The Fat, Pan-Handling Asshole is Back on my Corner Again

This fat bastard has been on the corner of Adams and LaSalle, in front of the Brooks Brothers in the Rookery building, for yonks. His manual of operation, during the years I’ve had the honor to pass by him and not contribute dick to his GDP, is always being on his knees (on concrete), holding out a hat and with a fake tear or two streaming down his face. I am not a heartless person who has no compassion for poor and starving people. There are starving people all over the world that I feel quite terrible for. However, all of these starving people have a couple of things in common:

1) They are not wearing a brand new Allen Iverson3 football jersey
2) They are not 125lbs overweight

I am not going to delve into the subject of why you would ever buy the jersey of a player in a sport they don’t play. This is a black cultural thing that I am not meant to understand. Sort of like how spectators at a golf tournament who are there to watch and not play golf, wear their fucking golf spikes, is a white cultural thing that black people are not meant to understand. But I digress. You’ve got to sell it to me buddy. Don’t cry to me about how you are starving and need some food when you’re sitting flush with AI3 gear and have eaten yourself into type 2 diabetes.

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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2 Responses to The Fat, Pan-Handling Asshole is Back on my Corner Again

  1. Anonymous says:

    1. During my time in Chicago I too saw this very panhandler. I was (and continue to be) befuddled by his “on the knees” approach. Is he attempting to project a repentant image, atoning for the past misdeeds which have led him to the life of a common street urchin, thus compelling passerby’s to afford him the endowment of their pocket change?

    Has he conducted a statistically significant analysis of net income on/sans knees and concluded that “knees” results in a margin increase offsetting the discomfort experienced as a result of 8 hours a day of kneeling?

    Is he just plain old brick shithouse rat crazy?

    2. This is the second consecutive post alluding to golf spectators wearing their spikes while attending a tournament. Steve C’s dad will not abide another such reference. Consider yourself warned.

    JP

  2. Nick says:

    1. Outstanding that “diabetes” is one of the tags for this post.

    2. I'd almost be more inclined to give cash to someone if they were at least honest with me and said they needed a 10 spot to score a rock or some smack.

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