Egads! It's been a while, hobo fans! My apologies. Life has been happening at a pace somewhat short of breakneck, and I've been spending all of my mental energy on other things. But I find myself with a few moments to spare and an itching to tell stories, so here I am.

And OH the stories I could tell. Some of them are too recent and sensitive to discuss, like the Great Gummi Penis War of 2009, which had surprisingly traumatic repercussions, the nature of which I am not at liberty to share at the moment.

Day 1

Drank something in a bottle I found on the ground behind the local "glass pipe" shop. Everything went fuzzy for a while, and I woke up on a bus next to a bearded man wearing yak skin. At least, that's what he told me it was. He looked a little stabby, so I didn't question it. I wonder where the bus is going?

Day 4

Yellowknife, Alaska. Great.

Day 9

There are some decent dumpsters here. I'm not really sure what to do with the seal parts, though. I'm assuming that's what they are, anyway.

Day 10

It has come to my attention that the world needs more reality TV shows. It has also occurred to me that the hobo is severely underrepresented on the national airwaves. Therefore, I have decided to "shop around" my idea, which I have tentatively titled "Who Wants to Lick a Hobo?"

It's been a busy month! I turned 33! This did not bother me. The grey hairs on my head, in my nose, and on my nipple (how rude) do not bother me. The fact that I'm closer to exiting the 28-35 section of the demographic does not bother me. Hell, I'm not even bothered by the fact that my Dad was 33 when I was born. My biological clock is not ticking. No, the thing that bothers me is that my body is starting to protest. Not much, just a little bit, but it's noticeable.

You know, usually I'm all about taking it easy and not letting things bother me. I'm not a party pooper or a killjoy. But I got really annoyed yesterday. By a bumper sticker.

It read "If you're so Goth, where were you when we sacked Byzantium?"

Ha ha, right?

NO.