Berkeley has declared war on the Berkeley Street Society. As a direct result all of the relatively peaceful street folk are now angry too. The bum roundabout is in full effect with new bums turning up all the time and everyone is unhappy that Berkeley has decided that the best way to deal with BSS members is to alienate them all by ticketing, arresting, and attacking business owners that help the nicer ones. In the meantime the mean and ill ones still roam the streets shouting at random and businesses downtown continue to go out of business. Parking remains impossible to find and incredibly expensive. Isn't it strange that Berkeley somehow assumes that if they get rid of ALL the homeless people that business will somehow forget the dirty streets, the lack of public bathrooms, the smell of urine as a result, the lack of parking and general mistreatment by the city itself with its interminable permit process and minutiae? And of course, the city assumes somehow the public will forget that Berkeley has been synonymous with homeless since People's Park was created? Of course we are forgetting that BSS members show no inclination of leaving, mostly because where else do they have to go?
TRAVEL
Some of the BSS members have found the climate here unsuitable so some of them have been spotted testing the water in other areas. But they always return.
A panhandler recognized for regularly working the corner in front of BofA downtown was spotted in downtown San Francisco. It is known that he commutes from Oakland to Berkeley on Bart everyday, so it is only a little further to go to the City. It didn't take though, after two weeks he's back to running his hands through his hands muttering, "wantaginmechang" and yelling about smelling gas, "would someone turn the gas heater off?"
Chainsaw Asshole was also spotting touring the provinces, he was seen in Alameda of all places, pretending to be a completely normal shopper. Very mysterious.
We have also heard a wonderful tale about a gentlemen from Richmond called "the Backflip Guy." Apparently he runs into the local Jack in a Box to a table full of people and offers a fair exchange, he will perform a backflip in the restaurant for money and odd change. As the gentlemen is apparently very tall and rail thin this peaks most jaded twenty-something's interest. Money is thrown on the table and the gentlemen literally does a backflip in front of the table and lands in place. He flashes a gleaming smile and takes the money, disappearing as angry management tired of the display move from behind the counter.
Also brought to us by our bs correspondents is a tale of discord. Imagine a bart station in downtown san francisco and now picture on one side a musician trying to play the sax and on the other side a musician trying to play an Asian intrument that uses the bow. Imagine the reverb in the empty multi-floored space. Imagine the noise. Witness the battle of the BART musicians - each determined to make money off rush hour and neither willing to admit defeat.
BREAKING NEWS:
"I DON'T know who the Anti-Christ is!"
We continue to give to the community by this 2nd installment in our series of How-to's, titled:
HOW TO TELL THE "EAT MY TWAT" LADY FROM THE "EAT MY PUSSY" LADY
Well, first of all the Eat My Twat lady is a little white lady while the Eat My Pussy lady is a big black lady. They typically roam the same neighborhood but the EMT lady only yells her nickname when she is being arrested by the local constabulary. The EMP lady doesn't need a reason to yell. She is typically combative and profane and her most frequent target is women. She will make eye-contact and start screaming at the available victim to take their pussy out of there, to wash their pussy and to eat her pussy. By this point the veins are bulging in her neck and her eyes are red with rage. It is thought that perhaps Evil Old Woman is her mother, but this remains unconfirmed.
And to tie in to our previous article we include this shocking account, we bring you:
EYE-WITNESS
Flashback to year 2000, it was on the ac transit 51 and there was I, the EMP lady and this innocent little asian Cal student. The EMP lady was sitting in the back of the bus but I knew better, as did many people on the bus, so only the little Cal girl walked to the back of the bus and sat down in her vicinity. "I can smell your pussy! I can SMELL your pussy! You need to wash, bitch! You need to WASH your pussy! You bitch! STD BITCH! HERPES BITCH! EAT MY PUSSY BITCH!" During this I watched in horror and I was thankful it was not me, although the girl was terrified and fixed her eyes out the window, diligently trying not to hear the terrible things.
