While taking a pre-dawn stroll through my neighborhood this morning, I had the great fortune to see an actual bum fight. First of all, I’m a huge fan of the bum fight, my love of this exciting spectator sport growing upon hearing that they actually have DVD compilations of bum fight highlights.
In fact, my friend 3D was, at one time, wooing a rather weird woman who finally, after far too many dates, invited him up to her apartment to “hang out.”
3D was stoked to get the much anticipated go ahead and eagerly agreed to this, waiting on the couch as she selected a DVD and joined him. He called me the next day with sage words of wisdom. “It’s really hard to make a move on a chick when you’re watching ‘Bum Fights III.’”
I’ve certainly heard of the controversy of shithead frat boys paying hobos to brawl, and I completely disapprove of that dreadful practice.
It’s so much better when it’s real!
So as I walked down 22nd Avenue this morning, I was quickly sucked into the reality of my neighborhood by insane, toothless screaming. I held my handbag tight and looked up ahead, seeing two hobos right out of central casting shoving an overflowing shopping cart back and forth at each other. I may have even audibly whispered to myself, “Yes! Bum fight!”
I couldn’t tell if they both wanted the cart or were trying to get rid of it, but they caused such a vaudevillian display, another hobo began to cheer them on, clapping his hands and singing “Drop his bottles, drop his bottles!”
I have no idea what this means, but it’s my new favorite song.
I’d been walking as slow as possible, so as to experience as many details as I could, but in reality, this cart haggling could’ve gone on for hours. I moved on and headed home, thanking my lucky stars that very rarely, God puts me in the very right place at the very right time…