Night VI.

In a moment of stupidity, the deux decided to start our nocturnal adventures early. Yes, early. Why? Because homelessness is like a drug. You become Dazed and Confused and of course, lose all motor function.

After a double 8 pump pumpkin spice latte fix (commonly known as pump-crack), we made our way to Square 1. At eleven, yes, eleven.

Now this Downtown Jacksonville highlight of our week... bombed?
Did we dance, yes. Did we sing, yes. Did we mingle, yes. Was it at all entertaining or worth the five dollar cover, no.
Has the "homeless drug" killed the edge off one of our favorite nights of the week?

God (yes, we said god) we hope not.

But onto our lovely analysis of the evening.

First: We found a landlord. She shall remain named since she is now ALLAH. Christina we would like to cleanse your feet, for that is what we believe religious folk do.

Second: Snaps. 'Nuff said.

Third: Beanie Boy came. Beanie Boy saw. Beanie Boy tried to conquer. Beanie Boy failed.

Fourth: Finally, Sex Pistol sighting! Golly gee did he not disappoint. But in his lonely arrival and leaving, is there trouble on the BFF front?

Fifth: Lovely, mature conversation with Daddy-O (Yes, a mature conversation at this place. They do exist.).

Sixth: Realization time. The deux acknowledges that hair is meant to run free.

Seventh: Our Beloved DJ, sadly, is becoming repetitive. Playing Freebird would solve all.

Eighth: Leather jackets should contain Silly Putty.

Ninth: Deadheads like em' "blonde". (?)

Tenth: NEWCOMER. Tattooed rude dude. We approve/like.

(Mission: Who requested Ca plane por moi for Christine.)

first of all, it's tattoo-ed on Nadine's back. second, why?

The deux believes that this slightly mauvais night was all a symptom of this "hobo crack" we've been absorbing through our pores. Maybe our standards have been hightened by the prior evenings. But tonight, our expectations were not met. Work on it people.

We ended our night at the gracious Jordan's.

in a dog bed. to be woken up by a bear.

it was .... awesome.

A Tout A L'Heure.

Post Script. As mentioned before, the deux shall return the Saturday after XXX-mas.

Post Post Script. Square One folk, appreciate what contains your liquor. Glasses are friends, not floor food.

Day VI.

Are we adorable. Yes, and we do try.

Today could only be described as vomit-inducingly cute. Mother Gaia took us on a "family trip" to the far off nether-regions of the lovely St. Augustine.

Now this adventure would not have been complete without furry kittens, high school property and a see-saw for mini's.

Driving back up the scenic route of A1A, we were given sufficient time to look at the "bigger picture." This is our last night of homelessness, our last night of ghetto Cocoa Roos, our last night of begging for food, showers, beds and entertainment. This is to be the last night being part of the homeless wanderers that line the streets of Jacksonville.

With this thought, we would like to take the time to acknowledge that we in no way compare our situation to that of the 'true' hobo. We represent a different species; we are the "temp" hobo.

With cash at hand and clothes on our backs, we in no way compare to those who have lost so much.

But in our five day experiment, we have come to realize how hard it must be when this is your life.

Although we highly recommend the Gaia Inn, we also recommend that you take part in our adventure. If only for a couple days.

Who knows?

You might even get a glimpse of a meandering nutsack ;-)

Au Revoir.

Post Script. Nadine would like me to inform you that we do return for your reading pleasure after we get our fill of Christmas things.

Night V.

On this not-so-malnourished evening, we ventured through the lovely St. John's Towncenter. Avoiding some and welcoming others with open hobo arms.

First to mention is our encounter with the soon to be glamorized Dane Lindquist and his smartly-dressed friend.
We shall be be-dazzling your Capitalist shirt, sir, in our hobo craft corner.
After the friendly banter, we decided to take part in poor-folk masochism.
Yes! We walked into Urban Outfitters. It was horrendous, since us homeless folk can not afford its fine splendors. But, our moods were slightly elevated by a meeting with Urban Management (no, not for stealing gizmos). The deux is glad to have peaked the interest of Sir David, and hope he enjoys this fine not-so-smelly blogspot.

Greetings Sir and fellow Urban Employees from the deux,
(Discounts would be greatly appreciated)

Au Revoir.


Post Script. Tomorrow is our last night of homelessness. But we shall be returning on the 28th of December. We will be taking suggestions for "Inn" locations. Be Clever. If not, of course, we'll eat you.

Day V.

As we clean our faces and remove our bibs, we remember the massacre that just occurred. Yes, we now have mulah. And what was the first thing we did. Spend twenty buckaroos at Panera on what we fondly refer to as the PLATE-O-GOD. This consists of the BreadBowl-o-Love and the Flesh-o-Jesus Sandwich and all bread remains intact. Now this would take the average human about 30 minutes to consume (with proper breath and conversation breaks included). But for the deux it took all of 3 and included only brief moans of ecstasy and soft gurgling as we choked down lemonade to create more room. This has moved into a whole new level of pathetic. We call it the UBER PATHETIC. But do we have any shame?

No

Au Revoir