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Chunks the Hobo
Out here on the streets, I see some pretty weird things. Some of them are even real, not just fortified wine-fueled visions of the apocalypse. Like that one where a fire-breathing dragon descends from the sky and gives birth to Condolleezza Rice, who picks me up off the street and sets me on the back of the dragon, who flies us both to an undisclosed location in a bunker underground somewhere and there's Martha Stewart and Dick Cheney and Scarlett Johansson only with the head of a goat and all these other people in robes (bath robes) and they're all singing "Screaming in the Night" by that '80s hair metal band Krokus, who were from Sweden or something, and I turn to Condi and she says to me, all Twin Peaks-like, "The snails are farting. Do you not hear them?"
But I digress. Today I've been seeing a lot of dudes looking like the one in the pictured here walking all around downtown Ann Arbor and knocking on people's doors. Since I don't have a door, they've ignored me, praise be to Joe Smith.
My advice is, if you are fortunate enough to have a door and a home (you asshole), don't answer. Just stay on your couch watching Orgazmo until they go away.
That is all.
Forgive me if I'm doing this wrong. Hobos don't normally keep diaries.
Anyway, I was poking around the athletic department begging for change and looking for some Gatorade to help the Wild Irish Rose go down easier and I learned Rich Rod is making Kevin Grady wear a new uniform as a condition of staying on the team.