Beg For Your Num-Num

 

Part 24 of 30

The Mam & Pap

Royal Splendid Traveling Rodeo

We live in interesting times in terms of our expectations, what we think we deserve and what we can have. I’m thinking in particular about the whole issue of eating, the meals we’ve come to expect, and the meals we often down without so much as a moment’s reflection on it as provision. I crunched myself though a handful of chocolate candy crackers and wish now I could've gone slower.

The rodeo’s close to my heart, thanks to my dealings with many of the team of Mam and Pap’s show. And they dealt with a lot of these issues of daily eating that not only the people on the show were concerned with but also the animals. In fact, the animals are more insistent, have more boldness to say it than some of the people, stamping their feet, blowing steam out of their big meaty nostrils: “I’m here, I’m hungry, feed me!”

Before I go any further, not wanting an uprising among the natives of the internet, always at the ready with a big pot of water boiling and their several spears, alert to any veering from the socially proscribed mores of life and behavior, in this context the provisions of food for all, let me say I do support eating, with full-throated enthusiasm. Like everyone, I could afford to cut back a little; it’d be nice to cinch my belt a little tighter, 10-12 inches. But that’s me, not animals who have little understanding of wise dieting and would gorge themselves to death before the 4:30 show if given a big enough feedbag.

The story I’m telling as part of the celebration of Mam & Pap’s rodeo focuses on some of the characters, the staff of their show. And there was a guy who did it differently from most when it came to feeding his horse, a decent horse named Hoss. Hoss’ human companion was Old Dan’l.

Daniel, to use his fuller name, believed that Hoss needed to beg for every meal. Maybe if Hoss reared back like that several times a day it helped him keep physically fit. And it'd be a reminder if he ever needed to see something afar he could rear back and see it. “Beg for your breakfast, beg for your lunch, beg for your dinner” was all consolidated down into a command a horse could more easily remember, “Beg for your num-num!”

Which of those words would be key? Probably “num-num,” if we’re thinking of how food seems to us, something we chew, something we savor, depend on for nutrition, and enjoy. “Num-num, food good.” Even a caveman would understand it, it’d be a piece of cake for a horse. Whatever Hoss thought, he put 2 and 2 together and associated raising up and letting out a loud whinnying as begging for his food. And was never denied as far as I know. I observed the ritual maybe 10 times and the food was quickly given with the proper stance, response, and of course the actual begging, a series of vocalized noises.

I’ve thought about that many times over my own meals. My family used to say grace over most meals. Not potato chips, but anything more. Keeping in mind old Hoss the begging horse, it simplifies it for me now that I’m on my own. Just lift my hands like Hoss does, and whinny a couple times, I know the Good Lord is satisfied. And I can partake of the meal with a clean conscience, be it meat, potatoes, a salad, etc. One thing I don’t beg for is potato chips, even though I still like them.

Angels and Demons Play Red Rover

They're all arrayed for the greatest battle ever in cosmic history, the battle over my precious soul and the world. Oh yeah, nothing small. Sometimes I think I'm nothing. Then I realize, Dad mabbit, I'm as good as they get. Except for the bad teeth.

On one side, wearing gold trimmed wings and hoisting flaming swords, are the illustrious angelic forces. The opposing side has the demons, also illustrious in their own way, bringing the fragrance of cinder to the proceedings. I'm in the chariot with the one true deity Krishna, watching to see if Red Rover will break the line.

Because this is something like the Ultimate Contest -- so important that the Magic Butler's ascent to Heaven is frozen in place till it's decided -- each side is especially rapt. Red Rover has the life of the spirit racing through his spine, from his Eilo bottom to his Meniggesstroeth top.

Lately, of course, I have been friends with the demons. Demons 1. Demons 2. Hence, the battle, as the angels are very much against that sort of thing. Yet how often the angels have helped me! Hedgerow 1. Hedgerow 2. But who knows whether a similar alliance with demons wouldn't have kept me more well-rounded? Whatever, they both appear jealous, so it's one or the other, with my proxy in the fight, Red Rover, running the line. I believe the score is something like 50-50 out a best-of-100, with the deciding run ... NEXT!

