Cockroaches: Smarter than You Think

by Homeless T

2017 11-14. Detroit. How dangerous are cockroaches, really? Do they breed disease, or are they a blessing in disguise?--a divine instrument of karmic cleansing for individuals of tormented conscience before they die? I ask because I know a seaman who spent his retirement years in a kingdom of roaches. His tiny apartment was home to a million cockroaches who did not hide themselves away. The man's only prohibition on the roaches was that they stay off his plate when he was eating. Otherwise, it was their apartment.

Bed Bugs and Mass Murder

by Homeless T

2017-04-25.  DoubleThink Publications cater to readers in search of off-beat news: covert ops, secret pictures, startling facts, sexy gossip, and other prurient horseshit. The present piece is disgusting, but does not fit in any of those categories. Rather, it is a personal chronicle of one individual's obscure experience in humanity's longest-running war, Homo sapiens domesticus v Cimex lectularius Linnaeus, a/k/a Mankind v Bed-Bugs. It is an endless conflict that we're losing.

Cimex lectularius Linnaeus
magnified 5X
One US Environmental Protection Agency report has established that if forty bed-bugs are placed in a room with a mild temperature and unlimited supply of warm-blooded food, within six months their population will exceed 5,900. 

The bed-bugs' dizzying rate of reproduction leaves far behind another well-known theoretical projection, often cited by Science, stating that it requires 1,000 monkeys typing non-stop for 1,000 years on 1,000 typewriters--just to reproduce a single Shakespeare sonnet. 

Joan E Sounds Like She's Ready to Harvest a Few Roosters

by Homeless T

Ms. Joan E Thurman, America's premier voice of Women's Supremacy, is writing about chicken again, but I don't believe she's going to lick any one's fingers this time. She sounds angry at the way young girls are dressing, admiring, (and more so at what they're learning to do for their boyfriends). 

Click my 15-year-old bottom hard to see
what Aunt Joan E is so mad about.
The mother of Women's Supremacy in the United States calls the majority of American women"chickens" and offers a recipe that she recommends throwing on the table and letting the menfolk eat by themselves. Don't worry, Joan E, women are hearing your message. Sometimes things seem to gang up together to make a wrong impression. Anyway, I invite readers to look over her latest for themselves.

Luxury Can Be a Mistress Hard to Leave Behind

by Homeless T

I could get used to this.
2012-06-23. Luxury can be a hard mistress to leave behind--easy to grow fond of, so soft, so clean and sweet-smelling. Homeless T has enjoyed a taste of such living: a beautiful woman, private accommodations since 2010's holiday season, all while starving only rarely, but who cares about food when you have a place of your own? 

Coin-Touch Iowa Gambler Confesses, Declares Let's Sue 'Em

by Homeless T
The Tyrannical Reign of the Hot-Spotted Brain

Four Days in the Life of a Coin-Touch Machine Addict, February 2006
24 February thru 27 February, 2006

Actual X-Ray

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) is a psychiatric disorder with a neurological pathology. Using brain-scanning technology and brain-chemistry analysis, some researchers postulate that OCD sufferers, in addition to imbalanced neurotransmitters, demonstrate repeated activity in localized regions of the brain--continuous synaptic firings, or "hot spots" in the brain, like a broken record, endlessly skipping--repeating the same synaptic patterns firing, over and over again. These involuntarily synaptic repetitions, in combination with stimuli-induced changes in brain chemistry, cause in the OCD sufferer an insatiable desire for some activity—insatiable because it can never be satisfied, only cease temporarily when means to the stimulation are depleted.  

A Critic in Retrospect: "No Place for Nobodies"

Look Before You Leap Next Time, Homeless [a reprint]

By Flix Darkblud, Critic 

On the topic of Homer L Teabury's
Old Flix Turned Out to Be Wrong, Wrong, Wrong

 7 Sept 2010. Lake Geneva. Homer Teabury really should have thought twice in December of 2007—now, well over two years ago--before deserting his job as a well-paid college instructor,  and embarking on a far less promising remunerative career as--ahem, ahem--a homeless blogger, unremunerated and essentially writing about nothing but his crackpot self. Such is my opinion, bluntly put. Not that Homer’s writing is totally useless, but its value could be employed to a far better end. He should have it printed onto a rolls of toilet paper. But does any other usefulness reside in the emotionally crippled voice of his alter-ego Homeless T.? No. It's just a bunch of bullsh-t, a big put-on that he put on and then out of which he just couldn't get.

A Medicated Mind

by HL Teabury

I started on Prozac for depression in 1990.  For me, it proved the miracle drug my doctor had promised.  I rejoined the world, finished my graduate degree, and reshaped the life of my young family by moving from Detroit to Colorado.  

The New Detroit--Thanks to Babbling L Brooks Pattersen

Serious Commentary by HL Teabury

You may not have heard the name before: L Brooks Pattersen, but I assure you he thought he was babbling like a brook when he accidentally made a profound comment that just might turn Detroit into the coolest city in the world. Read Tommy George's take on the whole issue by clicking the riverfront scene of Deetroit. 

Bastards and Bitches, Compare and Answer My Prayer

Poesy by the Man-Maid
posted by HL Teabury

There must be uplifting ere we fall down:
some grace to prevent the clearly hell-bound
from fickle leaping tween no and yes,
to stop bitches bidding God lick under their dress.

Homeless Like Me: Cedar Rapids, Iowa 2009

by Homeless T

CEDAR RAPIDS, IA, USA * 29 AUGUST 2009: Over 24 downward-spiraling months, my life crashed from community college professor--with family, home, cars, full fringe benefits, and freedom to do as I wished--down to that of a lone, homeless person. Maybe you saw me walking the streets of downtown Cedar Rapids. I was still wearing my yellow neck-tie (all I had left of my profession), but it was filthy. I had learned to rummage the trash for refundable pop-cans, and scavenge curb-side ashtrays for half-smoked butts to quiet my craving for tobacco. At first I was very stealthy about this degraded practice, but before long I had adopted the attitude of What the Hell!   

small-c crystal, heroine of the small-c caste

by homeless homer lester teabury

interdimensional dictum

to:       small-c crystal, who begat the small-c preference:

from:   lazarus, rudely awakened from his
umpteenth death.

aahhhhhemmmmmm . . .