Dude East Rodger's Park is the best place in the world. If suddenly you wake up and look at the sign next to Loyola and it says, "Malibu" you know you are in the right place.
Oh man. I used to get like that too. Waking up in strange places. Not remembering where I was parked. I had fun, but I sure don't miss the haze and confusion.
A few things are still confusing me about this story. 1) Why were all those bums sleeping around you? 2) Who was this good samaritan? He's riding his bike through the park at the wee hours of the morning and suddenly spots a bum trying to rob you so he drives through a pile of bums, catches the guy, grabs your wallet then shakes you out of a perfectly good slumber? Who was that guy and what the hell was he doing there?
I would like to know the answers to those questions myself. I don't know about now, but back in the mid-90s there were a lot of homeless in Chicago, and they slept in the parks. I was surprised to find they had congregated around me. They probably thought I was homeless and that I had picked a good spot.
I don't know anything else about the guy on the bike other than what the police thought of him. He saved my wallet, not that there was anything in it. He was probably riding home and cutting through the park, saw me, and intervened. My mother thinks he was my guardian angel, but would an angel need to ride a bike? Mom doesn't always think these things through before she says them.
OK, I think I figured it out! Your mom is absolutely right. The bums represent your past indiscretions. Your wallet is your soul at the time: empty. The guy on the bike was your guardian angel saving your soul. The cops put you on the path of righteousness and the hooker represents temptation always looming in the background. I'm just making this shit up, so work with me.
Is he right? Because that is one popular interpretation, and I'd like to believe that, but I was there. The wallet does not represent my soul. My soul is clearly in the briefcase after it was extracted through the base of my skull, thereby requiring a telltale band-aid. The cops represent those who oppose free market capitalism. The prostitutes represent the free market in its purest form. The bums represent the moochers and second-raters looking for a handout. The wallet represented my value in our capitalist society. It was empty, but only after I supported a local business by holding a master class in crapulence. Although penniless, I was rich because my philosophy was pure. The whole evening was my journey, in both the phenomenal and noumenal worlds, to Galt's Gulch. The bicyclist was none other than John Galt himself, saving me from the moochers and the fascists. The hooker who looked like Nortorius BIG represented Dagny, my love, who was a bit of a whore, now that I think about it, but knew something about putting down rail.
You woulda been shot by the cop after he told you to get up against the car and you continued to put your hand in your pants to tuck in your shirt...
if...
you were darker skinned.
Something to think about, ya know, LUCK.
congratulations @@@johnthefelon your video was in @comedyopenmic's top 10 list this week. Being a Muslim I never get blacked-out drunk, but when my dad caught watching porn once, I was blackout punched.
Man you truly are @johnthefelon, eh? Great story!
Thanks. It's nice I can laugh about it now...sort of.
Dude East Rodger's Park is the best place in the world. If suddenly you wake up and look at the sign next to Loyola and it says, "Malibu" you know you are in the right place.
Please get the prostitute's number for @holybranches, especially if she has a little goatee
LOL
I'll see what I can do, but I'm guessing she's dead. Yeah, shit just got real.
Oh man. I used to get like that too. Waking up in strange places. Not remembering where I was parked. I had fun, but I sure don't miss the haze and confusion.
Good story.
Yeah, I have too many of those stories. That's why I stopped drinking.
Crazy story!
A few things are still confusing me about this story. 1) Why were all those bums sleeping around you? 2) Who was this good samaritan? He's riding his bike through the park at the wee hours of the morning and suddenly spots a bum trying to rob you so he drives through a pile of bums, catches the guy, grabs your wallet then shakes you out of a perfectly good slumber? Who was that guy and what the hell was he doing there?
I would like to know the answers to those questions myself. I don't know about now, but back in the mid-90s there were a lot of homeless in Chicago, and they slept in the parks. I was surprised to find they had congregated around me. They probably thought I was homeless and that I had picked a good spot.
I don't know anything else about the guy on the bike other than what the police thought of him. He saved my wallet, not that there was anything in it. He was probably riding home and cutting through the park, saw me, and intervened. My mother thinks he was my guardian angel, but would an angel need to ride a bike? Mom doesn't always think these things through before she says them.
OK, I think I figured it out! Your mom is absolutely right. The bums represent your past indiscretions. Your wallet is your soul at the time: empty. The guy on the bike was your guardian angel saving your soul. The cops put you on the path of righteousness and the hooker represents temptation always looming in the background. I'm just making this shit up, so work with me.
Is he right? Because that is one popular interpretation, and I'd like to believe that, but I was there. The wallet does not represent my soul. My soul is clearly in the briefcase after it was extracted through the base of my skull, thereby requiring a telltale band-aid. The cops represent those who oppose free market capitalism. The prostitutes represent the free market in its purest form. The bums represent the moochers and second-raters looking for a handout. The wallet represented my value in our capitalist society. It was empty, but only after I supported a local business by holding a master class in crapulence. Although penniless, I was rich because my philosophy was pure. The whole evening was my journey, in both the phenomenal and noumenal worlds, to Galt's Gulch. The bicyclist was none other than John Galt himself, saving me from the moochers and the fascists. The hooker who looked like Nortorius BIG represented Dagny, my love, who was a bit of a whore, now that I think about it, but knew something about putting down rail.
Ha! A much better interpretation. I think this could be the start of a great novel. Btw, you had my vote for Jester last week
Thanks. I really like your stuff. There are only a few people I auto upvote, and you are one of them.
You woulda been shot by the cop after he told you to get up against the car and you continued to put your hand in your pants to tuck in your shirt...
if...
you were darker skinned.
Something to think about, ya know, LUCK.
Can someone write that Harry Chapin song, sounds right up our alley.
Laser Schrlerin Method gets us rock hard every time.
Can someone write that
Harry Chapin song, sounds right
Up our alley.
- tenhanger
I'm a bot. I detect haiku.
congratulations @@@johnthefelon your video was in @comedyopenmic's top 10 list this week. Being a Muslim I never get blacked-out drunk, but when my dad caught watching porn once, I was blackout punched.
Now that is funny. Thanks for the good laugh, and the top ten pick.