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

Night IV.

Upon our haze of poverty-stricken panic, we journeyed to the ominous Target, to return unnecessary items such as Bic razors, Sesame Street toothbrushes and jean-colored leggings. Who needs smooth legs and clean teeth? Not the hobo folk!

But Target gave us the bitchslap we did not foresee: STORE CREDIT. Blasphemy!In a moment of temptation, we bought chips, salsa and a pumpkin spice latte. Hobo sin? We know.

Then came the last resort: British father. With five dollars in Christine's bank account, fifteen in change and a terrifyingly low gas tank, British father saved us with something called an Emergency Bank Transfer. Woot woot!

Now, don't judge, these funds will be used in the hobo way (to continue our gas-needing adventures and, of course, buy some crack).

Later that night, while bumming raunch magazines in the all-amazing Barnes and Noble, we happened upon a new discovery. Christine was dutifully reading her Nylon (as any good hipster should), when she lifted her gaze to find a delicious morcel of dramatic intrigue.

A Nutsack. A Meandering Nutsack. It must have been suffocating, for it had escaped the man's shorts in front of us and was waving 'Hello!' to innocent bystanders. Her immediate response was to say FUCKYEAH, text Nadine and switch seats. Don't fret, pictures were taken.

After recovering from The Meandering Nutsack, we decided to return to our home away from home for more shite-y Wi-Fi.

Upon resting our behinds, Nadine spotted the lovely Robe Carter (spelled like robe but pronounced like Rob-eee and Carter like the infamous Aaron Carter). Combination of bath accessories and pop bliss... We would like to mention that we robbed him of his nudey sea-diving virginity (cough). Shameless.

But wait, RETURN OF THE MEANDERING NUTSACK!!!! Oh praise the good Allah, for its owner has followed us to Panera! We feel enlightened by this religious experience. And are truly blessed.

We concluded our night with a celebration of breaking and entering. No car-sleep for us! Dum dum dummmmmm. After nudey face-washing and some abandoned sailboat stargazing, the deux returned to the dorms to break into the UNF Fountain's bean bag lounge, where the comfort of the squishy bean bags, free Wi-Fi and plentiful electric plugs enhanced their slumber.

Sweet dreams of meandering nutsacks,

Au Revoir.

Day IV.

We are back in Panera after a successful nights slumber. Are we still homeless? Yes. Are we still broke-a-broke? Yes. But do we still have free Wi-fi, cigarettes and Coco Roos (ghetto Coco Puffs)? Hells yes.

Christine's Plastic Bitch has been officially cancelled. So now onto begging for food and money. This, we have been told, is the next step in the religion of hobo-ism.
Panera is starting to become less of a safe haven, for it's delicieux smells are becoming too much. It is not long till both of the deux launch their heroin-chic bodies over the counter in a zombie-fied feeding frenzy.

We need more free Wi-fi and are open to suggestions,

Au Revior.

Post Script. If you suggest Starbucks, we'll eat you.
Post Post Script. We totes mcgee did not take two pictures on the same day...

Night III.

We are parked outside an old people's home. There is an abnormally large fellow hobo staring at us. We wonder how she has become so large, we are slightly jealous. This has become pathetic.

'Nuff Said,

Au Revoir.

Day III.

Today is a sweaty day, for our place of stay was the Beach Parking Inn.

This Inn does not come highly recommended by the deux.

But from this we have created a routine.

Thou shall drive to CVS/Walgreens.

Thou shall collect all necessary items.

Thou shall walk briskly to their public restroom.

Thou shall use all necessary items.

Thou shall change clothes.

Thou shall look balla.

Thou shall leave briskly.

Thou shalt not look too guilty for not buying anything.

After our morning ritual, we return to our home away from home, Panera.

SIGHTING ALERT: One last-night's-pants hipster and one dress-from-last-night lady have entered our humble abode. Do we remember them wearing those clothes at the Tizzy?

We just might... Hardy har har.

As we sit hearing the shrill buzzing of square food alarms and smelling the sweet smell of onion bagels, we realize that we have lost The Credit Card. After massacring our vehicular home, we realize that without that bit of god-forsaken plastic, gas becomes... non existent? And so does any chance of making the five hour drive home in a weeks time. Now in a pool of utter misery, we decide the only sane solution to our problem is naptime.