SIGHTINGS
Pumpkin lady has returned! After a month of no sightings we began to wonder but hark! There she was dancing on the sidewalk, her face smeared with makeup, muttering to herself, going crazy for all the world to see.
Smelly Claus I has accessorized! He now sports a snazzy mangled feather scotch-taped to his beanie hat. He took his time to lounge in the B of A circle so all may see his herniated baggy-panted grandeur. Later he was spotted sitting on a ledge ravaging a bag of Lays potato chips.
Manimal made a brief reappearance, arguing in public no less. But sadly she is back to hiding in her den once more.
Smile Guy, he of the cheerful demeanor and high-pitched squeal of girlish glee announced to us estastically that he had reached a benchmark. He is now the proud owner of 1500 bouncy balls. There is something telling about an needy wimp saying he collects balls.
Ms. Poopie Pants has been seen recently, casually strolling around in a variety of fashionable outfits, all of which are cleaner than her nickname. We particularly enjoyed the stunning button-up shirt used as a skirt.
The Cowboy has returned. He really really wants his dog back.
Omar Perro tried to hug children who are frightened of a scary smelly man and harassed a woman by telling he that she was dirty in a "sexy" voice.
A woman recognized by one of our bs correspondents as being completely crazy despite her neat clean appearance announced to passerby "you better get out of here you negros! I'll call the cops on you negros!" She always drags a little wheelie bag and carries a bright yellow bag. She also announced to another passer-by "you've got a lot of crazy bitches here in Berkeley." The passer-by refrained from mentioning to the woman that she was one of them.
An emaciated man who has obviously not shaved or had a haircut in years proceeded to crawl up Shattuck, pushing his backpack before him, his pants ever threatening to slide off. Everyone was visibly horrified.
A gentleman with a backpacking pack on proceeded to thoroughly investigate the $1 chinese food place's trash despite the owner's attempts to dissuade him.
One Street Society member attempted to stop a pedestrian in rush and when she did not stop he yelled after her, "Fine, call the cops on me for harassing you!" She looked back, totally bewildered.
Viva Bush was spotted with his head shaved and without his dog. We are told he visits it, whereever it is.
INTRODUCTIONS
You have probably seen Scab McMuffin in his daily trek to the McDonalds' downtown. He is marked by a large scab that takes up half his face. He must tear it open on a regular basis because it is frequently bloody and it amazingly NEVER heals. You can see Scab McMuffin walking in the car lane closest to the street, scarfing his McDonalds filth out of the bag. Typically he will finish it up on the corner and then disappear. This is a daily occurrence. We have never seen him anywhere else.
The Painter is most often found in his territory which is the area around College and Ashby. He is easily recognized with his bright purple hat and cart filled with art projects in progress. Frequently he is found on benches busily working away with some new project balanced on his tattered sweater covered belly.
Drinky Bill is a regular in downtown. He's quiet, especially when he's surreptitiously drinking out of a paper bag. He's easily recognized by his bulbous drinker's nose.
He likes to beg for change at various spots in the downtown area and he has a lot of friends that come up and talk to him. One of his more annoying habits involve him being sprawled in front of a business with his shoes off picking his feet.
SUCCESS!
We have found a public bathroom downtown. It is behind the Civic Center on Milvia and is, of course, not clearly marked and only open at odd hours. Look for the homeless people going in and out and then you've found it.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Saturday, June 2, 2007
BSS loves you
Salutations BSS subscribers!
We regret that we took a two week hiatus to spend some quality time dumpster diving in these choice weeks that mark the end of the university semester and the beginning of summer. We found some new broken furniture but it was a betrayal because it took time away from you, our beloved readers. So we regret that we let some new paintings come between us. We're shameless whores, but we've come back to our first love - the reporting on Berkeley wingnut incidents. We're on the frontlines of Berkeley freakdom for you. You owe us.
