Hey, I have a question for you.
Do you really live in small town if you don’t have these vagrants running around?
You be the judge.
These rat bastards live in every town… have you seen yours?
The creeks in the night, the shadows on the ground, the 80’s Halen dancing in the wind. You know the signs, and my friends, don’t be alarmed, but the signs know you.
Shooting out the back of an exhaust pipe, garage man was born, found his garage and never left. He’s the human equivalent of a hermit crab and uses his garage as a badge of pride.
Hiding behind a pultruding beer belly, long dead-dreams rocker hair, and white knuckles wrapped around a never-ending supply of light beer, the garage man sits like a gargoyle guarding his garage against the dastardly dangers of the outside world.
Anytime you drive past his house, this man can be seen sitting in a lawn chair, lost in the mighty mysteries of cable television.
What’s he watching? What does he do for work? Where does he go to the bathroom? The world may never know. All I know is this, don’t go into his garage because if you do, you may never return.
As someone who has never been confused for “Happy Lady,” pissed-off lady spends her life living in the emotional equivalent of a cherished coupon being rejected.
With a permanent scowl firmly cemented on her flurried face and a day booked full of moments of being upset over trivial matters, pissed-off lady brings the fire to the cool world of everyday life.
Managers beware, she’ll chew your ass out over a decision a Corporate Toadie miles away made without giving you an inch of understanding. Stay out of her way, and if you’re lucky, she may stay out of yours.
Slice them, dice them, splice them, you name it — your small-town knife dealer has a slab of steel for you.
A descendent of blacksmiths, this poor bastard has the rotten luck of not being born in the 1500s, when his sharp obsession had a booming demand.
Alas, competition has moved this man to the outskirts of town, where he makes his living in the Flea Markets. You can usually find him every other Saturday half asleep in the corner. When you grow the urge to buy a knife, which you’ll rarely use, probably with a wolf engraving; he’ll be there to rip you off properly.
Houston, we have a problem, there’s a drunk guy here and he won’t shut the Hell up.
Where’s the hooch? The gin, the cold one? Give him something, anything to silence this infernal racket! You don’t receive a colorful name like “Old Drunk-Guy” without being an old, drunk-guy.
Known for his appetite for destruction and the twinkle in his eye when telling stories about what-could-have-been, old drunk-guy spends his time drunk, cruising down memory lane where cops don’t pull people over.
Although a bit misguided, many would confirm he’s a good guy, however; watch your drink, or he’ll watch it for you.
Achievements start with A. Athletics, Academics, Ambitions, and…. A grill? Wait a minute. Who hijacked my intro?
In a world where you can train a monkey to make a hamburger, the very same world where you realize that all grilled foods aren’t complicated to make, the grill master stacks his reputation on his spatula.
If you are thinking about using his grill forget about it — you’ll have better luck shitting out a leprechaun in a tuxedo.
This man lives for all things grilled and insists he does it better. But you know what… he’s probably right.
Picture this — it’s 8 PM, the kids are settling down, and you’re sitting on your front porch melting into the abyss of your mind when you hear the squeal of tires and the roar of a muffler. You look up only to see a blur zoom by your house, leaving fire in its wake.
My friends, that’s the motorcycle menace. The motorcycle menace is the only character that can make the garage man angry and out of his chair, giving him much-needed exercise. It’s a symbiotic relationship of love and hate.
This vagrant lives for their motorcycle, as their motorcycle conversely lives for them. In their mind, speed limits are suggestions, and the world must see how cool they look as they wake the dead, revving back on the accelerator, middle finger in the air.
These people ride in packs, and potholes are their worst enemy. Talk to them if you want to learn about the freedom of the road.
Please like, comment, share and tell me what you think. What other small town vagrants am I missing? Have you ran into these characters yourself?