“When my mind is cray
Wait to wipe another day
Let the anus spray
Down in Fraggle Rock” -Pant Load Bob
Pant Load Bob says a lot of things, as long as he does not notice anyone around him. If so much as a single person registers as a blip on his radar, however he is expressing his worldview gets preempted by a simple two-word request.
“Spare change?”
The responses show the true nature of the person responding. On one side, there are generous souls who dig through their pockets in order to give what they can. The other side has those who believe that the best way to deal with the homeless and mentally ill is to assault them, either verbally or physically.
Between these two extremes are the advice givers, beseeching Pant Load Bob to get a job, accept God into his life, or embrace healthier choices of what he puts in his body. None of the advice is terribly helpful. People in Bob’s condition tend to be unemployable. They also don’t need another voice in their head, especially one that claims to be God Almighty. And while proper nutrition is preferable to self-medicating with fentanyl and Royal Gate vodka, it is unrealistic to expect miracles from eating a lot of quinoa.
I fall firmly in the none-of-the-above category. I do not really care about other people by default, at least not enough to part with my precious beer money. On the other hand, I am not one to judge PLB on how he lives his life. I basically live the same way except that I have more money, a roof over my head, and slightly better hygiene. So I walk away and bear him no ill will, even when he shouts obscenities at me for not giving him any spare change.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not completely heartless. I am not against having my tax dollars going to those in need. If I am going to pay taxes anyway, I want at least a little of it going toward actually helping people. I just don’t want to pay a proximity surcharge for living in a city where the homeless are strewn about the sidewalks in every direction.
Another problem with giving PLB my spare change is that he is just going to keep asking for more. In that way he is not much like me, but rather like a certain Democrat who ran for president not long ago. I gave her $25, which is $25 more than I usually give. After that, the emails came nonstop. Election Day came and went, but the requests for funds continued unabated. Team Kamala raised a billion dollars, spent all of it and then some, and still managed to lose. Giving the Dems more money isn’t going to fix America any more than giving my spare change to Pant Load Bob is going to turn his life around.
Credit where credit is due though. PLB fights the good fight by being disgusting and I cannot fault him for entering the battlefield on his own terms. Now I may lack the commitment to shit my pants like he does, but I can still cut the cheese like it’s nobody’s business. All I need is the proper strategy.
My plan is twofold. The first part is to leverage my diet to increase gas production. This can easily be accomplished by eating lots of legumes, cabbage, garlic, and Brussels sprouts, washing it down with copious amounts of PBR. The second part requires self-control. By having each flatulence event come out a little at a time, I can lengthen its duration. With enough gas, a fart will last all the way until the next one begins. The resulting never-ending toot will send a powerful message to Trump’s America, for four solid years if necessary.
It may not solve anything, but it will be at least as effective as the Kamala Harris campaign and it won’t cost no billion dollars neither.