Panda Bear posted:

There's a place on Cheyenne and LVB that'll give you fifty dollars the first five times you donate in 30 days, and a place on Trop and Pecos that has a similar promotion. Both require either two forms of ID or an ID + social security card (I forget which) and either one or two pieces of mail (again, I forget which). you can effectively only go to one of these places though as they have systems in place to prevent you from donating too many times in a week.

honestly if you need anything random don't be afraid to ask. like if you need a blazer or a tie for an interview or you're starving one day or something.

I'll see if I can track down some leads on any available jobs as well.

Centripetal Horse posted:

Wall of text crits you, etc.

Vorik posted:

if you are abled-bodied, don't have asthma and aren't a drug addict then join the loving army jesus christ

that sounds absolutely loving horrible. if i ever found myself in such a situation i would join the army without a second thought.

Flynn Taggart posted:

Godspeed, poopy hobo goon

RideTheSpiral posted:

lol if you dont just commit crimes. what do you have lose you giant failure?

basement jihadist posted:

if you had any empathy at all you'd realize his buthold is worringlyf tender right now and prison is awful without that

The Brown Menace posted:

he's 38 so he might be a bit too old for that

notZaar posted:

That's not too old to be a cook or a lieutenant or something.

The Brown Menace posted:

generals are pretty old too so when chris christie fires that one general for being too fat OP should have a crack at the position

THE DOG HOUSE posted:

Darth123123 posted:

like I care about your family's dreams rear end in a top hat, get out of my way

Centripetal Horse posted:

I don't have the gas or the money to leave the immediate neighborhood, at the moment.



Thanks. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Plus, like, applying for jobs and whatnot.


Thank you. I am not familiar with WyzAnt, but I will take a look right away.


Ah, I think I read about that housing initiative. I didn't remember that it was in Salt Lake City. I have been sending resumes to job postings in Nevada, Utah, Arizona, California, Washington state, D.C., Colorado, Florida, and Ohio. Basically, any place that is within one state of me, or where I have some sort of connection or potential resource to help me move.

I will post stories as things occur. I'm not sure how often there will be anything worth writing about, but I do have one I will post at the end of this reply.


Eh, I doubt it. So far, the only really noteworthy thing to happen is the poor crazy guy yelling at the support post.


I don't know, but I am guessing it isn't flattering. I am quite tall, and quite heavy, and I haven't had a haircut in months, so my hair is frizzy and uneven. I have a beard, but it was trimmed shortly before I became homeless, so it isn't entirely out of control, yet. I've been pretty quiet. Maybe they haven't named me, yet.


This town has been OK to me in the past. I was warned repeatedly that you needed to know people in Vegas in order to find work. I hadn't run into that problem, previously. Now, I am a believer.


Do you have specific questions? My first piece of advice is: don't end up living in a library. After that, it becomes more granular.


I turned 38 this month, so...



Story time

Story involves not-so-fresh meat, blood, and poop. Turn back, now. This story is why I am not getting around to posting until 2:00 in the afternoon. I apologize in advance for it being long, and rambly, and not particularly witty. I am still in considerable pain, and I do not have the energy for editing.

I am currently in "eat whatever is available" mode. I'd love to pick and choose between carbs and fats, and balance intake percentages and everything, but it's pretty much catch as catch can, right now. A few days ago, a friend gave me a package of two turkey/pork/whatever sausages because he bought them on a 4-for-$5 sale. I boiled them, because that was the only method available to me. They are the only "real" food I've had access to in quite a while, so I wanted to make them last. Sadly, "lasting" in this case means, "sitting in my 120 degree car day after day." Well, yesterday, I opened the container I had them in, and they were gross. They felt slimy, and mushy, and there was yellowish liquid in the bottom of the container. They didn't smell too great, either.

So, I did not eat them. I did not eat them... at that point in time. As the morning wore on, I got hungrier. I'd had naught but a handful of dry cereal, and an ancient bagel in the previous 24+ hours. My mind kept returning to the salty, meaty goodness in the box on the floor of my car. I finally gave in. Eating them was disgusting, but they tasted OK once I got past the gross texture and the off-putting smell. I only ate a few bites, sort of testing the waters. Several hours later, I wasn't dead, so I went back out to my car for another nibble. At that point, the sun was well up, and the car was hot, and I swear those sausages had deteriorated even further. As hungry as I was, I still only ate a little bit of what was left.

I thought I had gotten away with it.

Last night, at around 10pm, my stomach began to rumble, and I felt pressure building in my gut. I tried to ignore it, but the discomfort grew and grew, until I knew I had a problem. Finding a place that will let you poop without making a purchase is not always easy. I had the added challenge of not being able to put fuel in my car, so I had to try and keep it close. No bathroom available. Out of order. Customers only. This was getting bad. I finally found a place with an unguarded toilet, and ran in to do my business. It was... unpleasant. Still, I felt the pressure ease off, and I thought I would be OK for a while.

I was not OK for very long.

A little after midnight, the pressure came back, this time even worse. I was trying to catch some sleep in my car in a somewhat busy parking lot, but my guts were conspiring with the other cars and the foot traffic to keep me awake. I really, really didn't want to spend more of my precious fuel reserves driving around looking for a bathroom, but dropping my pants and making GBS threads in a populated parking lot was not a viable option. So, I rolled out. This time, I circled farther and farther out from my starting point without finding a single available toilet, or a secluded spot where I could leave some fertilizer and run. I am sure there must have been bathrooms available, but I couldn't find them. I ended up driving faaar to a locals casino, where I managed to do the needful. Now, however, I was in a very busy place with no hope of being able to park without being noticed, and almost certainly harassed. Casinos take a dim view of vagrants sleeping in their parking lots, and the streets around this casino were not conducive to pulling over and napping unnoticed. I waited a while to see if my guts were going to settle down, but I couldn't sit there forever. I ended up burning even more gas trying to find somewhere to sleep.

