Ronnie got his act together

If you been following my act you know I sold Scruffy. Sold it to Ronnie. Sold him the boat last month. Yeah, I think it was last month. Are we in January? Yeah, today’s January 24. Friday. Today’s the first day of the rest of my God Damned life. I’m not complaining. I’m the Gloomy Boomer. I don’t complain. I’m no whiner. I’m just saying. I’m telling you stuff. Where was I? I sold Scruffy three months ago. Maybe longer. I can’t remember. Ronnie gave me the rest of the cash around Thanksgiving, I think. I propped his ass up all summer. Every since June when he declared he wanted Scruffy. Other people offered me money for the tub but I turned them down. I turned them down because I like Ronnie and I wanted him to have Scruffy. I told him so. I told him, “Ronnie, you’re like a son to me.” The other reason I went with Ronnie, he paid my asking price. All of it. I’m not saying he’s my pigeon. He’s like a son to me. I’m just saying I got what I wanted for the boat. Others low balled the shit out of me.. Scabrous bastards. But not Ronnie. He’s no tire kicker…

Ronnie

Another thing about Ronnie. He’s got a wife and a job down in Pasadena. All this time I’ve been staying on Scruffy for free cuz Ronnie can’t be in two places at once. My Buddy Dirk laid it out for me.

“You watch,” Dirk said, “He won’t get his act together until spring.”

“You think so?”

“At the earliest. You got a sweet deal going. Think about it. You’re doing him a favor. Watching the boat for him.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Ronnie’s your pigeon. “

Then yesterday Ronnie calls. He landed a job up here. A good job. A union job. 80 bucks an hour. Repairing elevators. He’s set. “I’ll be there February first,” he says. “I’m moving onto the boat. For good.”

“You and the wife?”

“No. Just me.”

“You sure?”

“Count on it.”

“I will.”

“I’m really nervous.” he says.

“About what?”

“About living on a boat.”

“Hold on a minute. You’re moving onto a two bedroom, two bath, floating home, and you’re nervous? I’m moving onto a fucking Toyota minivan. Grow a spine, for Christ sake!”

I didn’t actually say grow a spine. I only thought it. Ronnie’s a whiney momma’s boy but I like him. He’s solid. He’s like a son to me.

I wonder what he’s gonna do with his wife.

I’m hanging at the office

Sitting here, posting updates.

A Homeless dude.

Thing is, I’m not actually homeless yet. I’ll soon be homeless. Next Saturday to be exact. That’s when I’m officially homeless. But even then I won’t be homeless. Saturdays I hang at Trumpy Joan’s pad. Enduring Fox news, etc…Matter of fact, I’ll never be homeless on weekends. So what’s that make me? A part time homeless dude? I don’t know.

Shit, this is confusing. I got to think about it.

A double whammy

While I’m thinking about what kind of homeless I am I’m keeping my eye on Kenny, the manager. The fat gay dude behind the counter. That’s just his head there. He’s helping a customer but he’s alert, looking around. No doubt he knows I’m here. I’m always here. He knows I’ve been in here for at least two hours, posting updates. And he knows I have yet to spend a nickel. I bring my own coffee so I don’t gotta buy the shit they sell here. Plus I save five bucks. Why spend five bucks on a cup of shit when I can brew a decent cup of coffee and bring it with me in my Yeti Thermos?

It only makes sense!

The new policy

Starbucks used to let people come in here and just sit. You didn’t need to spend a dime. You could just sit and read your phone or get on your laptop and take advantage of the free internet. You could freeload I mean sit here all damned day. It was without question the best deal in the universe. But then they wised up. Just last week in fact. They came out with a new policy. From now on you must buy something in order to freeload I mean sit. You must at least buy a cup of coffee.

Everybody’s getting tight these days…

So I got this double whammy. I’m homeless or part time homeless or sort of homeless and I gotta spend real money from now on at the office.

I’m staring at the manager.

So far so good.

But WTF is homeless?

The more I think about it. I’m not even homeless on weekdays if I’m living in my Toyota Van. I’m a Van Lifer. Is living in a van homeless?

My van’s my home.

Does that make me homeless?

I don’t think so.

We need a new definition for what is homeless.

I need to consult an expert.

Elon Musk’s definition of Homeless

The wanna-be Nazi richest man in the world

This is how Elon Musk describes homelessness:

“Homeless is a misnomer. It implies that someone got a little bit behind on their mortgage, and if you just gave them a job, they’d be back on their feet,” he told former Fox News personality Tucker Carlson in October. “What you actually have are violent drug zombies with dead eyes, and needles and human feces on the street.” The more money spent combating homelessness, “the worse it gets”, according to Musk.

Last time I checked I’m not violent.

Nor am I a drug Zombie with dead eyes.

As for needles? Last time I saw a needle I was at the Dentist.

But what about human feces in the street?

I don’t use the street. Never have. I take all my dumps in a toilet. I mean, even after I move into my van I’ll be taking dumps in a toilet. Why take a dump in the street when you can go to Target or Safeway and use the toilet for free. Or here at the office. We have three toilets here at the office.

Three!

I take that back!

We have Four.

So much for the expert. The Nazi saluting wanna-be Nazi expert.

Shit.

Now I’m even more confused.

Maybe I need to relax and not worry about being homeless…or whatever it’s called.