The big difference in the last run is that Krishna has told me that many in the struggle will perish. So if I'm rooting for either side, it should be the angels, since those are the spirit of my body parts they represent. But the demons are old friends and acquaintances. So I'm torn.

Are angels better than demons? That's the question. For all their so-called goodness and assistance, it sure seems like angels are quick with resentment and a superior attitude. Whereas demons, always kicked down, seem to be thankful for every dry morsel you throw them. On the other hand, Abraham Lincoln thought the angels of our nature were worth lifting up. But he's the same guy who killed vampires at night. Which hardly sounds like a fair fight, right when they're sleeping. So Lincoln sucks.

People who like angels are supposedly the strong. Strong? Think again. Every little old lady I've ever known, who couldn't get her walker out of the quicksand-thicket of short carpet had angels on her curtains and TV. What kind of strength is that? And people who like demons are supposedly the weak. Weak? Don't they break chains in the tombs? If they're so weak, what are we doing chaining them there in the first place? I'd like to be that weak! I'd join the carnival and make money in the freak show.

Angels, for all the good we think they do, have big heads. And insinuate themselves in lots of situations for personal gain and favors. Ever read Guideposts magazine? Those same ladies with their stuck walkers are always having angelic visitations. That has to be an ego trip for angels, as much as having these gals on a leash and giving them a nasty tug every little whip-stitch. "I give you doily, you give me article."

This stuff is constant for these ladies. And every one of them has a framed color 8 x 10 of a precious dog, now dead. I ask, if angels are so good, why didn't they spare their dog? Selfishness. The dog always noticed them there and barked their heads off. But with the pooch out of the way -- prematurely -- the way was clear for them to move in. One last thing: Ever seen even one of these 8 x 10s where the soft-focused dog wasn't strangely cross-eyed? I'll tell you why: Angels ran 'em ragged.

I haven't got time for the many virtues of demons. Except, next time you see a guy under a bridge out like a light, with a stolen bottle, now empty, think of the peace of spirit of that dear soul. He knows he'll wake up -- probably, hopefully not -- and there'll be a nice, kind demon there somewhere, sleeping in the hottest part of the campfire, who'll help him forget today as well. I never heard of a demon killing a beggar's dog. Just the opposite, in fact; in the absence of a campfire, a very warm spot for sleeping is inside, right next to a dog's heart, with its soothing beat.

OK, back to Red Rover. The angels blow in a prolonged chorus their several conch shells. Eilo blows Saddlesore and Wart answers with Toadpee. Cheetah sounds Harlot, Amen on Overbite. Asterechme delivers a sustained blast on Clarity, Tricky comes in on Dicky. And, finally, Chaos deafens everyone in the valley with his terrible sounding of Kontrol, only to be trumped by Meniggesstroeth delivering the greatest blow ever on his conch, the redoubtable Einstein.

I'm suddenly full of fear, fearful of losing either side. I have personal reasons. I need all these lugs in my life. And, if a bunch of them are gone, it'll throw the balance of nature all out of whack. You know what the Eternal World Soul Motor sounds like, of course: Chugga, chugga, chugga, wheeze, chugga, chugga... If it's out of whack, it might be Chugga, chugga, clink, wheeze, spitz, chugga, fizz. No good. Something exactly like that, sounding minor when you read it, could be the destruction of everything.

Krishna, though, called me to silence. Saying, "You are mourning for what is not worthy of grief. Never was there a time when I did not exist, nor you, nor all these others. Nor in the future shall any of us cease to be. No one is able to destroy that imperishable soul. Therefore, get up with determination ... and let Red Rover run!"

With that, I'd learned my lesson. I basically live by two undying principles: 1) Don't pull a gun unless you're prepared to use it; and, 2) See No. 1. So I waved my flag and Red Rover was off! It was one of those slow-motion sequences, where we see Red Rover with a slow-motion head of steam. The demons are in slow-motion, too, jumping in sequence like pistons.

