Move South, Get A Talent
I'm not going to say that I'm a man of the people because it's hard to be so when you live high on a hill in a mansion covered in rose bushes, gold leaf, and diamond-encrusted Skittles. Delicious and expensive. Still, I understand a few things about people. I understand that people don't like being photographed while pooping. I understand that the average person doesn't want to be hit by a car, especially one driven by this guy. And thanks to an unfortunate incident in college that I'd rather not discuss, I understand why women aren't terribly fond of anal. But there is one thing I do not understand one bit.
These people:

Another thing about the homeless that vexes me is the signs and cups and the incessant desire for my money. Yes, times are hard, economic hardship, blah blah, boo capitalism you big babies. Regardless, if you're going to be homeless, crafting a sign out of cardboard and standing in the same spot all day every day is not effective. It's just sad and pathetic. Sad and pathetic just isn't enough for charity anymore. Pity is SO last year. Impress me, damn it. You want the 63 cents in my pocket? You gotta earn it, buddy!
You've clearly got all goddamn day - why don't you develop a fucking skill? Learn to drum on buckets. Learn to do a backflip. Learn to sing. Learn to dance. Learn to beatbox. Fuck, learn something. Sitting around on the street like a fucking mope is no good. I guess nobody wants to work for it anymore. Ya know, people condemned Bum Fights for being immoral and wrong, but at least it got them learning how to throw a crisp jap.

This guy earned his 63 cents.
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