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This is a question Tramps

Tramps, burn-outs and the homeless insane all go to making life that little bit more interesting.
Gather around the burning oil-drum and tell us your hobo-tales.

suggested by kaol

(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 15:47)
Pages: Latest, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, ... 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Trunk dreadlock
Back when I was a student there was a city center tramp in Manchester whos hair was so long it had turned into an elephants trunk like dreadlock that would have trailed on the floor had it not folded over a few times at the bottom to form a dread bellend.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 17:00, Reply)
Regent Street
We'd been out for a lovely chinese for my friends birthday. Lots of drinks and merriment all round. What we saw whilst stumbling home topped off the night (for me anyway):

A homeless chap next to a very large sign stating:

"Crazy Johnny plays the hits"

Which he was doing.

With a large traffic cone as a trumpet.

Whatever these "hits" were, only he'd heard them.

I gave him all the change in my pocket.

Best tramp ever.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:57, 4 replies)
Bring on the pain.
Full warning in advance, there is no content, nothing sensible, just an entire nonsense story told with tramp puns. As for why it's here... read on. Or just skip to the bottom.

I once saw a homeless man posting a letter. It was a tramp stamp.

The letter was about sex with homeless guys - clearly a hobosexual.

The sex involved power politics - begging for change.

The politics were about prostitution and syrup - ho molass.

The prostitution involved some slippery drinks - oiled rum

The drinks were tainted with sheep wool and other stuff from Yorkshire - down an owt.

After drinking it you felt like a man. Even bigfoot. That's a bigger shoe.

But anyways, the stamp on the letter was an unusual design - that of a nobleman wearing an icecube on his head tilted to the side. Cold hat knight round 'ere.

The letter was sorted and taken abroad, on a glamorous but ageing ship. Showboat ails.

When it got there, it was delivered to a fruit merchant who was once high up in local government and literacy campaigns. He also sold metalwork. Ess Pear Chains Guvnor?

Not really the nicest location for this letter to end up, a terrible nonsense story indeed. Which fits in with the nonsense on b3ta really, the dark avenues of injokes. Honda streets.

And why did I do this? Challenge really. So many puns on the QotW, so I wanted to see just how many I could churn out in a 10 minute time limit. I'm sure that there'll be many 'better' ones forthcoming.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:56, 2 replies)
'Could I have 20p for the bus?'
The centre of the city I attend University at is full of tramps; in the underpasses, asleep in front of shop windows or just shambling about the streets. It seems wherever you look you see a scruffy old bum.

One particular one hangs around by bus stops asking for change so he can catch the bus (QOTW linkage!). I just wonder where he would be going and for what reason, its not home that's for sure.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:48, Reply)
Short and sweet for now
Random exchange with a tramp in Canterbury:

"'ere, 'scuse me mate, 'ave you gotta spare fag?"
"Er no, sorry, I don't smoke."
"But you must smoke! You've got a beard!"

Can't beat tramp logic.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:46, 2 replies)
What some people will do for a cheese sandwich
The first time I met my ex girlfriend Emma’s brother, Eric, was what Shakespeare would probably describe as a monumental, colossal, immense, we’re talking Biblical scale fuck up. It wasn’t my fault. It was the sun. And the fact I’d skived off work to soak up the rays like a gigantic, bronzed twat. And the beer garden. And the beer. And the shots. And the other beers. And, to a lesser extent, the chocolates my mate Steve brought with him to the pub (they were those whisky liqueurs which I tend to crack open with my teeth, drink the contents, and then spit the chocolate shells into the bushes).

Emma gave me a call at about two to explain I had to go and meet her brother off the train at Euston at four. Fair enough. No problem, Emma. So, roll onto five-thirty and I’m still attempting to consume my bodyweight in Fosters and gin and tonic chasers (I’m either gay or an old woman when it comes to the hard stuff). Steve, my erstwhile drinking companion, advises me I had to be somewhere an hour and a half ago, but he’s fucked if he remembers what or where I was supposed to be. We do the only sensible thing. We get in another round.


