Great weather continues for the Homeless Philosopher

“IF YOU CAN’T DAZZLE THEM WITH BRILLIANCE, BAFFLE THEM WITH BULLSHIT.”

W.C. Fields

By Max R. Weller

I was reminded of this pearl of wisdom quoted above the other morning, when I observed Greg Harms, the executive director of Boulder Shelter for the Homeless, as he sat in his car going over some paperwork in the Bustop Gentleman’s Club parking lot across from BSH. No doubt, it was something to do with fundraising . . . In Harms’ plain view were about ten bums who had just left the shelter, and trespassed onto the strip club’s property to smoke dope, as they do every morning since I’ve returned to the neighborhood. Harms neither said nor did anything to address the misbehavior of his clients.

Many of the folks who live and work here have taken the opportunity say hello to me, and have donated cash, camping gear, and even a very interesting book: The Motorcycle Diaries by Ernesto “Che” Guevara. I had no idea he was so talented as a writer, having never been interested in any of his communist propaganda, which came later on in his life.

Magpies, cottontail rabbits, and a bald eagle have entertained me during the days, and the owls, coyotes, and mule deer at night. I could live without the two or three bums who have camped nearby, at least fifty feet away but I still can hear their snoring and smell their cigarette smoke. When the first significant snowfall arrives, I’m confident they’ll leave.

If you happen to be driving by the corner of N. Broadway & U.S. 36, feel free to wave as I’m holding my sign:

VOTE

SNOOPY!

It seems to have brought smiles to many passersby, a great contrast to the irritation they must certainly feel when spotting the young and able-bodied “travelers” who have been using an unlicensed dog as a prop for their panhandling there. Poor dog! If I had a FREE OBAMA PHONE like so many other homeless people do, I’d call Animal Control — right after phoning the White House to tell our current POTUS he’s a worthless so-and-so.

Back again when the mood strikes me . . .

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