On the angels' side, in slow-motion, they have that look of, "I pity the po' fool who even thinks about it!" Red Rover looked like he could read Meniggesstroeth's stern mind and had his first taste of fear. I saw Krishna reared back, his mouth open in slow motion; I could see his teeth weren't that great either. Could he be in Amen's corner?

O! Damn! That's it! Guys with bad teeth stick together! I opened my mouth proudly and threw my power in with Krishna's -- Even if it meant self-destruction, we went for it! Red Rover felt our will and veered off his path, turning for the weakest link, the nexus right there between my bad teeth and sensitive testicles, breaking through the angels and winning a stunning victory for the demons!

That's about it. Not much left. The Magic Butler escaped to Heaven, so that's good. The earth opened and consumed me and Krishna. The angels and Red Rover all died. The demons jumped on the rented horses and got away. The world ended. And Red Rover's cross-eyed picture's still on display at the Pleasant Girdle Home for the Female Infirm, located on a chunk of earth flung into outer space.
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Meniggesstroeth, Asterechme, Amen, and Eilo, are the angels of the brain, right eye, teeth, and testicles, respectively, according to "The Secret Book of John," found in The Nag Hammadhi Scriptures, edited by Marvin Meyer. Krishna's quotations are selected from Bhagavad-Gita As It Is, translated by A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada. 

Running for Governor -- Beggar Blowback

First, let me express my sincerest regrets for my blog post, "Beggars -- Don't Risk the Legal Liability." I agree it was insensitive and hurtful, and I apologize to anyone, especially beggars, who may have been offended. As it turns out, such unfeeling comments, particularly as regards begging veterans on every corner, are politically incorrect as well as detrimental to my future.

Of course you know I'm a candidate for governor of our great state, and you've probably seen in the paper my opponent capitalizing on my gaffe. The blowback was swift and certain, some of it sincere, with probably most of it being just another political knife to the back. The opposition was quick to pounce, as they no doubt would've been no matter what I'd said. I might be finished, although I can still hold out hope that the incumbent will say something worse.

I'm starting to hate politics. All the secrets you have to keep to be a credible candidate. Hey folks, I've lived life; I've been around the block; of course a few little peccadilloes are bound to accumulate. But I believe I can ride out the storm, just as long as all the messages and pictures are deleted as requested, and some of my aliases remain untraceable. Of course I'm kidding, just joking around a little before the election and the day I belly up to the public trough with the best of 'em.

Still, this beggar controversy beggars the imagination. Who knew these guys had their own agitating PAC? All this time I figured their money went into booze and ciggies, drugs and cheap hookers. It's a total surprise that they're actually political animals, pooling their resources and looking for an upper hand in society. They're more connected than you'd guess, probably because of their time on the street; they're nothing but social.

Now -- you know how it goes -- they're going to be on me about every little thing. You know the type; they'll take anything but a heartfelt apology. I could say "God bless you" and they'd crank up the slime machine: "Oh, so now you're blaspheming God! Who is this guy, thinking he has the right to order Almighty God around? Let alone insinuate himself between God and the average voter, seeking, no, demanding, God's favor! What is he implying, that decent Americans can't take care of their own religion?!"

These animals make my blood boil! Little did I know these skunks -- and I'm including my worthy opponent in that number -- would be the only thing standing between me and the governor's mansion. It's sad. It really is, that politics has descended literally to the gutter, where every cigarette butt is a prized possession.

Well, here is my solemn vow, yes, before God -- when elected, I likewise will use the levers of power, to do good for society in general, but to crush my opposition. The incumbent himself, all the way down to the gutter snipes he's using to undermine my character and candidacy. Assholes! I will grind them into the dust, and incarcerate any survivors.

The point is, I'm keeping my good spirits about me -- my optimism -- and I do stand behind my apology. If you've been offended, I'm truly sorry that you're so sensitive. I believe you should actually look at life through something other than rose-colored glasses. If you do, if you can manage that one simple little thing, I'm sure you will gladly cast your vote for me.

Beggars -- Don't Risk the Legal Liability

I used to be the world's most generous soul with drifters and beggars. I have a history of helping some of these lost souls, not so much with money, but with rides, etc.

