Responsibility (5 things Friday)

When I go to the Staples in Hollywood there is this physically handicapped homeless man that sits outside the entrance in his non-functioning electric wheelchair. He sits there all day because there is a large oak tree that provides him shade from the sun and because the manager of that Staples is a limp wristed bitch that is afraid to tell a homeless man to get off his lawn. Now this homeless man isn't THAT homeless. On a 1-10 scale he is like a 4. 1 being the type that sleeps under a bridge with no blanket, 10 being a guy with a shopping cart full of shit and a tent on 6th street in skid row. (6th street is like the coachella campgrounds for homeless people, in fact it's probably a lot of similar things that happen there, just sub out cocaine and molly for meth and heroin...but still a party) So when I say 4 out of 10, I mean that this guy doesn't noticeably smell from 5 feet away, he seems to have been wearing the same outfit for no longer than a week and he doesn't appear to be in the midst of a severe PCP trip.
I mean he has an electric wheelchair it probably worked at some point. I'm sure in the 90's this guy was like the upper middle class of homeless people.

But he also has this weird fucking disability where he has these short ass legs, like the character crazy legs from the movie Don't Be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood (note: I fucking loved this movie when I was little. At that time I didn't realize it was a parody movie of Menace 2 Society nor that it would be the last good Wayans Bros film outside of the original scary movie) Now that I think about it, this motherfucker probably IS the wheelchair bound actor who played crazy legs. He literally looks like a normal black dude that grew like an average human, but his legs stopped growing at age 4. I digress. Every day I walk past this guy and he is a shrewd homeless man. Instead of lazily begging, he exploits his handicap by dropping his cell phone at his feet and then asking people to help him pick it up. Of course you stop and pick it up because if you don't help a disabled person you're just a fucking prick. But then you have established an emotional connection with this cunt and he then asks you for a dollar or two so he can eat. You can't pick up his cell phone for him and then tell him to fuck off...this guy knows what he's doing. It's literally like paying a fucking troll a toll to pass, I might come at him with a riddle next time.

But this is what this guy lives for, he has established his hustle and even though he probably has a higher success rate than most annoying bums all the money in the world won't make his little baby legs grow because Aldrich Killian's technology isn't real. Iron Man 3 was a work of fiction. Let's get into it then shall we? This week's 5 things Friday focuses on 5 things I won't be responsible enough to do this weekend.

5. Mop the glass shards off of my kitchen floor.
Remember adderall? I used to take that shit and clean like I was an illegal Polish immigrant. Now I just kinda puh shit around until it looks presentable. This is the metaphorical embodiment of sweeping shit under the rug. My room is dirty? Push everything under the bed? Bunch of shit in the family room? Sweep it under the couch. Last weekend we broke so much glass in my kitchen that I just started periodically bleeding from my feet all week because new shards found ways to embed themselves in my feet? Don't walk around barefoot you say? Clearly you've never had an issue with foot odor, the way to alleviate foot odor is to never wear shoes, your feet don't start to smell until you put a shoe on and then take it off. This is why I almost always wear sandals, it's because I'm afraid I might accidentally stumble into a situation where I am forced to have sex with a chick and not know the horror of my fot odor until its too late. I have definitely bailed on a sure thing hook up before because I was scared of what might happen if I took my shoes off. But ya, those tiny glass landmines are still in the kitchen but I probably won't do anything about it because walking around with flip flops should mitigate the risk. Speaking of Polish immigrants, we have Mexican cleaning ladies in LA. I think my next reality tv show idea pits Mexican cleaning ladies against Polish cleaning ladies. We'll do a home and away series where I destroy my LA apartment one weekend, and Burling in Chicago the next and they compete to see who can do a better job for 5 bucks an hour. Illegal labor is the best.

4. Imagine the HORROR of when I got a big ass envelope from the IRS yesterday. MOTHERFUCKER I thought. They called me on my lies. I honestly couldn't believe I was going to get audited on a 30some thousand salary. But when I opened it I realized I had just forgotten to sign on the line that is dotted. I can totally sign it, but the thing is, they didn't include return postage. AND I have a flat bike tire. SO I'm probably just not going to ever send it in, they owe me 8 bucks, let's call it even. Going to the Venice post office is like going to the LA free HIV test clinic. You stand in line with a bunch of strung out gays that are dying of AIDS. By the way, I recently read an article about how awful the AIDS plague was in the 80's in West Hollywood. It eradicated like 2/3 of the population because all the residents were shooting poisonous semen up each other's butts. West Hollywood almost didn't make it...almost...*curses under breath* Note: That's not a statement about how I feel about homosexuality, but a statement on how I feel about all of LA east of the 405. West side gays are the shit.

3. Take my clean clothes out of the dryer
I have too many clothes for the amount of drawers in my room. Also I hate folding. That said, when I cram half of what I own into the dryer, my room feels extremely clean. The last thing I want to do when I hear the dryer buzzer is put down my beer and fold and put away all of my clothes. In fact if I didn't have roommates I think every morning when I woke up I would turn the dryer on for 30 seconds and then just take out what I wanted to wear that day. Nothing feels better than putting on a warm shirt that has no wrinkles because you cheated and put it in the dryer.

2. Get my air conditioning fixed.
I remember from when I was younger that taking your car in for a tune up was a regular thing that adults do. I also remember that "tune ups" cost around a thousand dollars. Who in the fuck has a thousand dollars laying around to get their car worked on when nothing is even broken, just to make sure it's running at optimal condition. I will literally drive my car until it explodes, at which point I will just leave it burning on the side of the road and then go buy another shitty car and repeat the process. 1000 dollars could probably get me to London and back to see my old roommate. I'm not going to use it to clean my cars air filter and replace some belts. Fuck that noise. I'd rather ride my bike. Oh wait that has a flat tire. Ride my roller blades...oh wait those are broken too. Fuck, looks like I'm walking this weekend.

1. Do a rewrite on my most recent pilot.
I am one of those people that love to complain but never really do anything about it. I am of the mind that I am so awesome that I should just get paid to exist. I've already written 100000 words of a memoir about my exploits during college. I envision that this book will make me the most famous person ever, I will be the most beloved guest on the late night circuit and I will crush my SNL hosting gig. But the thing is, I've lived a pretty douchey life, a few Brobible disciples might think what I have written is mildly entertaining but not much past that. Anyway, some Chinese producer wants me to rewrite a pilot I wrote but SET IT IN CHINA. Even when I told him that the Hangover 2 basically did that and it sucked he still thought it was this glorious idea and he could probably if nothing else get someone to fly me to China to pitch my idea. That would be cool i guess, I've never been to China. Alas, rewriting that this weekend would require a lack of partying that I'm not sure I can commit too.

In fact all I can say whole heartedly that I will do this weekend is stay alive and call my mom on Mother's day. Because at the end of the day, no matter how much of a self indulgent heathen you are, as long as you call your mother on her special day and tell her you love her, you're a "good kid." And as long as you have a pulse and you make your mom smile what else do you need? Sure I set the bar low, but I leave room for improvement.