Self-Abuse Etiquette

 

Part 23 of 30

Self-Abuse September

What we have here is a fairly common situation, the old clash of cultures, when inevitably they somehow get wise to the wiles of guys. But O! the innocent ways of women at first, till Aunt Bea meets Little House on the Prairie, with a male house-guest rawdoggin’ it with reckless abandon in the john, blissfully oblivious in his reverie, with an understanding bird out yonder somehow hip to it and gauging the situation at hand, its impact on the ladies, she who's wise and she who's still playing catch-up.

I’m glad I wasn't there, because I’m frankly a little embarrassed about the guy. This isn't just reverie, for the guy’s full-throated cries of unbridled ecstasy strike me as overtly uncivil and reckless. He surely knows the more demure qualities of those particular ladies by day, given as they are to the old world ways of fashion and society, obviously not the ways of the barnyard, the roosters' full-throated crowing, then grabbing a hen by the scruff of the neck. Yes, I'm all for a guy having a good time, but some of these gals deserve to be left in the dark.

True, I get it that he’s excited. But as an obviously older and more experienced man, with the stereotypical cries of climax in his stock vocabulary, he surely has more than an inkling when these cries more rightly come into play -- in the privacy of the barn with a ripe filly -- not while Aunt Bea holds forth on the stitching of doilies or some such. I’m old-fashioned like that, believing that, yes, everyone’s trying to get off any way he can, and with Tarzan swinging through the jungle holding on to swinging stalks such cries are de rigueur, but in polite society, please come quietly with your pinky out, return to your coffee and tell Bea nicely, “Thank you for the use of your nice facilities. I didn't do anything I shouldn't have done, if that's what you're thinking. Then I tidied up after myself as I once learned the routine in third grade hygiene.”

But as for the “stock vocabulary” I mentioned, isn’t it curious how simple and vulgar it is while also conveying perfectly the excitement of being at this monumental edge, knowing that you’ve reached a point of no return and what is to come -- no vulgarity intended -- both fully natural and expected and yet a crisis of sorts? In reproduction it accompanies the desire for depth, for planting, for the rich assurance that you’re wringing out all you can wring at that moment in fulfillment of the biological imperative. “I am the man of the hour. If I don’t single-handedly repopulate the earth, all bets are off concerning our survival as a species.” Of course his leisurely reenactment doesn’t repopulate squat, but it’s pleasurable, akin to the saying, “It’s the thought that counts.”

But is he appropriately thoughtful? How completely immersed would you have to be to be totally oblivious to the very recent memory that you were just a guest in this lady’s home and have only moments before excused yourself -- without any explanation as to what you were going to do? If they had wondered, and when I’m in social situations I for one am always watching and wondering who’s sneaking off to do what, they would’ve assumed he was going to pee. Because the biological imperative is rarely part of a neighborly get-together for tea, beyond dispute. Yes, anytime an orgy breaks out, whip it out, what else can you do? Clearly that wasn't the case here.

Homeless Seeking $ God Bless

With me in the Big City, everything's getting very real. Oh boy, what an eye-opener it is, the dregs of society. And that's just me, but there's plenty of others, standing on this corner, that corner, and of course freeway ramps. I thought of doing it, but don't want to get caught encroaching on another guy's territory.

I was staking out a place one day for panhandling, more like checking it out, trying to picture how I'd look this time of the day or that time. I don't want the sun in my eyes, definitely, and the less sunburn the better. I would want everyone to see me, if not for my financial benefit, then not to be run over. But I haven't brought myself to do it yet. I'm not up on the etiquette or logistics, and a big thing with me is doing it right.

In the picture above, the handwriting is from a couple signs I found. I expect they'll be a decent model for me for composing my own stuff. Even though I'm above average in religion, I don't think the religious approach toward an effective guilt trip is the best approach. Society's so secular these days, the tried and true assumptions of long-ago need to be updated. Frankly, instead of Jesus, I'd more readily mention Buddha or Hindu yogis. Because I think Big City people appreciate a global approach; it's beyond their expectations, which would probably pay rich dividends.

And look at the handwriting, just a damned scrawl. Which, I'll give 'em this, it's more effective than an overly-produced computer printout with picture-perfect fonts. But a certain amount of neatness counts. Too sloppy and the suspicion is you're too far gone to be helped. There's a happy medium between sloppy and overdone. Especially if you had a Buddha, let's say, and your handwriting recalled the mystic look of the East without being obscure. What would be really cool would be a Hindu ochre (orangish) robe and an occasional apparently-sincere mudra. Out in the open, naturally, chest high; you're not scratching your muladhara chakra by any means!

I've been watching a bunch of YouTube videos. And I came across a bunch of anti-panhandling guys there. Who park in the lonely corners of Walmart and zoom their cameras in on panhandlers infesting those environs. Who are there so often they've worn away the grass! You can't tell me that's a good look. Anyway, the YouTubers are doing real reconnaissance, documenting the panhandlers' lives and finding that quite a number of them aren't indigent in the least. Which they hold against them.

I guess I can sort of see their point. Which is that people who pretend to be homeless or pretend to be poor could very well be making it worse for others. First, am I homeless or poor? Well, going by the technicalities. I'm technically homeless as long as my house back home is leveled and they never get it fixed. There's so much mold, mildew, backed up sewage and odor, along with vermin, parasites, rats, and the occasional fly, that a guy is easily fed up with it. When I left the last time, those weren't dry heaves.

