Recent increase in volume

Many of you are probably wondering why the sudden surge of posts. To that I can only respond that ole Quint has picked up a new hobby: crystal meth.

On Handouts During the Holidays

I view my life as a home-challenged individual as somewhat of an adventure, and not something for the upper classes to look down upon with disdain. I am not a blemish you can cover up with your fancy makeup. There's no need to cross the street if you see me coming. I won't pester you for handouts. I realize that you don't want to give away your hard-earned money to some non-working scourge, and I can respect that. Besides, I have much more fun robbing you.

My thoughts on Japan

I am of the opinion that the best Japanese game shows are both entertaining AND violent. And if the violence is of the sexual variety, all the better! I once spent a week at port in Japan back in the mid-80s doing shooters of rattlesnake venom with Dom Deluise and Gary Cherone from Extreme. After about four days, the hallucinations were so intense that we came up with the brilliant idea to start our own clothing company. Long story short, Cherone lost the notes, and a few short years later our EXACT idea emerged in the form of FuBu. That's true. I'm going to start a wiki page on it one of these days...when I get around to it.

Organized religion

I was molested by priests as a boy. Christian fundamentalists made me who I am today.

Buttcheeks

Mine are chapped! Damn it to high hell! Rode the mechanical bull at some dive bar last night. Can't say that I remember doing it, but sure enough I'm bloody and bruised. Ole Quint looks like he had a particularly rough night in the prison showers - not that he'd actually know anything about that kinda thing. But seriously, no wine and candles. Just hate thrusts. Yarrghh I need a benny.

Alone Time with Milton Street: How I Boosted the Confidence of that Stupid Bastard and talked him into Making a Fool of Himself By Running For Mayor

I was sitting under an overpass recently, smoking a hand-rolled cigarillo that I had filled with nicotine from discarded cigarette butts I collected on the street, when all of a sudden Major John Street's crazy brother Milton sidled up next to me.

"Quint," he said. "I'm sad. Do you have time to talk?"

Never one to let down a fellow homeless person in need, I said, "Sure, Milton. Like a smoke?"

Without looking up, he gently pushed my extended arm away, and I could tell that this was serious business.

"Hey big fella," I said, shaking his arm. "Hey ole pal, what's the matter?"

He sighed.

"Well, it's like this, Quint. I'm an old man and I'm not gettin' any younger. I haven't really left much of a mark in this world, and that bothers me. My little brother's about to finish his second term as mayor, and while I'm proud of him, I just can't help but feel a little envious, ya dig? I mean, little brothers are supposed to look up to older brothers, right? What do you think, Quint?"

At this point, I rose to my feet and administered a bastard of an opened-palm slap across his mouth, cutting his lip a little in the process. He stood up in shock, his hand holding the side of his face.

"Well now, what in the hell was that for, dammit?!"

"That's philosophy, my friend, and the truth will hurt you every time."

He looked as though he were about to say something rash before reason took hold. "Well hell, Quint, that's some deep mothafucking shit you laid on me just now. I don't think I'm followin' ya."

"It's like this, Milton. Remember back when you owned that hot dog cart and you used to kick me whenever I stumbled over drunk and tried to steal from you?"

He laughed heartily. "Hell yeah I remember that. Damn Quint, we did have some good times, huh?"

"Yes, we did, Milton. Lots of good times."

"But what does that have to do with philosophy?"

"To be honest with you, that slap was more about getting back at your corrupt ass for kicking me all those times. As far as dispensing advice, why don't you try and beat your brother at his own game? It's common knowledge that he's a deplorable mayor. All you have to do is win the mayoral election and do a better job than him. That can't be too hard, now can it?"

"Holy shit, Quint, you're absolutely right. But how in hell do you think I should go about doing that? I'm not nearly qualified! Technically, mayoral candidates should have been residents of the city for at least 3 years and just last year I couldn't run for the House because they said I lived in NJ."

"Well then I suggest you woo them with song. You have a powerful singing voice, Milton. Don't be afraid to use it."

"But I get stage fright. I'd never be able to sing my heart out in front of a crowd."

"Stand behind a prop."

'Like what?"

"I always use a coffin."

"Are you serious?" he asked.

"Every time."

"Man, I should be paying for this kind of advice."

"Don't worry, I'm keeping a tab. And as far as the residency issue goes, just say what I always say, that you live where you sleep."

"That's beautiful, Quint," he said with a tear forming in the corner of his large, twinkling eye.

