Whimsical Garbage

One morrow when my favorite strumpet was waylaid by one of her diseases I went for a stroll seeking penicillin and some amusement but soon found myself distracted by a homeless wretch. With outstretched arm he implored me to aid him while crawling along the sodden gutter. Naturally I made haste to bludgeon him with my cane but in my zeal to escape the hacking wheezes of my whore I had fled my flat without it!

Curses! While contemplating what I could strike the scum with in lieu of my cane I noticed he was holding a sign which said "Need funds for liquor...just being honest".

My word such whimsy! I immediately wondered if I had missed out on a veritable treasure trove of scum wit through the years by ignoring their pleas and kicking their signs from their filthy fists unread. "Need funds for liquor indeed!" I chortled. "Why you witty smelly rascal! That is a refreshing bit of honesty!"

He licked the spittle from his lips and I dare say I saw a glimmer of hope flash in his bloodshot eyes.

I kicked the torn sole of his shoe in the spirit of good fellowship and camaraderie. "You remind me of that charming children's show character, Oscar the Grouch. Tell me my good man, do you think Oscar's innate grouchiness was responsible for his being a friendless failure, unable to land a job and thus reduced to living in a trash can while being scorned by society? Or...did he turn grouchy only after his dreams were dashed by a populace that didn't understand him? Do you believe that it was only after he became penniless and was forced to seek refuge in a trash bin that his formerly jovial demeanor was transformed into the cranky horror children have come to know and loathe today?"

The twinkle in the wretch's eye dimmed and I could sense he was somewhat flummoxed.

"What I'm trying to say my good man is that I would be shocked to find anyone living amongst trash who would be known as "George the Sunny" or "Frederick the Upbeat". It would seem that no matter how optimistic you were before you took up residence in refuse, soon enough you would be turned into a grumbling cretin. Why, would not wallowing in your own filth all day and competing with rats and roaches for scraps while enduring the insults of passersby and the batons of vile lawmen be enough to foul the mood of any man?"

He clutched his throat with his dirt encrusted fingers and I found that his stench and filthy haberdashery were rapidly robbing his sign of any whimsy it may have possessed.

"And you sir," I demanded, "were you a grouch before you found yourself wallowing in your own waste and accosting passersby with your attempts at wit? You seem rather jocular today. What made you so full of mirth this fine morning?"

Instead of answering he tugged at the cuff of my trousers as he collapsed on the pavement and let his sign fall. "Egads man! Do you mean to spoil my day? Do not smudge my cuffs you scoundrel."

I called for the authorities at once, and in moments a constable was at my side. With a prod of his baton he moved the cretin from my cuff and with a kick he turned him over whereupon we both beheld his dirty face, bloated and blue and frozen. He eyes were locked on mine, unblinking, and his swollen tongue was lolling grotesquely out of his mouth.

The constable turned to me, "I'm afraid he's dead sir."

I pulled my leg away from his curled fingers and inspected my trousers. "Dead you say? Well that is amusing after all."