Buggeration... Never, ever, EVER piss off you’re girlfriend. She allows you pussy privileges, and if you piss her off, well, the chances are you’ll find yourself masturbating furiously in the shower every morning for the next week – and if it comes down to a choice of shooting your load against a nice wet cervix or a cold wet shower curtain, well…

So, I stagger out the pub, hail a cab, and rush down to Euston. Because I’m drunk I forget the details about Eric, Emma’s brother, waiting in the pub outside. I rush in. Look round. Panic. And then I see him – I recognised him, sort of. He’s sat over on a bench with his backpack on the floor in front of him.

“Eric?” I ask. He looks up at me. “I’m Spanky – Emma’s boyfriend. Sorry I’m late. You must be starving, mate.” Eric looks a bit confused. But I explain it quickly away: “Sorry, mate – I’m absolutely shitfaced. Been drinking all day.” I explain Emma’s busy at work and won’t finish until nine or ten(ish); this seems to clear things up. “Let’s get you home,” I reach out, grab Eric’s arm and lead him out into the lovely warm evening summer sunshine. He starts saying “thanks” in the thick scouse accent I’d learned to understand since knocking boots with his sister.

One brief cab ride later and we’re back at the gaff in Hackney. Eric’s quiet. Pretty shy. Nice fella, though. Tall and thin. Scruffy little early-twenties-man-trying-to-grow-a-beard-thing going on all over his face like a bad, hairy rash. I told him to help himself to whatever he wanted in the fridge and he did. Then we settled down to watch Mallrats while we waited for Emma to get home.
Then, after about an hour, I get another text (Emma worked in an office with terrible reception and could only pick up her calls when she got to go outside on a break; she used to text me as regular as clockwork when she went out for a ciggie). I feel my phone buzz, I reach into my pocket, expecting all sweetness and light, hugs and kisses and the promise of a blowjob later for being such a great boyfriend and getting her brother back safely. But I didn’t get that, no, not at all. What I got was:


I put my phone away, looked over at Eric, who was happily watching Kevin Smith’s second film while munching on a cheese sandwich: “Errr… who are you?” I ask.

The lad turns to me and says: “I’m Eric.”

“Are you?”

He nods, and then he says, quite suggestively: “If that’s who you want me to be.” And he puts the sandwich to one side; as if to say: you’ve given me food and shelter, now I need to give you something in return.

As I’m drunk and been out all day in the sort of heat that would make a lizard say: “Fuck me, its too fucking hot – I’m going for a fucking ice bath.” I just sat and stared at this lad for a bit, formulating a genius response. All I could come up with was: “I’m not gay, you know.”

“Neither am I.”

Now I was confused. I said: “I wasn’t, you know, cruising, I haven’t brought you back here to, well… erm… fuck you… ”

He seemed to realised then I wasn’t into bumming Scouse vagrants in exchange for a cheese sandwich. We both stared at each other for a bit. Eventually, he got up, grabbed his backpack and fucked off in a bit of a mood (I think he may have really fancied a quick hide-the-salami sesh). Thinking about it in hindsight, I did think he stank a little bit too much of piss; but I did live with his sister for a while and her personal hygiene routine occasionally left something to be desired, truth told – I just thought it was a weird family trait.

Oh, and I was reduced to wanking in the shower for nearly two weeks after this… Curses!!!
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:44, Reply)
There used to be a facebook page dedicated to the local tramp Horace
where people would submit pictures of him and dream up adventures that he'd go on if he wasn't standing outside Budgens all the time. Just had a look for it and it's been deleted :(
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:39, 7 replies)
saw two tramps fighting once
really vicously too. truely terrible to see two people who are already at the lowest point you can get to in life knocking the shit out of each other.

i say saw, i actually encouraged them to fight with the promise of money and alcohol. then filmed it. then did it again with other tramps.

made a film of it in the end, you may have seen it.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:38, Reply)
Move any mountain (of shit)
The pet tramp in my old town was called Seth. One night a load of folk were going up to see The Shamen at the Barra's in Glasgow....

Seth is in the train station, marinading in his own pish and probably someone else's shit. They strike up some witty banter with the confused old soak and together they come to an agreement that Seth should in fact come and see The Shamen as well.