Ho! Just saying that recalls some examples. When I was a teenager I picked up an old guy named Howard Johnson and was carting him around like a pet guy. Took him to my teenage friend's place and he was hanging out with us, 60-something with us 17-year-olds. I even had some hitchhikers over to my place one night and they shared my bed while I slept on the couch. Of course to do that now would be ... the chances are nonexistent.

I'm still an extremely nice guy, just not that nice. Or should I say, not that crazy, foolhardy, and stupid. Because you can get into some real legal trouble with beggars. That's my contention, anyway, even though I don't have any personal experience of legal troubles. But look at some of these guys. Who looks more devious than them? Who's had more free time to study law books (like prisoners do) to know all the legal loopholes? Back when I was a kid, when I picked up Howard Johnson, we didn't have the internet, let alone the internet in libraries.

Here's how stingy I am, not out of meanness but a fear of legal liability: I will not give a beggar food! No way! Once you've given food, you are open to all kinds of liability. That's why restaurants have food licenses, are subject to periodic inspections, and have insurance. Because people can get sick from food-borne bacteria, and sue the pants off you. We go out for pizza and sometimes have three or four pieces left over. It'd be the kindest thing in the world to give it to beggars. Unfortunately, it's also stupid. The last thing I need is some beggar fingering me to the police. "That guy made me puke!"

One time I saw some guys walking down the street with leftover spaghetti. Spaghetti! Someone thought to save their spaghetti leftovers. Like it's not 99 cents at the grocery store for enough spaghetti to choke a horse. They'd apparently come from an Italian restaurant, because they were drunk and I guess Italian themselves, probably. So what did they do -- in their drunken condition -- but give the leftovers to four beggars. Who when I passed by were simultaneously eating their fill and consulting law books. If I were the idiots that gave it to them, I'd be changing my clothes in a back alley and looking for a quick facelift.

Whether a masterful disguise would really help, though, is up in the air. Because it's just as likely the beggars had attached a sensor to their clothes, with the ability then to zero in on them via their iPhone, to be able to track them after their "sickness" came on. "Hey, my belly hurts!" Dirty bastards.

Other than fear of legal troubles, which is 99% of it, I hesitate to give to all the "veterans" on the street. I know there has to be an actual veteran here or there down in the mouth, but are they really on every corner, every single day of the year! I don't think so, but maybe they are, since veterans have been used to many privations, maybe even being promoted all the way to generalizations. Forgive me. Even if they are veterans, there's no less a chance they might sue the pants off you. "He gave me a quarter coated with the polio bacilli! That's why I'm sick, that bastard!"

"God Bless You" Beggars

I had the "pleasure" of passing a begging bum today and getting the dreaded "God bless you" with my refusal to part with my "change." (He wanted "change," presumably prepared to turn down bills.) I actually didn't have any change, since carrying money went out when the debit card came in, but that was no business of his.

This idiot wasn't the average beggar, not having a vacant look or the apparent patience of Job. He appeared competent and able-bodied. I might've given him $5,000 if I could trade places with him in terms of youth and health. Here I am on my last legs, but still able to get around without help.

The guy was spread out on a bench downtown, sitting there, hands up, arms spread on the back of the bench, looking as comfortable as can be. He might've been sitting on a white sand beach with a six pack of Coronas, he was that comfortable. "Excuse me, sir," he says, "Could you spare some change?" or words to that effect. I kept passing and said no and looked back at him, to which he called out, "God bless you!" I replied, "I don't do that." To which he replied, "Well, I do! So God bless you two times!" Meaning, he thought I was saying something against religion and God and not saying "I don't do that," i.e., giving to people on the street.

Another guy walking along the sidewalk, close to me, said to me, "They learn that in beggar's school," the "God bless you" crap. I said that I knew that to be true, recalling another guy telling everyone, "Jesus loves you."

I am not anti-religion or anti-God or anything. I go to church regularly and read my Bible and holy books daily and do my little meditations. Hell, I was in the dentist chair just today, saying my prayers. So for this idiot to think his little passive-aggressive "God bless you" was going to really push my buttons in some sort of affirming way was a bad thought. Again, just like me at the dentist, I know the drill.