I must take the time to spin you a tragic tale of Berkeley called the ballad of the Cowboy and his dog. First the cowboy's dog was taken away in a false confrontation in which the animal was accused of biting someone. Then when the Cowboy, in a fit of self-sacrifice and realization gave up his dog for adoption at the local animal shelter, we were deeply saddened. Everyday the Cowboy had to put up with passers-by who recognized him asking after his lost puppy. Finally, he had had it with Berkeley. The loss of his dog and the constant harassment by Berkeley police with tickets for loitering, for smoking, for just being homeless in a world where homicidal maniacs own houses. In the Berkeley Street Society we have no end of members that suffer mental illness, the Cowboy was one of them but unlike the rest, he kept himself under control. He knew he was not all there and worked with it. He never begged. Never peed in a doorway. Never beat his dog. Never screamed at passerby. Never littered. And he was driven away for being homeless, leaving us with such sterling examples of BSS such as Omar Perro and Ring Man, both highly recognizable members that harass the public on a daily basis. So Berkeley, where is your heart? We would like to see the members who are dangerous to the community get help, but those who are not taking away, how are they a threat?
Breaking news:
Take the twine! We need the twine!
Sightings:
Omar Perro was very frisky in recent weeks. We had no end of sightings of him poking his head in doorways where he was unwanted, harassing fellow bums with his jocularity and the best incident was this week, when he decided to harass an elderly french man who spoke little to no english. Following him closely, Omar Perro loudly announced to the gentleman, "I'm Hitler! I'm Hitler!" The poor man was afraid and not sure if he was being insulted. Finally lookers on proceeded to rescue the man causing Omar to charge in a rage.
One of our bs correspondents happened to see this little gem of an interaction>
In a downtown Berkeley store we saw a morbidly obese woman harassing a clerk endlessly with questions about items and prices, all the while sounding as though she had a loaf of bread in her mouth. Her hygiene was rather dubious as well, when we noted the dried rice encrusted at the apex of her mammoth stomach. She was in the process of showing her love for her "boyfriend Orlando" by buying him tokens of her gargantuan love. We can't help wondering if "Orlando" helps her wash in all the hard to reach places.
Denture guy was up to his old tricks trying to enter downtown stores in search of dentures. It mattered not what the store actually sold, he was going to find something that he could use for dentures, be it wax lips or teeth covers!
Ring Man happily cavorted down streets, rolled around at his sleeping spot across from Starbucks on Oxford and particularly enjoyed yelling profanity into store entrances delighting employees everywhere downtown.
Of late there have been a number of articles in the local papers discussing that delightful society of bicyclists known as Critical Mass. They are merely any gathering of people that wish to commandeer the streets in protest of smog causing gas consuming vehicles. We've invited one of our bs correspondents to answer the question, why has Critical Mass been subjected to so much criticism recently? -
It seems to me that Critical Mass is in trouble. What is wrong with Critical Mass? I'll tell you what's wrong - assholes!
The majority of bicyclists that join Critical Mass bike rides, normally the last friday of the month in any city or town that chooses to start one, are peaceful folks having a green goody-twoshoes powertrip. It's the assholes that infiltrate a movement and turn out sour. These so called anarchists are apparently pissants who hate the idea of a peaceful demonstration in which everyone has a good time. When Critical Mass rides up University and makes a leisurely victory lap at the intersection of University and Shattuck no one really minds. Everyone is amused. It's when the bulk of the group has moved off down Shattuck and a couple of BMXers are still doing wheelies in the middle of the street and some other guys decide to sit on their ass on their bike in front some car, blocking traffic. Then a couple of assholes decide to push their luck and do a couple more victory laps. Honking obviously ensues. Tensions rise. Road rage occurs. I say to these assholes, fuck off!
We don't need your supposed earth-lovin vindictiveness. And I certainly don't want your holier-than-thou attitude blocking my pedestrian rights at a green light again.