They get to Glasgow despite him not having a ticket, then on reaching the Barra's they produce their shiny tickets and in they go...but not before chipping in and procuring a shiny ticket for Seth as well.

I can only imagine the spectacle that unfolded as the saucer eyed, acid house rave zombies experienced the walking shitstorm that was Seth grooving and popping along with the best of them
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:30, Reply)
A mate of mine tried to steal a tramp's shoes once

In his defence he said that he thought the tramp was dead, how lovely.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:28, 2 replies)
Johnny Wellies
Simply a legend in my home town of Sthelens.

He's known for both his politeness and his antagonism (usually at the same time), coining such phrases as 'Fuck off, god bless'

Although he does match the stereotypical requirements of trampkind, gnarled stump, strange plastic bags, beard and hat/coat/wellies. He refrains from drinking and taking drugs. Instead he offers people food, money, newspapers (all faintly smelling of urine). He is known to laugh at anything, but can hold his own any most conversations.

Here's a video of him having his own private disco outside a bar.

He's been alive longer than anyone else (possibly immortal), although when he does die, me and a few mates will be petitioning for several statues of him one every roundabout in sthelens.

Although it does sound like i'm taking the piss, he is actually a well loved character and is treated very nicely by the people of my home town. A local taxi rank puts a kittie together every christmas and pay for him to have a shave, a hair cut and the buy him presents, which is rather touching.

Keep it real Johnny.

A fan.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:25, Reply)
I once heckled a tramp.
Bad move.

I was at the Edinburgh festival and with a mate (trying to chat-up some girlie actress-types from London).

We walked past a hairy inebriated trampy man who was berating passer-bys for partaking in the sins of modern life.

Quite wisely, everyone was sticking to procedure - ignore him... no eye contact etc.

...that was until Mr Wiseguy here tried to impress his girly with a witty retort.

TRAMP: Blah blah YOU THERE! You think you've got it all, blaaargh... but I've got it right... I don't neeeeeeed a bloody television...

ME: Just as well - where would you plug it in?

I was cool for a full 3 seconds before he launched himself at me, making a noise like a bull being branded.

Being a tough guy, I shrieked like a startled schoolgirl and ran with my wrists flapping at my sides. *

* It turns out, that this isn't what foxy London actress types are looking for in a man.

(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:24, Reply)
Glasgow Lane Avian Horror
Sitting one day, nomming a Blue Lagoon fish supper when i happened to glance over towards the entrance of one of Glasgow's many lanes, or rape avenues, i see a gentleman of the street looking shifty. I continued to assess what he was up to in between mouthfuls of greasy goodness....

He had a battered retro Gola bag that he was fumbling with, then he reached into the pile of cardboard boxes and produced a dead pigeon,
which he stuffed into the bag as he glanced guiltily up and down the street. It took a few seconds for me to register exactly what was going on, but more importantly, why?

Was he going to cook this feathered rat for his dinner, or do something even less honourable with its remains.

I couldn't manage another mouthful of my £2.20 lunchtime special and silently cursed the dirty old cunt as i binned it.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:22, Reply)
I only recall one
Going back about 6 years or so, when I was a fat(ter) bastard, I had a part-time job after school that required me to bus to and from the city centre.

By the time I finished, the buses were running every 30 minutes, and just before I got to my stop I saw my bus pull away. Shit!

Oh well, another would turn up, but what to do for half an hour?

As was the case when I was bored, I decided I needed to eat. So I strolled over the road to purchase some lean cuisine (KFC). A few bits of chicken, chips and a coke, and I was set.

Anyway, the bus turns up early and I've barely started on my chips and coke. So, knowing that bus drivers don't like people eating on the bus, I turned to dump the rest in the bin.

But just in time I noticed a nearby homeless guy asking people for change. Something pulled at my heart strings (or maybe I was having a mild heart attack from my over-indulgence in grease laden 'food') and I walked over to him and gave him my large coke and chips.

He seemed very grateful and I felt like I'd made a difference in someone's life (oh how naive I was).

