Ousting Hobos From The Back Alley Party Zone

I'm always just a little wary when I see one of my bosses approaching my desk. I have three. One never asks for anything. The other two, well, you just never know what it is going to be next.

So when one of them started coming towards me yesterday, with that glint in his eye. The glint that said he was going to jack up my whole day, I started to tremble slightly. They always start with a, "Betttsssy!" The task at hand? Shutting down the hobo dance club that has formed behind my office. I mean, it's kind of rude to try to close this thing down. There is a filthy, cushionless couch and chair sitting right next to a dumpster. This? Is an obvious invite for hobos everywhere to come kick it with their brown sack booze and catch up on the hobo social scene. You know, complete with hobo paparazzi asking what Smokey is wearing today. Which is obviously urine caked, mismatched work boots and the latest in torn flannel. I mean, even I can see that. Oh and the valet out there, that parks the one bike that they pass around back and forth, which invariably leads to Smokey punching Patches in the gut when he wants his turn to bike around to check out the hobo ladies. Good thing Unicorn Jenkins is playing the role of bouncer or this could get out of hand.

Look, all I'm saying is far be it for me to go out there and bust up the hobo happening. You know? Instead? I think I might start leaving hobo delicacies in the garbage to help them out a little.

And obviously in my mind this is more like an episode of Tom and Jerry than of the back alley Kansas City homeless scene. You know with tuna can percussion and fish bone guitars. Cats banging garbage can lids to a groovy tune.

Anyway, I evidently am busy with very, very important things. So just look at these pictures and stay happy while I get my ass kicked by Toothless Joe and the Crusty Bunch.

My new hair cut:




The Dude when he wants his picture taken - CHEEESE!:



The Dude when he's done taking pictures looking not so much like a baby anymore:



Sunday baseball at the K. Where evidently we missed a brawl between the parents by mere innings. Complete with one parent kicking the shit out of the other parents head: