Cockroaches: Smarter than You Think

by Homeless T

Ah, what fools these humans be.
2018 9-14. Detroit. Okay. You are one smart human being, appointed by Jehovah as vice-regent of His earthly holdings. Cockroaches are filthy, uncouth parasites on the domestic antisepsis of your divinely conferred patches of ground. Consequently, we stamp them out by the millions--by the billions. 

Homeless Like Me: Sally's Cabaret 2008

by Homeless T
reprinted by Tommy George, 10 years later

2008-4-15. Greetings to my homeless, about-to-be homeless, and this evening, to my never-ever-going-to-be-homeless readers. You of the latter persuasion (well-heeled, deep-pocketed, loaded with the long green, rich) have wandered into Homeless T's world for a respite from that damnable sense of ennui that sometimes besets the well-tempered souls of upperclassmen. What you may need to satisfy your curious craving is a generous dose of Homeless T's tonic-for-the-deadly-bored. 

Harlow at 43

Meet the Man-Maid

by The Man Maid
reposted by Les

May, 2011. Being a hotel maid is not quite as sexy as being filthy rich, but it has its hidden benefits, one of which is the unwritten lost-property code of housekeeping and laundry services: have it, lose it, lay it down and forget it--it becomes the property of those who find it. 

Your Impoverished Life Explained

Goin' my way?
By Homeless T

What can we infer about the unemployed working man--jobless too long, and slipping through the cracks--the homeless man, deranged by the attrition of street life; and the new American generation of drug-addled illiterates? Why do they prefer eventually to disappear rather than be seen and recast--by former friends, remnants of family, and goal-driven acquaintances of long ago--as washed-up, soon-to-die things?

Society would seem to have painted a bull's-eye on these financial drop-outs, targeting them for its private derision and public prosecution by the alpha dog pack currently running the dominant social hierarchy. Dogs can be so territorial, and packs, terrifyingly vicious

I Was Homeless T

By Homer Lester Teabury
My path to nowhere began in December of 2005 when I fled my abusive spouse after she hit me over the head with a heavy candelabra. Leading up to that crowning, she had made believe that she could no longer hear or see me; until I would turn my back when she would regain her senses and throw things at me. Knives. Icewater. Dirty dishes. The candelabra was the last straw.

I moved into a dilapidated mobile home. The landlord had hoped to collect a modest rent from each of four students that would share the housing. However, the trailer was in such disrepair that I lived alone for only $150.00 a month, and experienced there the disquietude that absolute silence will induce in some men. It was like living on the moon. That lack of sound! Over the months, the absolute silence drove me to take refuge. . . anywhere but there.

The Oral B Electric Toothbrush with Cross Action

by Homer Les Teabury

5 January 2018. "The Oral B" inaugurates my first bid for honest and integritous writing. My planned series is titled "My Interesting Stuff" and will feature things I have acquired, rate their usefulness, and explain how, where, and when I acquired them. Let's get started.

The Oral B Electronic Toothbrush with Cross Action
I acquired my Oral B in February of 2013 on a Las Vegas retreat from the frigidly cold weather of Iowa. I hadn't much money--at the time of the Oral B's acquisition, none--but I had, after my first ten days in the city of Las Vegas, escaped the colorful crowd that lived in the sprawling Salvation Army Emergency Shelter for deluxe accommodations of my own. With the financial help of my son, I had rented a small suite in the complex where my genius nephew E. Christopher resides with the Las Vegas equivalent of a geisha--a very lovely and pleasing woman who takes excellent care of him. She was very gracious to me, as was he. The complex gave him a $50 cash bonus for referring me as a new tenant; that helped to grease the wheels of graciousness on everybody's part. 

A Golden Shower of Teen Perfume and then . . . Christmas, 2007

A Reposting
by Homeless T

24 December 2007. Two Years before Our Unholy Marriage even started. I am alone. The memory of her abrupt disappearance--whisked away by her dad the small-town grifter, and another man, the father of her middle child (she has three kids by three dads)--replays in my mind.

Echoes resonate bittersweet hollowness. I do love her, but the irony that sparked my arrest and no-contact order say otherwise. I broke my pinky pal's . . . pinky.

EBT Clients Receive Cash Back on Refundable Milk Bottles

by Homeless T
2011-06-06. Cedar Rapids, IA.  Many persons claim to be absolutely broke; in reality, few actually are.  Let's face it: the
When you have to ask
your Mummy for money,
you're broke! Unquestionably.
phrase has been bandied about far too liberally in martini bars, over loan-processing conference tables, and in response to dunning creditor phone calls.  Give it a break, people!  If your creditors still talk to you, you're not broke!  They wouldn't be bothering you if you were.  Or if you are wearing duds swell enough for a decent martini bar, where you will surround yourself with all those beautiful people--you are not absolutely broke.  They wouldn't let you in the place if you were.  Even if you only have a telephone, you are not absolutely broke.  So cut it out!