Ma Navu
09-14-08, 10:13 PM
This topic's title is a metaphor for my experience doing this. I've not done so in years, nor was I very skilled at it. Also, as you can tell, it's also a direct reference to my character. Any and all help would be appreciated, though I'm sure I've said that throughout each and every one of my posts here. Any hoo, if you guys feel like screwing around with a hungry, hungry hobo, this'll be open (assuming I need to say that for anything to start).
"Change? Anyone gots any change to give? I needs mah daily fixin's!"
Al, the drunk hobo, stood by the entrance of a bar whose name he'd payed no attention to, stretching his arm out towards anyone who was within his reach. His hand gripped an old, browning wine bottle with coins in it, which beg the question, How were these coins placed in the bottle when the neck is clearly too narrow for them to fit?
People came and went, attempting to ignore the old coot so that he'd leave them alone. Sometimes, those attempts were rendered useless, as Al persisted relentlessly, shoving the bottle into the faces of some whilst asking for any loose coinage. As each word escaped the lips of the filthy homeless fellow, so did a rancid stench that permeated through the nostrils of his poor victims. In desperate attempts to flee, they responded as quickly as possible, "I've no change!"
In a stark contrasting tone, Al's persistence would often morph into a guilt-inducing, "Oh, well God bless," upon hearing the terrible news, as he stumbled away from the victims of his stench. Often times, while waiting for potential donations, Al was seen removing his out of place brand new shoe, then his filthy old sock, and strangely enough chewing the horrendously disfigured and stained cloth that covered his toes. Those who saw this sight had tasted the vomit rise in the back of their mouths.
After several rounds of pleading and chewing, Al finally sat down at a table with one dirty hand gripping the old, change-filled wine bottle, the other hand veiled in the chewed sock, and his foot covered only by the shoe; no sock. He stared at his plaid hand, relaxing in his chair, and began acting as a ventriloquist.
"Why, hello there, Ziggy!"
The hobo shifted the shape of his mouth so as a high-pitched, stench-ridden voice was escaping from the crusty corners of his lips, while he mimed his mouth's movements with his hand like a Muppet, "Al, you smell! Take a bath!"
Back to his normal pitch, he scowled, "How would you know? You dun has no nose, yer a puppet! Dun make me bite'choo 'gain! I know how you dun' lahk mah teef!"
"I'm sorry, I'll be good..." His hand clammed up as if it had tried silencing itself to prevent it's torture.
Al peered through his broken shades with a menacing leer at his hand, "Y'better, you damn sock. Yer lucky ah lahk you, er you'd 'a' been dinner by now!"
"Change? Anyone gots any change to give? I needs mah daily fixin's!"
Al, the drunk hobo, stood by the entrance of a bar whose name he'd payed no attention to, stretching his arm out towards anyone who was within his reach. His hand gripped an old, browning wine bottle with coins in it, which beg the question, How were these coins placed in the bottle when the neck is clearly too narrow for them to fit?
People came and went, attempting to ignore the old coot so that he'd leave them alone. Sometimes, those attempts were rendered useless, as Al persisted relentlessly, shoving the bottle into the faces of some whilst asking for any loose coinage. As each word escaped the lips of the filthy homeless fellow, so did a rancid stench that permeated through the nostrils of his poor victims. In desperate attempts to flee, they responded as quickly as possible, "I've no change!"
In a stark contrasting tone, Al's persistence would often morph into a guilt-inducing, "Oh, well God bless," upon hearing the terrible news, as he stumbled away from the victims of his stench. Often times, while waiting for potential donations, Al was seen removing his out of place brand new shoe, then his filthy old sock, and strangely enough chewing the horrendously disfigured and stained cloth that covered his toes. Those who saw this sight had tasted the vomit rise in the back of their mouths.
After several rounds of pleading and chewing, Al finally sat down at a table with one dirty hand gripping the old, change-filled wine bottle, the other hand veiled in the chewed sock, and his foot covered only by the shoe; no sock. He stared at his plaid hand, relaxing in his chair, and began acting as a ventriloquist.
"Why, hello there, Ziggy!"
The hobo shifted the shape of his mouth so as a high-pitched, stench-ridden voice was escaping from the crusty corners of his lips, while he mimed his mouth's movements with his hand like a Muppet, "Al, you smell! Take a bath!"
Back to his normal pitch, he scowled, "How would you know? You dun has no nose, yer a puppet! Dun make me bite'choo 'gain! I know how you dun' lahk mah teef!"
"I'm sorry, I'll be good..." His hand clammed up as if it had tried silencing itself to prevent it's torture.
Al peered through his broken shades with a menacing leer at his hand, "Y'better, you damn sock. Yer lucky ah lahk you, er you'd 'a' been dinner by now!"