The Homeless Guide to Life, the Universe and Everything in Between

By

Jason Andrew Giecek

Dedicated to open fields and open beers and a girl we shall call Martha

Dear reader, as I shall call you that as any other name would be silly,

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You may be asking yourself,

“How do I become homeless? It sounds fun, like camping, except no mountain streams and the beer is warm!”

And you’d be correct!

I am currently homeless, I have a job but find myself without a roof.

Who needs a roof!?

Or a bed?

Or a toilet or a shower?

The world is your toilet.

Or, if you’re shy, there’s always public restrooms.

Public restrooms are godsends to the homeless.

“I need to take a poop!”

They can also double as a makeshift wash station.

The Dollar store is also a homeless person’s best friend.

Everything is one dollar!

You can easily pan handle a dollar.

Tell people your car broke down and you need a new kidney or your children will die over in Iraq.

No, you don’t have to have children.

Adopt some aka steal a few.

Welcome to the world of being homeless!

I went to the dollar store today and bought a cheap tarp for a ground cover.

I have learned that the ground is hard and cold.

Icky bugs crawl on the ground.

At some point, you will hit the wall of exhaustion where you’ll collapse right there on the ground.

You’ll wake up with a worm crawling out of your nose.

Then you’ll care.

Nothing says “I’m homeless” than laying there at 2:30 in the morning fearing the Boogeyman is out there to get you.

Don’t worry, there’s nothing to worry about except being raped, murdered and/or eaten.

Piece of cake!

You got this!

CHAPTER TWO: Your camp! Your Friend!

After being homeless for awhile, you’ll discover your place in the scheme of things.

You’ll discover new people and they’ll discover you cry and wet yourself a lot.

You’ll learn new terms.

Such as “Your camp”.

A nice police woman who stopped me today while investigating a copper wire robbery near where I had been sleeping asked me if I had a “camp” around and if I had heard anything.

I hadn’t but apparently I have a camp.

She then asked me if I had anyone else in my “camp”.

My tribe?

What would my tribe be called?

The Angry Beavers?

Bob’s All Girl Revue?

But sadly, there isn’t anyone else in the camp but me.

And a suicidal bunny rabbit named Steve.

Camp sounds fun.

I’d rather be at camp than homeless.

Being homeless sucks.

Big time ass!

I don’t sleep and after a few days, Jim Morrison comes to me with great advice.

“Get the fuck outta here man!”

Good advice Jim.

Good advice.

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