The horror of when your workplace is turned into a sexually charged environment against your will! What is your recourse! Why aren't you allowed to use mace on the general public!? When will your bosses issue you a standard taser?! BSS is proud to bring you again -
EYE-WITNESS
What do you do when someone gets turned on by the thought of getting caught in public with a boner? Then what do you do when this person enters your place of work? And rests his rod on your counter? A man, or a man-child, entered the store wearing extremely saggy jeans that looked a trifle odd. That might have been because his zipper was open and a mysterious red jersey swathed object was standing at attention. Obviously he wanted all of us to salute it because he was extremely polite, taking trouble to start conversations with everyone in the store, bouncing a bit on his heels in hopes it would draw our eye. He was very polite but obviously very excited. Finally, impatient that no one had yet shrieked and yelled, "oh my god his penis is hanging out of his pants!" he walked up to the counter and said, oh so suggestively, "Oh no, I forgot my belt today and my pants are just coming off!"
We have the pepper spray waiting, bucko.
Just try it again.
Introductions:
You may have seen him around town - the Mole Man. He's one of those genuine Berkeley characters, a man of short stature dressed in a uniform of his own devising. We have never seen him without his giant furry boots, skin tight black leggings, huge black leather jacket, belt with lightsaber and other accessories, crash helmet and aviator goggles. He doesn't bathe either so he's very noticable in close quarters. So far no one we know has had a bad incident with him, but he draws the eye to be sure.
It is not a man, it is a beast, a putridfaction in human form, a creature we can only call the Stench. Imagine uncleaned latrines, dead animals and the scent of old urine in Berkeley doorways and you come somewhere near the smell of this man. At least we think it was a man. He wore so many layers of clothing that he appeared mummified. Any attempted interaction with him resulted in him tweedling a miniture recorder on a string around his neck. The smell rolling off him was so incredible we could hardly understand how didn't pass out from the stench of his own body. People were fleeing from him in all directions. His stench is embedded in our mind for all time. Beware him. Shun him. Avoid him. For he is, the Stench!!
We regret that we took a two week hiatus to spend some quality time dumpster diving in these choice weeks that mark the end of the university semester and the beginning of summer. We found some new broken furniture but it was a betrayal because it took time away from you, our beloved readers. So we regret that we let some new paintings come between us. We're shameless whores, but we've come back to our first love - the reporting on Berkeley wingnut incidents. We're on the frontlines of Berkeley freakdom for you. You owe us.
I must take the time to spin you a tragic tale of Berkeley called the ballad of the Cowboy and his dog. First the cowboy's dog was taken away in a false confrontation in which the animal was accused of biting someone. Then when the Cowboy, in a fit of self-sacrifice and realization gave up his dog for adoption at the local animal shelter, we were deeply saddened. Everyday the Cowboy had to put up with passers-by who recognized him asking after his lost puppy. Finally, he had had it with Berkeley. The loss of his dog and the constant harassment by Berkeley police with tickets for loitering, for smoking, for just being homeless in a world where homicidal maniacs own houses. In the Berkeley Street Society we have no end of members that suffer mental illness, the Cowboy was one of them but unlike the rest, he kept himself under control. He knew he was not all there and worked with it. He never begged. Never peed in a doorway. Never beat his dog. Never screamed at passerby. Never littered. And he was driven away for being homeless, leaving us with such sterling examples of BSS such as Omar Perro and Ring Man, both highly recognizable members that harass the public on a daily basis. So Berkeley, where is your heart? We would like to see the members who are dangerous to the community get help, but those who are not taking away, how are they a threat?
Breaking news:
Take the twine! We need the twine!
Sightings:
Omar Perro was very frisky in recent weeks. We had no end of sightings of him poking his head in doorways where he was unwanted, harassing fellow bums with his jocularity and the best incident was this week, when he decided to harass an elderly french man who spoke little to no english. Following him closely, Omar Perro loudly announced to the gentleman, "I'm Hitler! I'm Hitler!" The poor man was afraid and not sure if he was being insulted. Finally lookers on proceeded to rescue the man causing Omar to charge in a rage.
One of our bs correspondents happened to see this little gem of an interaction>
In a downtown Berkeley store we saw a morbidly obese woman harassing a clerk endlessly with questions about items and prices, all the while sounding as though she had a loaf of bread in her mouth. Her hygiene was rather dubious as well, when we noted the dried rice encrusted at the apex of her mammoth stomach. She was in the process of showing her love for her "boyfriend Orlando" by buying him tokens of her gargantuan love. We can't help wondering if "Orlando" helps her wash in all the hard to reach places.