In the Big City, yes, yes, I have a place to stay. Big damned deal. There's more to being down on your luck than whether you're homeless or not. Yet you about have to use the word homeless on your sign, because, look at the problem, you can't have a sign too complicated. I couldn't tell everything about my dismantled house. It's funny, but I myself barely look at panhandlers at all, I definitely haven't got all day to read the signs. Sheesh, it's all words, words, words, meant to create an atmosphere and push buttons, not be to be technically true, like you'd have to be in a court of law. This is where the YouTube thought-police cross the line.

Remember, I haven't panhandled at all. So if I had, of course I'd have more knowledge on the subject, what's effective and what should be avoided. And I never give anyone anything, so I haven't had extensive contacts with them. (A little, which I'll mention later.*)

But speaking as a layman, I have to think you want to come across as totally personable, kind, soft spoken, sincere, and not apparently putting the squeeze on folks. Watch the eye contact -- not too much -- and respect people's boundaries and keep them comfortable. Oh yes, this is getting me excited. I'm rubbing my hands together even now in glee at the haul I'd no doubt make! Being the nicest guy you've ever met. I believe I come across as someone without a selfish bone in his body. If I were standing at the off ramp, I'm sure you'd see me as someone doing you a favor. I'm just so intrinsically honest and pleasant, begging would make me a millionaire overnight. My pockets bulging out, a big sack like Santa Claus on my back, so full of money I'd have to hire guards to walk me home. Very soon I'd be strictly turning away all change in favor of more lightweight bills. A matter of policy.

Eventually I'd use some of the money to buy better clothes. So I'm panhandling during the day, probably an hour tops would give me enough to live well, then I'd be out at fancy restaurants at night. In my new clothes, some of the same people would see me and think I looked familiar, but there's lots of guys who look sort of like me. If they approached me in my off hours, I'd raise my hands and giving them a solid no comprende every time. Nicely, of course.

*Here's the reference to the panhandler I met when I got to the Big City. I was out scavenging soda/beer cans and cashing them in at the salvage yard. And I got a bunch of cans under bridges, right near this guy who was panhandling day after day. I'd also already met another guy in his circle, who was going to help guide me on the Shamanic Path; I called him Wolf, he called me Grandpa. So I was in the vicinity of the bridge where Wolf said he lived, but he was gone. The panhandler was letting me know where Wolf went, which was "That way." In our other meetings, he told me the direction Wolf went, "That way," and that was nice. I don't think my panhandler is rich, etc., but maybe he does go home at night to a nice place. I wouldn't begrudge him that. It'd be great.

The Billionaire Goes Garage Saling

You probably saw the signs today all over town, on every post, tree, and stump, trumpeting a fantastic event -- a golden opportunity -- to see and meet the billionaire. It was so great. The Daily News contacted me and the billionaire, to see if he'd kick off the official garage sales season in style. I, being a big fan of garage sales -- at least back before I myself became a billionaire, and can now afford better stuff -- thought it was a great thing to do.

I've never been a fan of billionaires sitting in mansions behind large gates, if they don't have to. I like it when they get out and mingle with the hoi polloi, and give them something to hope for. Plus, it's worth its weight in gold for the billionaire, potentially, in the off chance there's a revolution and they're coming for the billionaires to take us to the guillotine. I want the little people at least to consider sparing our sorry hides, and certainly that of the billionaire, because we were so kind to them in good times, when we could've crapped on them, as the rich normally do.

Frankly, the billionaire's been wealthy for so long, and lacking nothing, that he's forgotten how the average person lives. Hand to mouth and looking for bargains where they can, even if it means standing in other people's back yards, finding something we need and talking them down to a quarter. How often I did it myself, back before I had my $2.1 billion.

How embarrassing it was, though, when we walked up to the first garage sale and the billionaire simply announced, "I'll take everything," leaving everyone else discouraged and angry. A few of them came up to him to "meet" him still, but only to give him a piece of their mind. I didn't care for him doing that, but, honestly, he could do it if he wanted. He was a paying customer, too!

Still ... I didn't say anything, but I'm sure I flushed red in the face and was embarrassed. He did better the next few sales, and people were happy. Later on, then, we hit a garage sale that to me was worthless, having a lot of ladies clothes, baby clothes, knickknacks that someone might've had in their bathroom, etc. And other stuff that I've always hated, like 2 liter bottles with a doll's head on top and the rest of the body covered by its knitted dress.

Again, I was completely embarrassed, and even personally aghast, when the billionaire announced, "I'll take everything." This time I pulled him aside and said part of the etiquette at a garage sale is that you only pick out the things that you want, leaving the other things you don't want for someone else who may. He seemed perplexed. He'd done it as an act of mercy, since he thought they'd waste their whole day and not make much.

OK, I can see that. And I suppose if I were having a garage sale and someone came and bought everything, I'd like it. After all, I'd be able to get on with my day. We had the same thing happen at the craft sale, when the billionaire bought everything, and it didn't bother me. The big difference is that there were others at the garage sale who were interested and browsing. They left angry.

It's worth some further analysis. Another downside would be, say, I want to have a garage sale the next year, and the billionaire doesn't show up. I don't want the people to be so upset about what went down last time, so they wouldn't come back. It can be nerve-wracking, the things you have to consider when you have garage sales. Public goodwill is a big part of your reputation.

But the whole concept has given me a great idea, with the state's largest book sale coming up on the 16th. O! I feel so much ... opportunity ... and evil ... flowing through my mind. I need to retire early today from other billionaire activities, yes, to consider my options, and how it would be done, if I decide it can be done. Thank you, billionaire! Your example has just brought out the best (or the worst) in me!