Judgment Day is Nigh!

Well ladies and gentlemen, we're now a few weeks into 2011 and I have to say...ole Quint harbors great anxiety for the future. I ask you to please direct your gaze to the below image. This is not a scene from a movie, friends. This is a picture that was taken in Philadelphia, PA on New Years day at the annual Mummers parade down Broad Street.

Firstly, in case you're wondering how I managed to get my hands on a camera, I admonish you for your lack of faith in Ole Quint's skills of acquisition, but I'll tell you nonetheless. When I witnessed a certain drunken someone snapping this very shot, I merely followed said besotted person until he required assistance in snapping a picture of he and his lovely bride, as they always do eventually. Being a man of charity, I volunteered my services. Being a cold-hearted thief by nature, I then ran off with his camera.

Secondly...do you realize what this means, readers? It means that Judgment Day is actually happening! Not only that. It means that Terminators are real and Jesus is apparently one of them! Before you dismiss this as the inane ramblings of your friendly neighborhood drug casualty, let me assure you I've done some research on this topic since witnessing the above scene, and it turns out that Cyberdine is a REAL company. And guess what they make, people. Fucking exoskeletons!! How could the United Nations allow this shit to go down?!

To top it all off, the Mayans are backing all this shit up on their website. Below is a countdown I took directly from their website at the time of this writing, which tells us exactly when the Terminators are going to finish their campaign of human destruction. Interestingly enough, it's almost 1 year and 7 months after the Judgment is set to begin! We're talking about Terminators and Jesus here. I'm sure they could probably annihilate us in a week's time if properly motivated, maybe less. So just imagine what they're planning on doing to everybody over the course of almost 2 years? Waterboarding? Nipple electrocution? Repeated viewings of Glee?!

This is a game changer, my friends. As I see it, we only have 4 months left of life as we know it. Sure, we might be able to fly under the radar for a while like the resistence army did in the Terminator movies, but I'm not so sure now that they've teamed up with Jesus. I'll tell you one thing...once the computers become self-aware, they are going to know and control everything about us: our banking and credit information (at least I'm good here), our home addresses (good here, too), even if we're obligated by Megan's Law to inform neighborhood residents when we move into the area (err....). The world will be in total disarray. You can forget about updating your Facebook status during the Apocalypse! 

Well, I just can't have that. Clearly I don't expect a long life as it is, given my appetite for hard drugs and alcohol,  but a mere 4 months will not fly for this old salt. There are still so many things I haven't done. Like Four Loko. I know...I know! It's been around for a while now. How have I not tried Four Loko?! I'm sure you're all very disappointed in me and I don't blame you. But believe you me, with this latest revelation, I am going to set right out to acquire a case, and by God I will set the record for human consumption in on sitting!

As for what you can do, well, I suggest you contact your local state representative and demand that they tell President Obama to declare war on Cyberdine. At least then we'll only have to worry about Jesus. And I'm not so sure that would mean the end of days. After all, aren't the Beatles bigger than Jesus? Last I checked, there are still two of them alive.

The Holidays Are Upon Us Once Again!!!

Ahh yes, another Thanksgiving has come and gone and we're into December yet again. What happened to the summer, let alone fall? I'm proud to say the beard is abundant and flourishing, and I'm once again considering a gig as Santa at the Gallery for some...uh...gift money.

I've done the gig before, as you undoubtedly read about here. That unfortunately didn't go so well, but hey, that's the suburbs for ya! This time I'll stick to the city and perhaps lay off the opiates. Or at least consume less of them. Then again, I'm sure my tolerance has increased since 2004, so maybe I should consider increasing my intake for maximum performance.

Well ladies and gents, consider this my advertisement and make sure to bring your children to the Gallery downtown this holiday season. I'll be sure to (try my best to) keep a dry, urine-free knee for them to sit upon as they tell me what they want for Christmas. Ho ho ho!!!!!

Thanksgiving is about Giving (booze to homeless people)

Thanksgivin's coming up next week, boys and girls. Make sure you get your comfortable asses out to a shelter and volunteer your services at the soup kitchen before heading home to a delicious home-cooked meal at your ma or pa's. Or your girlfriend, wife, boyfriend, or husband's ma or pa's. Or your mistresses or cabana boy's ma or pa's. Wherever you happen to be going, it's all the same.

Even if you want to start the party early and pour some bloody mary's into a flask and have a few glugs as you work the ladle, that's not frowned upon. 'Specially if you were to be so kind as to allow for ole Quint to have a pull or two while you dished him out a bowl of hot turkey porridge.

So make sure you pack the family in the car and make your way down to the homeless shelter as you listen to ole Arlo sing his heart out about Alice's Restaurant. Teach your kids about the meaning of Thanksgiving. Remind them of their duty to give back and Squanto and pilgrims and all that shit. But most importantly - in case you didn't pick up on the subtleties above - bring a flask or two filled to the brim with hot, liver tickling booze. It's good for ya and ole Quint will be truly thankful for it. I'm allergic to turkey anyway. And bullshit. So don't tell me you're flying to your Aunt Tilly's in Spokane. Make it happen!!!