Denture guy was up to his old tricks trying to enter downtown stores in search of dentures. It mattered not what the store actually sold, he was going to find something that he could use for dentures, be it wax lips or teeth covers!
Ring Man happily cavorted down streets, rolled around at his sleeping spot across from Starbucks on Oxford and particularly enjoyed yelling profanity into store entrances delighting employees everywhere downtown.
Of late there have been a number of articles in the local papers discussing that delightful society of bicyclists known as Critical Mass. They are merely any gathering of people that wish to commandeer the streets in protest of smog causing gas consuming vehicles. We've invited one of our bs correspondents to answer the question, why has Critical Mass been subjected to so much criticism recently? -
It seems to me that Critical Mass is in trouble. What is wrong with Critical Mass? I'll tell you what's wrong - assholes!
The majority of bicyclists that join Critical Mass bike rides, normally the last friday of the month in any city or town that chooses to start one, are peaceful folks having a green goody-twoshoes powertrip. It's the assholes that infiltrate a movement and turn out sour. These so called anarchists are apparently pissants who hate the idea of a peaceful demonstration in which everyone has a good time. When Critical Mass rides up University and makes a leisurely victory lap at the intersection of University and Shattuck no one really minds. Everyone is amused. It's when the bulk of the group has moved off down Shattuck and a couple of BMXers are still doing wheelies in the middle of the street and some other guys decide to sit on their ass on their bike in front some car, blocking traffic. Then a couple of assholes decide to push their luck and do a couple more victory laps. Honking obviously ensues. Tensions rise. Road rage occurs. I say to these assholes, fuck off!
We don't need your supposed earth-lovin vindictiveness. And I certainly don't want your holier-than-thou attitude blocking my pedestrian rights at a green light again.
The horror of when your workplace is turned into a sexually charged environment against your will! What is your recourse! Why aren't you allowed to use mace on the general public!? When will your bosses issue you a standard taser?! BSS is proud to bring you again -
EYE-WITNESS
What do you do when someone gets turned on by the thought of getting caught in public with a boner? Then what do you do when this person enters your place of work? And rests his rod on your counter? A man, or a man-child, entered the store wearing extremely saggy jeans that looked a trifle odd. That might have been because his zipper was open and a mysterious red jersey swathed object was standing at attention. Obviously he wanted all of us to salute it because he was extremely polite, taking trouble to start conversations with everyone in the store, bouncing a bit on his heels in hopes it would draw our eye. He was very polite but obviously very excited. Finally, impatient that no one had yet shrieked and yelled, "oh my god his penis is hanging out of his pants!" he walked up to the counter and said, oh so suggestively, "Oh no, I forgot my belt today and my pants are just coming off!"
We have the pepper spray waiting, bucko.
Just try it again.
Introductions:
You may have seen him around town - the Mole Man. He's one of those genuine Berkeley characters, a man of short stature dressed in a uniform of his own devising. We have never seen him without his giant furry boots, skin tight black leggings, huge black leather jacket, belt with lightsaber and other accessories, crash helmet and aviator goggles. He doesn't bathe either so he's very noticable in close quarters. So far no one we know has had a bad incident with him, but he draws the eye to be sure.
It is not a man, it is a beast, a putridfaction in human form, a creature we can only call the Stench. Imagine uncleaned latrines, dead animals and the scent of old urine in Berkeley doorways and you come somewhere near the smell of this man. At least we think it was a man. He wore so many layers of clothing that he appeared mummified. Any attempted interaction with him resulted in him tweedling a miniture recorder on a string around his neck. The smell rolling off him was so incredible we could hardly understand how didn't pass out from the stench of his own body. People were fleeing from him in all directions. His stench is embedded in our mind for all time. Beware him. Shun him. Avoid him. For he is, the Stench!!
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