In Defense of Bums Jerking off in Public

I was strolling around San Francisco the other day and saw a bum really casually beating off.  REAL CASUAL. Like it was just a chore to get done before he could start cooking dinner (his cat).

Being pretentious, I thought (in the whitest sounding internal voice possible), “My goodness!”

I started texting the story to my buddy because if something interesting happens and you don’t tell anyone, did it really happen?  So I’m typing a novel about seeing a homeless guy jerking off on the sidewalk when it hits me like my step-dad…. I jerk off at home too.

How pissed off would I be if I was at home catchin’ a beat and strangers kept interrupting my flow with shouts of  how disgusting I was?  Like where else does society expect homeless people to perform this critical human need?

The bum wasn’t just hanging there waiting for a friend, the sidewalk is where he lives! And if we’re not gonna spoil the homeless with government handouts like “food” and “shelter” then it’s time to face the reality that they’re gonna do otherwise private shit, in public.

SPOILER ALERT: All men cum! (Speaking of which, a certain someone still owes me that ten spot, you know who you are, and I’m tired of asking) So the homeless are either gonna masturbate in public and cum on the ground (with a little aftershock on their 90’s style ski pants) or, if people find that too “indecent,” I’m sure the homeless would be happy to do it in a public bathroom instead.

Would that be better, America?

I can’t imagine someone walking down the street, seeing a bum spankin’ it, then saying:

“Excuse me, sir! SIR! Not on the street! Please spray your load in the McDonalds men’s room or not at all! GOOD DAY!”

Your choice people: Either occasionally see a bum jerking off in public, or occasionally have your thigh stick to a public toilet seat when you stand up to flush.

The first clue that it’s splooge stuck to your thigh will be that the hobo who used the stall before you actually washed his hands before leaving.  The second is your thigh stuck to a toilet seat.  The final clue is after leaving McDonalds you’ll see the bum enjoying a post-coital nap on the sidewalk.  From there it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to deduce that said hobo shot off pearly fireworks in the stall you just patronized.  And judging by how quickly he fell asleep, we’re probably talking extravagant 4th of July ones too.

Again, your choice:

1.  Occasionally have to get a skin graft on your thigh

2. Occasionally side-step some hobo’s jism on the sidewalk.

And for the record it’s not just homeless guys that do that. I’ve seen people leave their kids on the sidewalk plenty of times….badoom boom (symbol).

America really needs to grow up. Splooge is like Playdo, sure it’s messy and you’ll find some behind your ear a few days after playing with it, but it’s almost completely harmless!  For sidewalk splooge to be actually harmful you’d have to fall under ALL FOUR of these categories:


Girl Who Goes Commando in Skirts

Girl Who Goes Commando in Skirts and Sometimes Slips and Falls

Girl Who Goes Commando in Skirts and Sometimes Slips and Falls and Doesn’t Wanna Get Pregnant

We’re only talking like 2% of the population here.

Even still, the girl would have to slip and fall DIRECTLY on top of the splooge for fertilization to take place. Total long-shot. But then, so was Luke hitting the Death Star’s well protected core reactor with his last missile, and we all know how that turned out.

So it could happen. In fact, I can almost see it now….

Your friend (who’s going commando in a skirt) and you are walking down a busy street on a gloomy March afternoon.  The flowers have yet to bloom but an army of buds stand at attention. Winter’s last gasps come in the form of icy gusts that slap your rosy cheeks.  It’s been six months since the break-up, but you think about them every day. Or do you? If you somehow forgot to miss them for a whole day how would you know?

You’re not listening but your friend vents about how she wants to get bangs but she probably won’t because she just really doesn’t do stuff like that, ya know?  She’s so into her dilemma she doesn’t notice a strategically placed banana-peel in the middle of the sidewalk. Then it happens.

Time slows to a crawl. You notice the hobo seated a few paces in front you.  He sits criss-cross beside the pile of homemade love potion. Your friend has slipped on the banana peel and is already airborne when you realize:


Your friend tumbles through the air and ends up doing the splits over the bum’s love porridge.

 Game, set, fertilization.  

You find out later the hobo purposefully set the trap so he could impregnate a female and get to move into her apartment with the excuse of “giving this family a real shot.” I know what you’re thinking:

“That’s so fuhhhking stupid, it’s doesn’t make any fucking sense! The girl would just get an abortion!”


With said abortion the bum’s plan to impregnate and occupy would be sullied. But the trap is still worthwhile because worst case at least the bum is left with fixings for a good stew.  And with any luck there’ll be extra stem cells to sprinkle on his infected scab that’s been nagging him and will JUST NOT HEAL.

Your choice, America.




“I sit because my father’s father died while standing. I can’t take the chance. I just…can’t.”

Thomas Jefferson

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