So we sleep.

For fourteen hours.

Bleh,

Au Revoir.

Post Script: At this moment, we could really use Nadine's drink of choice.

Night II.

The night began with a flurry of fist pumps.

Jordan and Claire have completed their purpose: to perform scandalous body movements in the honor of the dance gods. Chants, as always, included.
With one fountain-impersonating toilet that shut off all means of rehydration, our dancing became that of delirious snakes. Who could complain? As the night progressed, Daddy-O and entourage arrived. Soon they joined our battle-royale on the dance floor. Three glitter showers later, things became sticky. With shoes nowhere to be found, we resorted to our natural soles. The flurry of fist pumps became a flurry of playful kisses (Recorded, of course, by Friendly Picture Man). And amongst the usual crowd, blossomed a boy-flower we shall call Boss. Coke-fiending ladies, Puppies, drunkard tight-pant wearing men, and glaring Silly Putty all completed the picturesque scene of CLUB.
After putting our lovely dance partners to bed, we voyaged to the Riverside frontier. All for a few more minutes of party bliss.

What a night...

Au Revoir.

Post Script. Nadine's drink of choice is now Whiskey, thanks to a certain individual ;-)

Day II.

The deux are becoming religous zealots. Give us a bible and we shall thump it.
We are 'praying' that this is purely superficial, since most cries to god are made in near vehicular destruction and in the presence of crack hobos.

But onto more important matters. We have spent our first night at the 24 Hour CVS Inn.

Other than it being frigid cold, it was a suprisingly pleasant ten-hour slumber.

24 Hour CVS Inn comes highly reccommended by the deux, but now we are on to bigger and better Inns.

Tonight marks another (hopefully spetacular) night at the Tizzy (TSI).

Other than the lovely tribal dancing Claire, we are bringing a penis. This johnson's name is Jordan and his pelvic-thrusting/fist pumping/booty-shaking body pulsing comes highly reccomended.

But we have been lied to before...

Well, from our Panera breakfast nook.

Au Revoir.

Night I.

Oh good god. Tonight had a certain twinge of epicness that cannot fully be described. Well, of course, there were the usual devils: Deadhead, Silly Putty, BBW, Snaps, Beany Boy, CJ, Beany Boy Revisited, Teardrop. Now these coke-fiending belly-dancing fools are not legally dubbed these names, but our social credibility would be slaughtered if we were to mention the 'real ones'. We shall refer to them as the Regulars.

The night for the deux started with musical festivities by a siren of male vocals. We approve. Next, generic-brand banter with strangers/mates/demigods. Later came a tragic joke telling spell with a trio of unknowns (induced by a cigarette frenzy, of course). THEN CAME THE BEARFOLK. (wtf). Okay, we're are all for the electronically coma inducing boy/pop/confetti synth, but the mood was ruined by the less-than-enthusiastic man/bitchtorouge.

These are the folk who do not give free cig love.

So therefore we don't give a FOLK.

Anywho, NICK FRESH (thou who shall remain named) WAS BOSS. 'nuff said. With Friendly Picture Man capturing an accordion carrying Fresh and deux in a moment of dance bliss.

Night ended with Snap's intrusion, hipster snogging, Wolf Like Me and a 24 Hour CVS (Inn).

Busy hobos are we.

Au Revoir.

Day I.

Today is a smelly day, for Panera is reaking. And this is the place we call home. Actually, no. This is the place where we get shite-y free Wi-fi. Godbless Amuuurica. It's also one of those epiphany type days. Hipster-man-boys should be a food group. For two reasons: One, they are tasty; Two, they are prey. As a BONUS ROUND, they smell like cheap cigarettes and Blue Ribbon. Tres delicieux. American Translation: Boys are stupid and should be eat'n.

More importantly, we are about to embark on our first nocturnal adventure. TSI: Art somethin'. We are including a new vagina in this swell time. Her name is Claire and from past experience her body tribal movements will suffice.

We, jolly hobos, are signing out for now.



Au Revoir.

Still In Dorm.

Have not yet tried our hands at homelessness, but will soon be reeking the benefits of few showers and PB&j's.

The troubled troubadours signing out,

Au Revoir.