I realise this story is shit.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:15, 4 replies)
Tramp roasting
The snow was falling all around as Rachel was bumbling along the road in the way that all good Rachel’s do when she spotted a pretty shiney nestled among the tightly packed snowflakes. As she bent to pick it up she collided with a tall striking man. Both uttering their apologies they backed away, while still maintaining eye contact. He was very easy on the eye she thought to herself, deep Brown eyes with flecks of green, amazing bone structure and she could see from the outline of his suit that he worked out.

She could feel the heat in her rising despite the freezing temperature and knew she had to have him. He took her gloved hand and together they walked in silence toward the local park. It was deserted as schools had not yet let out for the day and there was only a couple of tramps at the other end near the woodland bit.

They both knew what they wanted, each other, right fucking now, but with nowhere to go it was even more frustrating. Together they built a chair out of snow, all the while sharing long lingering glances. He would occasionally brush past her and his hand would glide over her perfectly formed rear when he bent to get more snow. She in return would casually squeeze between him and the chair on the pretext of moulding the chair into shape, smiling as he caught his breath.

Finally after a good 20 minutes or so the chair was finished. It was magnificent with a curved back, long sloping side rests and a seat wide enough for two. He sat down and gestured to Rachel to join him on his lap. She did so willingly. All the exertion of creating the chair had left them both rather flushed, but as she leaned in for their first kiss, she noticed the colour deepening in his cheeks and felt his heart racing against her shoulder. Their kiss deepened as they began exploring each others tongues and Rachel outwardly sighed as he reached his hand under her coat and started removing her bra. “Stop if I’m going too fast” were the only words he uttered which only made Rachel want him more.

Within a couple of minutes they were down to their underwear, sneaking furtive glances around, but still the park remained empty aside from the tramps on the other side of the park. The cold air made goosebumps of their skin, but his throbbing cock was very much heated and ready for action. He gently guided her head downwards onto it, but she wanted to tease him a little at first. Small butterfly kisses and then deep swirling licks to the shaft saw him moaning for release almost immediately, but Rachel was relentless. She expertly deep throated him, pulling him deeper and deeper into her warm moist mouth until he was on the verge of creating her several warm salty pearl necklaces. Gently tugging on his balls she steered him away from the verge of cumming and then taking one in her mouth she looked up to see him off on another planet in ecstasy.

Meanwhile he’d been manoeuvring his way downwards, kissing all the way down her mostly naked body until he reached the source of her heat where he began with soft kisses and gentle licks to her lips and inner thighs, she moaned in pleasure as it had never felt like this before. He quickly located her clit and began massaging it with his tongue, sucking and applying gentle pressure just in the right place while she began to writhe and moan. He held tight and soon she was breathing so heavily the two of them looked like a steam train, the amount of steam rising from the melting chair was giving off.

The two tramps spotted this and through the haze of the Special brew they were supping on thought something was amiss as this park was their territory and no one in their right mind would come here during the day when it was so cold out. They ambled over to the beast with two backs, sniggering when they realised what they’d stumbled upon. The taller hairier of the two cleared his throat and hocked up a green one, spitting it onto the ground next to them, startling them out of their play time.

Rachel screamed and bolted for the nearest tree to hide behind while he looked a little bashful and started gathering clothes together, appendage still merrily wagging from side to side as he did. They got dressed and started to exit the park looking as least suspicious as they could with her coat over her arm and one shoe on and his hair a ruffled mess when the shorter fatter tramp yelled out...

“If I was you love, I’d ...”

Don’t you hate it when that happens?

*may be based on a true story*
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:13, 3 replies)
Milton Keynes wheelchair big issue scam artist.
There is (or was, I don't live in MK anymore) a chap who spent his time outside Marks & Spencers selling the big issue. He was in a wheel chair and quite chatty to everyone who probably had a bit of sympathy for him being both homeless and in a wheelchair. He did this for years.

Any compassion I felt was wiped out when I was with a mate walking to the local shop and we spy Mr Homeless wheelchair man walking out of his front door to go to the same shop for booze!

