know he can’t walk, talk, or clean himself after he shits his pants. Man, some of these other homeless motherfuckers got shopping carts. Where the fuck they get shopping carts from? Hell, it ain’t as good as a wheelchair, but at least then I wouldn’t have to carry my son, Hank, everywhere. Wonder if his feet would fit in those two front holes? At his age, probably not, but . . . Nevermind. People say this is the whole reason we’re here, to fuck, have kids, get them settled and die. But who knows why I’m here? Do you? Right.

“This is the land of opportunity “. “Give me your tired, your poor. Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, your wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest tose to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” Guess that doesn’t apply to me or my son. I asked the son-of-a-bitch where he got the shopping cart and he said the trash. He told me Americans are wasteful morons; the rich and the poor. Oh no, this food is expired; throw it out. The expiration date isn’t the expiration date and our tastebuds know more than whoever puts these dates on foods. Moron governments. They throw away leftovers and we eat their trash. Why not put it in bags for us? Because of law suits. Idiots. Why would someone sue someone who helped them? Now, I can’t get safe food. Morons.

Does your son have allergies? Allergies? I don’t know. How about giving us samples to find out? See if he’s allergic to cheeseburgers, steak, lobster, French fries etc? And see if I have allergies?

See, no one said life would be a bowl of cherries. But no one said it was a bag of lemons either. Make lemonade? Right. Network, work, climb some ladder, fall down and land back on your ass. Who needs TV or movies? There’s enough drama in my life.

So, get ahead. Mug some old ladies and get cash. Right? Where the fuck do you buy a wheelchair? Go to the local library and get some shit like razors, shaving cream and maxi pads. I’m a man. What the fuck am I going to do with a maxi pad? We can stay in the library as long as we ain’t disturbing no one. Someone tells us we need a shower. No shit. Know anywhere where we can get a shower? Gonna pay for a hotel for us? Morons.

We are quiet and my son’s good, except needing a few changes. Use the maxi pads, right? Where’s there a homeless shelter with something to clean ourselves with? The give us a number and I call collect on a pay phone. What library in America still has pay phones?

A patron talks to us about what’s going on and says try calling 211, so I ask him for money for the pay phone and he says it’s free. Free to call. And I call and some lady keeps thinking I’m cold and telling me all these ways to avoid ice. Doesn’t make any sense. I ask her where I can go and she gives me an address. I borrow a tiny pencil and paper from the librarian and write down some address. I take it to the librarian and she says I can put this in my GPS. I don’t know anyone with those initials. I ask for a map and she looks confused. She takes a box out her pocket and asks how to spell map: M A P. She tells the box to define Map and it does. She again mentions the man or woman whose initials are G.P.S. So I ask her to introduce me to them. She says, “To who?” And I say, “To GPS”.

She then says all kinds of things about hitting a target and getting the Best Buy and all kinds of nonsense.

So, we leave the library and look for street signs and we, after 2 hours, find a gas station and I show them this sheet of paper and this man says to put it in GPS. Gotta find this person. Maybe they’re in the phone book