I did not sleep for long.

I awoke to a fierce rumbling and churning in my gut, and I started the car in a near-panic. I went racing for the place I had stopped at the day before (I was on that side of town, again), but someone was in the bathroom! Argh! I stood around waiting for the bathroom door to open, until the employees started asking if I needed something. So, I bought a fountain drink with two of the last $4 I had in the entire world, because I really, really needed to use the bathroom. Whoever was in there was taking his time. I knocked, but there was no answer. At that point, I was seriously afraid I was going to drop a bomb in the gas station convenience store. I finally gave up, and hauled rear end for my car. I started the engine, and went racing up the street looking for relief. I am literally chanting to myself, at this point. "I don't believe this. I am actually going to poo poo my loving pants. I am really going to poo poo my pants. I don't believe this. I am a grown man, and I am going to poo poo my loving pants." I finally found a P.T.'s Pub, just at the edge of a construction zone. There's one lane of traffic, and it isn't moving. I can see the turn-in to the parking lot, but I can't loving get to it. I am clenching my butt-cheeks with all the force I can muster, and punching myself in the chest in frustration and an attempt to distract myself from the unbearable loving pressure in my gut. Finally, traffic inches forward enough for me to duck between a couple of road cones diagonally across two lanes of oncoming traffic and zoom into the P.T.s parking lot. The walk to the door was maybe 80 feet, but it felt like a mile, and I very nearly made trouser chili while walking up the steps to the door. It turns out you cannot maintain maximum anal sphincter clench force when lifting one foot off the ground to climb stairs. Of course, there was literally no one in there but the bartender, and he was Mr. Friendly. "Hey! Welcome to P.T.'s. How are you? What can I get for you?" I didn't even have enough money to buy a Coke, so I muttered something, and made for the bathroom.

I was in the P.T.'s bathroom for an uncomfortably long time. I was not willing to leave until I was sure the job was done. In a strange and delightful turn of events, this P.T.'s Pub had real toilet paper. Bottom-shelf stuff, to be sure, but worlds better than that .0002 millimeter industrial stuff with pulp still in it that you find in most public restrooms. Wiping, when I finally reached that point, was a bit painful. Uhoh. Yes. Yes, that's a streak of blood on the toilet paper. Sigh. I exited the bathroom, and it appeared to be shift change, because there was now a second bartender, and the one who had been on duty when I came in was counting the drawer. His back was turned, and I made my escape without further small talk, and without having to feel like any more of an rear end in a top hat for riding in on my steed of poo poo and leaving without spending any money.

I had barely pulled out of the P.T.'s parking lot, when a new wave of gut-cramps hit, as if I had not relieved myself at all. loving unbelievable! I try to ride it out. Things settle down for a minute, then get worse, again. During this struggle, I received a text from a friend who was home alone and invited me over to get a shower and do some laundry. Of course, I made a beeline for his bathroom. That's when the fun - and the pain - really started. I spent most of the next three hours in his bathroom, releasing what felt like liquid barbed wire. How can something so soft be so loving sharp? Now, it was not streaks on the toilet paper. I was drizzling a fairly steady stream of blood into his toilet. I also saw what appeared to be tissue (the human kind) in the bowl, but I am choosing to ignore that, for now.

The volume lessened with each trip to the bowl, but the pain increased. The last couple of sits were mostly horrific cramps with a tiny squirt of brown flame at the end. Now, I have what feels like a bunch of grapes crowded around my rear end in a top hat, and it feels like my sphincter has been battered with a spiked club. My guts are still roiling and cramping, but the pucker pain is so severe that it is staying firmly closed, no matter what I tell it to do. If I die, tell them I died doing what I loved: writhing in pain from inflamed hemorrhoids while my churning guts try to push lava through my poop gate.

Thus ends my tale of near-fatal fecality. The moral of this story is: don't eat mushy, slimy meat that smells bad and has been sitting in your car stewing in its own mystery juices for days on end.

PHIZ KALIFA posted:

so glad y'all are here to point out the indelibly obvious and poo poo all over someone you could be helping. gently caress off or be constructive, be the help you miserable sods will need when your loved ones tire of your constant grating pessimism and hurl you bodily into a ditch.

notZaar posted:

Who is the Joker who stickied this? It's not funny.

Nation posted:

everyone is being very supportive actually

Wizzle posted:

If a couple of people send him a $20 gas card, he can fill up his gas tank.

Op: do you have a place where we can send you mail?

SHISHKABOB posted:

yeah just pm me your paypal deets and I'll set up the transaction.

Wizzle posted:

Why do you need that? I figured if you want to help, you can just send him a fuel card yourself. You can get them as little as $5. The question is, how to get the cards to him if he doesn't have a place where he can get mail.

SHISHKABOB posted:

Mail them to me, I'll figure it out.

PHIZ KALIFA posted:

so glad y'all are here to point out the indelibly obvious and poo poo all over someone you could be helping. gently caress off or be constructive, be the help you miserable sods will need when your loved ones tire of your constant grating pessimism and hurl you bodily into a ditch.