So these days I'm a bit of a miser when I meet people begging for change or offering the poor read that is the big issue. Possibly also due to a fella asking for change as he was "homeless and hungry". So rather than offer him money as I'd been on a work training thing which provided lunch I had a prepacked and still sealed sandwich and offered it to him. Never seen someone who's "homeless and hungry" look so disgusted at the prospect of a free meal which he did indeed turn down.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:11, Reply)
Many years ago, on our way to a house party...
me and a few classy friends decided to out-do the other unoriginal students with their pathetic traffic cones, so we stole a tramp.

A genuine, hairy, pissy-streetbum who had passed out in a doorway.

We neatly carried him into the house and deposited him on the sofa.

He woke up a couple of hours later and became an instant celebrity - he was passed endless drinks and got loads of cuddles from inebriated girlies.
He was christened "King Wookie" (I've no idea why).

It was dark, there was loud music and flashing lights. From his reaction, I'm fairly sure he thought he had died and was in a trampy afterlife.

EDIT: I dunno what the rules for "reposts" on the QoTW board are, so instead I'll just link to a previous post on the subject:
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:09, 5 replies)
'Noon b3tans.

While our yearbook was under production at school there were "awards" we could vote people for. One category was "Best male bum".

Big D, a friend, misunderstood it and thought it meant "Best tramp" and voted my best mate for it.

In all fairness though his stupid beard does make him look a wee bit of a tramp.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:02, Reply)
There's a tramp in Liverpool who is known as Jacko (his name's actually Jackie). He has a cardboard cut-out of a guitar. He strums it and says "plink-a-plink" as he does so. Occasionally someone or other gets him a super-duper laminated cardboard guitar with his name on.

He told me I'm going to marry a bank manager.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 16:01, 4 replies)
A taxi driver called me a tramp once.
But I think he was talking about the other kind of tramp.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 15:54, Reply)
I did a project
on Sweden in the eighth grade. I was up all night doing it.

Then next day in gym class I was on the mini-tramp and I got diarrhoea.

I really wish I hadn't told you that.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 15:52, 1 reply)
A wino referred to me as a pretty lady last month.
That was the nicest thing anyone had said to me that whole week, bless his cider-raddled little eyes.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 15:51, 2 replies)
thanks to someone on b3ta coming up with the idea
I can no longer walk past a tramp, without suddenly incredulously saying "Dad???" just for that tiny little glimmer of recognition in the tramps eye that flashes through the alky cateracts.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 15:51, 3 replies)
golly I might have one to tell you about when I get back from melbourne!
Oh no - wait I have one to tell you about now. But it'll have to wait.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 15:50, 1 reply)
Edit - Oooh 4th
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 15:50, Reply)
having worked in an offie in reading there are plenty of tales
but too long to post now- fifth?

Edit- third- not bad!

Tale 1

While working in reading town centre on a reading festival weekend, the evening was pretty quiet- festie types were all at the site, and the rest of reading were avoiding the town like it was full of zombies (having seen the festie crowd- I can understand that veiwpoint!).

as we had nothing to do we were in front of the store having a fag and watching the tumbleweeds blow past when we noticed a tramp who had been weaving along in the distance stop suddenly. before we could say or do anything he pulled his trousers down squatted and had a big shit- in the middle of what was (pre- oracle) the busiest shopping street in reading.

the funniest part was when my female colleague squealed "I can see his willy- and it's huge!"

No Tracey- that wasn't his willy you could see dangling down- willies don't drop off!

length- 18" of brown curler- he must have been pretty desperate to drop that one off!
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 15:49, Reply)
Damn it sooo close.

Other than feeling like a tramp, i haven't got any stories.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 15:49, 1 reply)
Top Tramps!
Used to live in Ipswich when studying (stop sniggering at the back) and the quality of tramp there makes other tramp populations appear to be still attending the beginners school for tramps......

The most shocking event was one of the crusty pissheads wanking himself blind over the outsife display of a shoe shop until he chucked his muck over the various sensible footwear on display - there were some knee high boots in the window along which I would have thought would have been a more preferable choice, ech to their own I suppose.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 15:49, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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