Acid Heroes

September 8, 2015

Obsessive/compulsive behavior; Part 2

There are so many bizarre characters on the street scene. They are like archetypes from your strangest dreams and nightmares.

It was in the 90s yesterday.  Hot!  But that didn’t stop this local street person, the Walrus (as I call him), from walking around (or should I say staggering around)  with four pairs of pants on.  Three of which were hanging down around his ankles.

It got me thinking about some of the other weird, compulsive behavior I’ve seen over the years on the street scene.

Like this one guy I used to know.  He was so guilt-ridden, he compulsively blamed himself for everything that happened.  And I mean everything.  He’d say stuff like:  “I was listening to the radio today.  And the disc jockey sounded depressed.  Somehow, I felt it was my fault.  Like I was putting out bad vibes in the airwaves that made him feel sad.”  The guilty bastard.

Then there are the “serial flushers.”  I already told you about those guys.  The nuts that go into the public restrooms and compulsively flush the toilets over and over again . . .  I’d like to flush those guys down the toilet.  I guess that’s my compulsion.

Then there’s this young street woman, extremely attractive and extremely nuts (a deadly combination).  She insists that she invented the rave scene and started all the pot clubs.  Therefore, all the people who have been profiting from these enterprises owe her approximately $24 billion in residuals (cash, check or money order would be fine).  So she’s constantly posting these xeroxed fliers all over the Avenue demanding that the perpetrators meet her at a certain time and a certain place and fork over the dough.  And if they don’t, she will tie them up with duct-tape and chop them into little pieces.  Which is only fair.  The odd thing is; her fliers are always very well written, and in excellent handwriting.  Aside from the fact that they’re completely nuts.

Then there’s this guy who actually thinks he’s the King of Denmark.  The first time I dealt with him was when he came up to my vending table and bought some books.  He gave me a dollar bill.  Then he asked for the bill back.  Signed his name on the bill.  And then gave it back to me.  “I have to notarize all the bills first in order for them to be legal tender,” he explained.  OHHH-key.

The King’s compulsion was:  He liked to sneak into homeless people’s campsites in the Berkeley hills when they weren’t around, and not only steal their stuff, but trash out their campsites.  Everybody who camps up there has had to deal with this nut.  One day I noticed somebody had hit my campsite.  I immediately suspected it was the King.  Later that day, I confronted him on the Avenue.

“Did you steal my stuff?”  I said.

“No, of course I didn’t steal your stuff,” he said.  “I’m the King of Denmark, and the Berkeley hills are my eminent domain.  Therefore, all the property up there is legally mine.  So it’s not stealing when I take something that is rightfully mine.”

“Wrong answer,” I said.  And I threw a cup of cold coffee in his royal face.

Since I started living on the streets, I rarely go to movies.  You usually end up living out several strange movies every day on the streets.  So it’s kind of redundant to pay money to watch other people’s movies.

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