Hobo Jungle

[Tramp]

Happy Birthday, Pete! If I could get something to wet my pipes--I'd sing.

[Tramp]

Hey, come on, hobos! I got the fire roaring, I got a case of beer that I separated from a frat house, Jackie might sing, I got some dumpster delights only part chewed. Let's get this party going. Maybe Daisy will dance. Pete likes dancing, I think.

[Daisy]

What a delight, a party! And birthday dancing is my specialty - Happy Birthday Peter dear, I'll start shaking my groove thing here for you - if Tramp gives me a sip of one of those Coors Lights (DAMN frat boys) it's sure to get extra saucy -

[Jackie Blue]

Now just use your imaginations please. Think breathy and sexy...

Hap-py birth day to youuuu,
Happy birth day to you.
Happy birth day, P&R Petieeeeee,
Happy birth day, to youuuu!!!

Mmmmwaw! Kisses to you baby!

-MM (and JB)

[P&R Pete]

Wow! I'm blushing! (But at least some blood has gotten back to my head)

Now THERE'S a birthday I'll NEVER forget!!

I thank you Ladies kindly. You're the best!

[Jackie Blue]

At our age Pete, birthdays are like an albatross around the neck. It's difficult when you feel one way, but reality stares you back in the mirror. But there are those wonderful surrealistic days when no one can guess that you're probably older than their parents and, in fact, you're probably nearing the senior citizen discount.

Don't get down about it. My daughter and I got a major laugh this past week when I was carded at the liquor store and she wasn't! God has a sense of humor, baby!

[San Diegan]

Anticipating the occasion of Petey's birthday and anticipating need, our newly betrothed bartender Dufus left a substantial reserve of Idaho Gold (TM) for occasions like this.

As was the case with the biblical transformation of water to wine at the wedding at Canna, some will peeve "Why did you save the best for last?" 'bo's will say "It's Petey's birthday! Drink up!"

San

[Dr. John]

Hey Pete, a belated happy birfday to ya!

I gotcha this here pork chop . . . had to take it away from some mutt, ain't tore up too bad though an I warshed it off in the ditch. Sorry 'bout the gift wrap. Couldn't find the funny papers in th' dumpster, so I used the sports section.

Let's all sang Happy Birfday to ol' Pete. (let me get my harmoniky tuned up . . . where is that thang?)

Somebody start off, I furgit how it begins . . .

[Will]

Happy Birthday, Petey! Sorry I missed the party.

A beautiful balmy summer-like evening, and I was couped up all afternoon and evening in a theatre, lit only by machinations of my own devices.

[Tramp]

Shortnis, draw a set up here near the fire. You ever tried any Idaho Gold[TM]? Tell me about your day, bud.

[Tramp]

"Shortnis, old buddy," said Tramp, "we all started out pretty much the same way. No one really decides to be a hobo. It just kinda happens over time. Some of us just can't stand the self-seriousness and self-righteousness that goes on in the outside world. So we stumble in here. And after a time we get stronger and maybe head out into that real world again. Will did that. But he'll be back if he's got any heart left, and I'm sure he does." Tramp stands and pokes the fire. He's close to six feet tall. "Oh, and I got to warn you, Shortnis. I was shorter than you before I stand drinking that Idaho Gold[TM]."

[Will]

Hey Shortnis, welcome to camp. We really have no idea where we are either, only difference is maybe we understand that its not important. Maybe that's all a hobo is after all. You can call me Willie by the way.

Think I like Shorty though. Its a little easier on the tongue, which doesn't work as well as it used to.

Tramp, I finally got enough of the litter cleared outta my brain to take a stab at reading your poem. Damn nice my friend, more than that really. Could really feel the heat and experience the layers of welcoming shade that you passed through.

Jeez, that would make a great beer ad. Makes me want a cool one right now.

[Tramp]

Willie, you're back! You heard and heeded the sigh. Yeah, Shorty might be better than Shortnis. (That sounds like a horse race and too high-brow). Denny wasn't so good either. We'll let Dennis decide. After he looks into that fire a bit more, has another dram, he probably won't care what he's called. The beauty of the Jungle.

Willie, thanks for the words on the poem. For some odd reason, I thought of you as I was writing the part about the fireflies and women. [Oh, you meant the new one. Sorry.]

[Tramp]

Thanks, Shorty. I used to sell my poetry books in bars. Talk about funny. An unlikely subject would walk in and I'd say, "Hey, wanna buy a book of poems?" They'd stare at me: "Are you funking crazy." I'd get them to read one poem, and more often than you'd think, they'd buy a book. I made 3K at 5 a book. Not much, but poetry is a tough sell. I once sold a book to Bruce Shoebottom, an ex-hockey player. As a Bruin they called him The Shoe and tossed old shoes on the ice when he'd beat someone up, which was often. He sold this tape called "60 Minutes, 74 Fights." He was the finalist in the Toughman competition in Oklahoma City about nine years ago. One day he showed up with a poem he'd written for me. I still have it.

[Tramp]

I start cyberspace Hobo Jungles wherever I feel they're needed most. Or until they're run off. (More likely)