Instead, it gave me something to laugh about and gesticulate about on the way back to the car with my companion. "I'm young and able-bodied and yet seemingly unable to do anything but sit comfortably on the bench downtown and beg for change!" And "God bless" people with one tone when they give change and another tone when they don't! Yes, I'm quite the sidewalk theologian, yet likely having no conception of what I'm even saying when I say that.

The other guy was right, beggar's school covers this base very well ... for anyone out there who might be easily fooled.

Beggars Have No Choice

SUMMARY: Looking at the phrase, "Beggars can't be choosers."

I'm sitting here contemplating the implications of this, and it's blowing my mind. In my thoughts I'm taking it all the way from the simple choices we all make to metaphysical questions of free will period.

Did I make the choice to write this post? Or is some higher power, with too much time on its hands, compelling me? If times, events, and circumstances are all set in stone, am I simply a marionette, a wooden-headed dummy dancing to the pulled strings?

Hmm. See what I mean? I've got myself tied in knots, or if there's no choice in the matter, the strings have themselves tangled inexorably around me and I'm stranded, no recourse to the life I prefer or even a more interesting imprisonment. At least add a sexual component to my misery!

And it's all because I started thinking of beggars. I saw one and this whole conundrum was triggered in me, and now I'm bound! But still -- thankfully -- I feel subjectively like I'm making choices. I'm at least sitting here apparently writing this out of my own head. As bad off as I feel right now, I don't feel I'm completely in the beggar's position, having no choice. Because, as they say, "Beggars can't be choosers."

OK, assuming the rest of us do have some power of choosing, at least for the sake of argument, we are so fortunate that we're not beggars, who have no choice. Wouldn't that be bad?

I'm wondering how it must be for them, no choice. Wow! When did it start? Obviously when they started begging. Up till then, it would seem they had a choice, but once they crossed that magical divide -- whether in the decision to become a beggar or in the first instance of actual begging -- all choice was lost. From then on, life for them became absolute compulsion.

I feel that the implications of this are staggering. Why, of all the experiences in humanity, would begging carry what appears to be a singular penalty? And how would the determination (or verdict) be rendered so swiftly, especially if it's imposed at the decisive moment rather than with the first behavioral instance? It would have to be a special decree of karma, one that uniquely presents no delay or variance. Astonishing!

Personally, I don't think it could come at the moment of decision, at the mere thought of begging. Think of it, the intention is there to be acted upon, but at that point he has not yet begged, making him something less than a beggar. It doesn't say, "Near-beggars can't be choosers." So there's still time to turn back. O, if near-beggars only knew this, they'd turn back before it was too late!

But the moment for some, alas, does come! The cardboard sign is scrawled, the hand is outstretched. The sky suddenly darkens, distant thunder is heard, one's personal star falls into the pitch-black sea, and the brain mysteriously twists and cuts off whatever avenues of choice were once free and clear. It's as though a film covers the eyes. What darkness it must be to have absolutely no choice!

And how about this? Now, he cannot even choose not to be a beggar. Because beggars can't be choosers, the word can't being a contraction of the longer cannot, meaning something that is an absolute impossibility. Destiny will cut him no more breaks, no matter how much he begs. But, on a more cheerful note, perhaps there is only a dull realization, or no realization, of this fate, so that he never mourns it, being unconscious of any other life previous to that of begging. That would be the sweet elixir of forgetfulness, a gracious cloud!

But what about all the other day-to-day choices, which side of the street to beg on, whether to keep begging or go home, whether to go to the bathroom when he needs to, etc.? The choice to put on warm clothing if it's cold, or to strip down if it's cool? To sit in the sun or move to the shade? To eat, not to eat? To thank people or just grunt? These too would be choices, would they not? If he has no choice, thank heaven some force -- beneficent existence itself -- is guiding at least non-conscious actions!

The lesson here is, Whatever you do, friends, don't beg. Treasure your freedom as long as you can. Steal instead.