"You sure you don't want a toke?"

"Hell no, man, that stuff causes heart attacks. You got any hooch?"

"Surely," I said, handing him a recently acquired bottle of Mad Dog 20/20. "Drink this."

He gulped freely, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve afterwards. "Hot damn, that is some beautiful shit right there. If I get elected, I'm gonna make babies drink that shit, it tastes so good."

"You're after me own heart, Milton, you truly are"

"I appreciate you sayin' so, Quint."

"By the way, my honest nature compells me to inform you that there was a little bit of urine in that bottle."

"What in the hell? Who's was it?"

"Billy O'Malley's."

"I thought so."

"It tastes better mixed in," I said.

"I agree. It reminds me of Grandma's lemonade."

We exchanged a momentary glance of confusion and mutual defeat before resuming the conversation.

"You have any place to stay tonight?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, sure, I'll just head over and sleep at the local shelter or something, no problem..." He avoided my gaze like a little kid who wants something but is too afraid to ask.

"Oh don't be foolish. You can sleep here next to ole Quint. But just for the night!"

"You mean it Quint?! Do you really mean it?"

"Come here you bug-eyed son of a bitch, let's huddle together for warmth."

"Goodnight, Quint."

"Goodnight, dear Milton...and good luck."



That bastard deserves all the embarrassment he got for kicking me in the asshole over a few raggedy old hot dogs! No one gets one over on ole Quint! I hold a grudge better than a haunted house in Japan!

Toe Licking Sickens Me!

Contrary to popular belief, I am NOT the mysterious toe-licking bandit running amok around the Art Museum, but thanks for thinking of me all the same! While I will admit that I like to employ a wide variety of shameful fetishes in my arsenal of sexual perversion, feet just don't do it for me.

Perhaps it's because I'm homeless and I usually only hook up with other homeless women, who don't have feet so much as pincushions for the purposes of jabbing hypodermic needles - as if there's a need to keep up pretenses anymore. It's not like you have any job interviews coming up in the not too distant future. Yes I'm talking to you, Bertha, you unfaithful slut!

I apologize for that outburst, readers. Back to the subject at hand...

Occasionally I am blessed with the opportunity to open mouth kiss girls who confuse my odor and shoddy wardrobe as "punk rock chic" before I get the chance to beg them for money as they stumble out of the bars at 2am. But they don't ever seem to be into the toe stuff. Most of the time I usually just end up peeing on them.

Abstinence Causes Seizures

I apologize for neglecting you, my dear friends and readers, but you see I've had something of an illness these past few weeks. And that illness, me dears, is called withdrawal.

Ole Quint, you see, decided to make a New Years resolution to abstain from hard alcohol consumption for one whole month. In my humble opinion, that is where most people go wrong when making resolutions. They don't set a time limit. Lazy women who decide to diet or go to the gym will inevitably be on their fat asses watching Maury send kids to boot camp in less than a month. The reason being is that these gelatinous blob monsters that call themselves women don't see the light at the end of the tunnel. That's because they have mentally committed themselves to a full year, despite the fact that if they simply set a time limit of a single month in the first place they might have seen the positive results that would have served as incentive to keep them striving for the finish line of fitness. I call this my "The Little Engine That Could theory". Learn it.



Ole Quint is smarter than any fat woman you meet. He realizes his weakness. Therefore, I swore off hard alcohol consumption for one month, and one month only. And you may have noticed that I said "hard alcohol consumption". Well I applaud your perceptivenes! You're absolutely right. I said that because I knew there was no way in hell I could quit the booze altogether. This is another example of me being very smart. After Hanky Joe tried quitting two years ago and died of a seizure-induced heart attack, I knew better than to attempt the impossible. So I continued to drink a 12-pack each night to stave my demons.

Well, I tell ya, I must have had quite the capacity for spirits, because despite my efforts, my physical cravings went unsatisfied, and I still ended up having the most terrible seizures! Unfortunately for me, my body is so lithe and graceful from my years at sea that onlookers thought I was performing a one man ballet, and rather than assist a man in need, they began stuffing money into my rucksack as a way of payment for my beautiful shaking, which I guess was kinda worth it in the long run. But God knows the damage those fits did to my body! I just thank the Lord that, unlike my poor friend Joe, my heart held out every time. I credit pilates for that.

The sad part is I only stuck with the resolution for 3 days. The rest of the weeks I spent away were dedicated to rebalancing my addictions, which I am happy to report, are back to "mildly debilitating" status.