Warning: This Post Took No Effort

Without my sitemeter showing it, I think some of the Greenpoint street residents are catching onto the fact that I am not indeed lost, staring at Google Maps on my phone and wondering out loud "Where is Oak Street?" but, in fact, desperately trying to get my phone to autofocus so I can capture their soul in a photograph because I am a mean sour-turd who half-believes he can sell trading cards of homeless people and then donate that money to charity.

For example, one woman who was particularly insane yelled at me that "there are no trees in Hollywood", perhaps an allusion to the fact that I was wearing wayfarers at the time and my hair looks like a blind person styled James Dean with leftover grease from Jimmy Dean sausage.

she was once a famous southern californian arborist

Another woman must have sensed that I was paying some sort of attention to her and actually started talking to me as we waited for the light to change on the corner. Apparently she had been at the church all morning, because (and this is verbatim; I wrote it down immediately) she said:

I've been praying all morning for my leg to heal. It's no good. Might be broken. Praying not working today. I might change to Orthodox. Not Jewish. I mean Roman.

I was taken aback and struggled for the right words — and also a little weirded out how quickly she was to say she wasn't Jewish — which came out as "I hope your leg feels better" as I smiled and crossed the street. Anyway, it made me feel kind of crappy so I really want to get these things made. It's been so horrible outside and no one should have to sleep on the street. I figure 15 cards, maybe 12, will be enough for a pack. I'll probably have to sell them online with a FAQ page that looks like this:

Q: Do you have blood and/or a heart with which to pump blood?
A: Yes.

Q: How can I help (expedite your death)?
A: You can help by purchasing these cards, as all proceeds will benefit the Greenpoint homeless community.

Q: Where do you live, I want to burn your house down?
A: Please don't hurt me. I'm trying to help (in a funny way).

OK, and now for something really interesting else:

This is an amazing video from a couple of weeks ago. DO NOT BE DECEIVED! Even though this bunny is very young and cute, he has a rap sheet a mile long and is known by the street moniker "HawkEye", because of this:

oh, the things this eye has seen

My magically talented Jewish Female SoulBrotha Carlen does a great job of telling HawkEye the business, and I do a tremendous job of looking like a gay pirate and dropping in some sort of dim-witted reference to the Lionhead Breed Standard.

Also, what the hell does this mean?

We need to get lionheads recognized as a "real breed" by the American Rabbit Breeders Association, and there is discussion of Carlen and I leading the charge quite literally by driving to Ohio and whining and maybe getting a VHS camcorder and taping it.

Also, my final non-sequitur of the day, this:

The reason the line at the bathroom is always so long...

Does A.C. Slater Sit Backwards On The Toilet?

spare a square, Mr. B?

Test results are inconclusive. But Mario Lopez has aerobics instructor levels of spandex photos floating around on the internets, just waitin' to be downloaded by some retro, '80s-loving pervert/blogger with perpetual boredom/no social skills/insomnia/indigestion. I hate myself.

just another reason for self-loathing

The McDonald's in my neighborhood is open 24 hours on Friday and Saturday nights, which means two things: One, I have an even unhealthier option for late-night drunk snacks than going to the bodega for a bag of kettle chips, a beef patty (pictured above, except sliced open and stuffed with pepperjack cheese before being microwaved) and a large VitaCoco; and two, they must have some sort of policy in that vagrants are allowed to loiter overnight. Both of these scenarios — eating late-night QPCs and photographing hobos — are near and dear to my heart, but one is going to cause my heart to explode from joy, the other explode from cholesterol...

Behold number three, "Dream Team", in my ongoing series of Homeless People Trading Cards (and another), in which I capture the unsheltered citizens in my neighborhood in their natural environment, like a National Geographic special created by a mental patient with photoshop.

this was the happiest meal i've had in weeks...

For some reason, looking at this photo has me thinking about that song "Holidae Inn" by Chingy. (whatever happened to him? Is he working the front desk night shift at a Cleveland area Radisson?) I got to wondering just what his street cred was really like. What if Chingy was homeless when he wrote that song and it was sad and depressing, talking about trying to bathe at the McDonald's or like a (hot) Carl's Jr. or something on Friday and Saturday nights and dreaming of a hotel room, but then Snoop and Bishop Don "Magic" Juan wandered in for a McFlurry and Chingy recognized Snoop and spit a few rhymes for him, Bishop Don trying to preach to him about turning his life around but Snoop — ever the savvy businessman — knew that even though the current version was depressing and totally unmarketable, especially since homeless Chingy was using a window washer's squirt bottle as a "mic", he saw some real talent in that kid, thinking almost out loud "If this shizzle wasn't about some homeless nizzle, it'd be off the hizzle" (or something like that, I think his mouth was full of Butterfinger McFlurry at the time). I scoured the internet and found the "Lost Lyrics" to the original song, when his name was Squeegie, due to his famously streak-free skills washing car windows on Sunset.

But out of those humble beginnings, this star was born, so we must appreciate his unfortunate roots and poor penmanship/grammar/spelling and love Chingy for the man who produced this:

I need to go to bed, but before I do, single solitary reader-prisoner, I will announce that I am going straight up Nick Denton and expanding my publishing empire to two horrible blogs, the second of which I am hoping to launch maybe tomorrow but realistically more like later this week. It is called "Tuesdays With Maury", and the idea is to take the choicest screenshots from the two daily episodes of the Maury Povich Show and post them on a tumblr blog, and maybe even try to teach a life lesson or two in the process like Mitch Albom does in that book, allegedly. I have not, nor do I ever envision myself reading it. Here's another little teaser, a PR shot from the play that was made from the made-for-TV movie that was made from the book. Enjoy, or whathaveyooz.

there's so much maury can teach me if i just plug my nose and keep an open mind about the elderly

Fat And Bloated, Mainly Around The Chin + Homeless V-Day Card

The other night's observance of a "holiday" was just an excuse to cram unhealthy food down my throat like Chris Farley before he chose the ultimate diet: drug overdose. (I'm lookin' at you, Al Roker; you're still fat and Farley's like a skeleton these days.) I took my love of dairy products to a previously unseen level and bought an embarrassing amount of cheese for myself and 4 other lonelyhearts. I made steaks. I drank red wine. Vegetables were present as a healthy option. I stayed up too late discussing sluttiness, intelligence and drinking. I ate far too much and got a gut-bubbling five hours of "sleep," which basically meant closing my eyes, clenching my cheeks and praying I wouldn't shit the bed. That being said, it was fun; but I didn't get what I asked for from any lady suitors, which was this:

thanks for all your support

Since I don't feel like I've got much to say, I thought I'd unload some pictures from my phone that have a lot of relevance when it comes to love, and by that I mean hanging out at bars and pet shopping.

klonapins are red, xanax is white, help me fill in the blanks, what happened last night?

SO TRUE!

my cat can't feel anything when i wear them

The one thing this week has provided is nice weather, which is conducive to photographing the homeless. I've got card number two in my ongoing series of Homeless Trading Cards (TM), and he is the ever elusive "Schlumpy". It's rare to capture him in his natural habitat, leaning against a payphone by the subway and covertly eating a sleeve of Mentos.

he's either an infant or 80, i have no idea

So enjoy this heartthrob above as a late Valentine's Day present to all (one) of you.