Trick or Treat, Smell My Rancid, Homeless Feet

Ole Quint loves Halloween. A happy belated one to you and yours by the way! You see, this ole badger was preoccupado yesterday. I'm not sure if you know this, but Halloween is something of a hallowed event for individuals of my status. Marinate in that wordplay, cullies!

Think about it...of all the days in the year, which is the one day that deems the practice of walking up to a home and asking the owners for food acceptable? And which actually encourages that you look weird whilst doing so? Precisely! Halloween. Do the math, people! If we homeless are known for anything, its that we are hungry and we look weird. Okay, maybe also that we like wine and drugs, but that's more of an "every other day of the year" type of thing.

All Hallows' Eve is the one day where us hobos get the chance to feel normal. We can walk up to your door as though we're neighbors, exchange a few pleasantries, and then you toss some candy into our sack before we part ways, without you ever feeling the need to threaten to call the cops or boot us in the ass. Also, we don't have to head over to the shelter to attempt to wrangle up more presentable attire. The worse we look, the better.

In fact, a few years ago I was nearly comatose after a bottle of Thunderbird, stumbling around neighborhoods in a blacked-out stupor. I woke up the next day in a bush in Washington Square with a bag filled to the brim with candy, and no memory of having to go door-to-door at all. It was like all the payoff with none of the work. I can only imagine how that went.

"Oh honey, look at this, he's a zombie."

"Oh my, don't eat our brains now!"

"Uggghhhhhhhh...."

"So realistic. I'm gonna give you two Snickers!"

It's an age old gambit that is virtually fool proof. And if by some great miracle, you are homeless and happen to have a trace of self-esteem left in you, and your pride cannot fathom the humiliation of trick-or-treating as an adult, all you have to do is time your visits so that you arrive at the door at the same time as a group of children. Then the home owner will think you're just the dad or uncle. And even if they speculate otherwise, they're not likely to confront you about it. It's much easier just to throw some bags of M&Ms in your bag and let you be on your way and out of their lives forever. Or...at least until the following week, when they're leaving work and you're throwing yourself at their car windshield so you can get a few wipes in with your filthy washrag, just enough so that they feel obliged to pay you for your efforts. Only then you're no longer accepting candy. Then the only currency you recognize is cold hard cash money. Or hooch. Or drugs. Those two are always cool.

Philadelphia Phever

Being a residency-challenged individual, your humble narrator can't help but keep abreast of the news. Since I'm literally covered in newspapers every night, I'd say I'm probably better read than Oprah's book club. Let me tell you, there's nothing like a bottle of hooch and the Philly Inquirer to occupy a lazy Sunday morning!

Well, I couldn't help but notice that the Philadelphia Phillies are in the playoffs again. Rah rah! Go team! And so on and so forth. I have to be honest, though - while I enjoy a good ball game as much as the next American or Japanese man, there's not much I enjoy more than tailgating in South Philadelphia. Take my word for it, a little bit of grifter conversation can go along way towards acquiring for oneself a succulent buffet of hot dogs and ale. And ole Quint has deep pockets. A good tailgate will keep me fed for a week. Two in the winter!

But what I look forward to most is that change that occurs a few hours into the scene, where most people end up looking and acting more homeless than the genuine article. Young guys stumble into each other, spilling beer all over themselves and pissing all over their cars. Women squat next to those same cars, asses akimbo. Shirts come off. Pants get soiled. There's puking. So much puking. It's like being home! Or...like being under the overhang of the Philly library's roof if you want to be an asshole about it.

I guess what I'm really trying to say is that deep down inside, we're all the same. So stop fucking kicking me the next time you happen by me sleeping on a steam vent in Fairmount on your way home from the bar! The next time, it could be you...

The Prodigal One Returns!

I'm...I'm...ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVE!!!!! Damn all ye besotted whores who lacked faith! Quint McGuinley will never die! Oh I've heard the rumors...that Ole Quint crumbled under the weight of his debilitating addictions; that he acquired one too many sexually transacted diseases, which ravaged his poor ole body til there was nothing left but a scab-covered, soulless stump; that he got banned from going into the free library and no longer had an opportunity to document his adventures for you, his ravenous audience. Okay, so these rumors are almost 100% true. Let me just tell you that it will take a whole lot more than a few crippling addictions and sex diseases (not to mention sex addictions) to render this ole mule lame! This sea biscuit is old school!


To reward all ye faithful who have periodically checked back to see if Ole Quint was still churning out the good word, I shall reward you with this wonderful picture a dear old friend of mine snapped of me down at the local watering hole. Or maybe it was a drawring. Who's to say anymore with all the special effects that have been unleashed in the world of late. That damned James Cameron opened Pandora's Box when he made that dratted Avatar!

Oh, and balls to the Free Library! I've been bartering my many talents (mostly intimidation) for computer time at the local Starbucks wifi hotspot.

Going Green!

It seems lately that going green is all the rage, so in honor of St. Patrick, ole Quint is adopting greenness as his new mission. No more brown stuff for me. It's all about the marijuana, my friends. And the green beer. Al Gore for presidente!