WELL!
This one time this homeless guy who was with all these lapdancers right with big tits right was all like "I PITY THE FOO' WHO DON'T GIVE ME NO FIVER SUCKA'!" I was like "what?!" and he said there was no way he'd get on no plane.
So I knocked him out with my fists and had sex with all the strippers with their big tits right in this posh hotel on the top floor in their most expensive room on cocaine for five hours on linux. Nobody back at the games workshop believed me until I showed them the PORNO I MADE ROFL!!!!!!
( Jam Master Geordie Hero of B3ta., Wed 8 Jul 2009, 3:57, 8 replies)

Designer type I worked with...
Was a lovely guy but seriously scruffy, with long hair, a bushy beard, wore a hat constantly and a long coat and drank DRANK DRANK.
One night after a particularly big session he wandered out of the pub (The Evil, in Surry Hills if anyone's from Sydney) and staggered up to buy a kebab.
Halfway there he stopped at a bus story and promptly passed out.
His next recollection is being manhandled into a Mission Beat van by some caring volunteers who were convinced he was a homeless guy in need.
"Narrrr. narrrr. em fine!" he mumbles to no effect.
"Lookit! em fiiine!"
And for the next few minutes he continues to struggle against their well-meaning grip.
By the time it stopped he was actually in the van and about to be driven to a shelter before he managed to convince them to let him go.
Apparently it was the wad of cash and a cabcharge that finally did it.
( difficultchild, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 3:18, Reply)

Royal Ascot = lots of tramps
Back when I was a wee whippet of a child there was a tramp who lived in our small town who went by the name of Tinker. Tinker would spend his nights asleep either in a tent up the local hills or on one of the many stone benches dotted around the old shopping precinct.

My mam would never let me get too close but as a naturally inquisitive 3-year old I would say hello and he always had a cheery response.

Tinker had a nice bushy beard, a long green coat and always (and I mean ALWAYS) wore a top hat; and that's why whenever I see posh twats all dressed up on the telly they'll always look like tramps in my eyes.
(SpongeGavShitPants, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 0:00, Reply)

There was this one really annoying beggar
Kept hassling me non-stop with her whining "please sir, spare a few coins", which I just ignored. Her next tactic was to run around in front of me yelling "just a few coins, that's all I'm asking... I'm poor and sick and hungry". Couldn't deal with that for long so I grabbed her and shoved her, upon which she landed on her arse across the other side of the town square.

Soon afterwards, the city guards got pissed off and killed me for some imagined infraction, so I stopped playing Assassin's Creed and turned the Xbox off.

...bindun, probably?
( Dave McF wrote some words on, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 22:45, 1 reply)

Edinburgh has Greyfriars Bobby - Glasgow has...
Geordie Paul and I were heading to a gig in Glasgow on a fine summer evening, and got lost. We spotted a map board on the other side of George Square - you know, for the tourists - and walked over to figure out where we're going. On a bench in the square is a very unwell looking gentleman of the road - Manson hair and beard, that skin tone that only tramps and Sir Alex Ferguson have, dog on a string, the whole package. As we walked past him, Paul and I shared a look of concern - the guy wasn't moving, he looked like death, and his dog was nudging him and whining.

So, we check the map and figure out where to go - starting with back across the square. By now Mr Tramp has slid completely off his bench and is face down on the flagstones, motionless - his furry companion barking like mad next to him. Oh dear.

Now, neither of us want to end up doing mouth-to-mouth on a Harry Ramp, but we're not going to just let a man die in front of us so we hurry on over. A couple of other people are doing the same from other directions. JUST as we get to him Tramp Dog stops barking and... jumps aboard to start frantically humping his masters trouser-seat. Master wakes up - he's alive! - and half-heartedly tries to push the canine rapist off, muttering 'Fuck off out a' my arse you fucking bastarrrd...'. But it was obviously a bit too much effort for a man this swallied so he just slumped back down and took it.

I know, I should have rescued him. Helped him salvage whatever shreds of dignity he, as a human being, still possessed. Unfortunately I, Paul, and all his other would-be-first-aiders were hampered in our ability to do so by being otherwise engaged wetting ourselves laughing - concern to hysterics in 2 seconds flat.

This is the fourth most degrading event I have ever seen in Glasgow.
(scunnydelight, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 20:45, 3 replies)

Super Spastic Tramp
The once me and my friend were walking through town and a tramp was waving a lotto ticket in the air just making noises like a downs being fucked up the arse.
I guess this answers what do tramps spend their money on
(VampirEvil Nobody appreciated my humour, so I'm gone., Tue 7 Jul 2009, 19:32, 2 replies)

Top Tip
If you haggle *really* hard with a Big Issue seller you can beat them down to 25p a pop.
(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_ =o.o=, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 18:26, Reply)

penny for an ex leper
penny for an ex leper,
penny for an ex leper

etc etc...
(The Cats Twat, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 18:20, Reply)

Temp tramp
After a night on the piss and epic weed session I crashed on my mates floor.

The following day feeling very fragile I set off home by bus and unfortunatly it was a two bus journey. I got a bus into town and was waiting for the one to take back to my house/shower/bed. It was taking ages (it was sunday) I couldn't stand up anymore so I sat with my back against the wall. A tramp loomed into view, wandering down the road looking in the bins. He spotted somthing and rummaged and came out with a 1/2 eaten pasty.

He then came over to me sat down, took a few bites bites of his rank prize then offered it to me. With dawning horror (and rising gorge) I realised he thought I was a fellow tramp. My still stoned, hungover mind reeled trying to think of somthing to say but luckily the bus came so I got up quickly, waved bye to him and got on.

Back home looking in a mirror I could see his point
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 16:22, Reply)

I slept rough once.
It was after being thrown out of a house party i was meant to be staying at. Slept on the beach (I wouldn't recommend it) It was December, and i Didn't have a Coat.
Being drunk i slept to close too the sea and got woken up by the incoming tide.

So now i always give homeless people money, i dont care if they buy booze or drugs, They have nowhere to live SO they might as well have the comfort of a beercoat Or Smackjacket to keep them warm

'Pop'

Apols for lack of interestingness i just wanted to loose my virginity.
(Margatemug, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 16:00, 6 replies)

Tramp pic gets me laid
Years ago, I suffered the misfortune of losing my home, my fiance and my job within about two weeks of eachother.
But this is not a tale of woe... oh no.

Luckily (or unluckily depending where your sitting) my grandad had passed away about two months earlier. With me at a loose end my dad gave me the keys to the house and I ended up living there for a little while. The only downside to the place was there was no furniture to speak of, no hot water and the whole place leaked.
Still, I was destitute and it was kinda comfy. I had a sleeping bag and a roof over my head, so I wasnt complaining.

To cut a long story short, I set myself up as an IT contracter and jetted off to the heady town of Aberdeen to work for BP for a ridiculous sum of money.
A couple of months into the contract, I got to know this pretty blonde lady ten years my junior and set about trying to impress her with my worldy knowledge and anecdotes.
One of these was about 'me being homeless' for a while and how I'd managed to pull myself up by my bootstraps and get back on the employment ladder.
Was bollox really, but she had great baps so a little lie didnt seem the worst thing.
Funny thing was though she didnt really believe me, could see it in her eyes.
Till she was at my place and I'd just got some photographs back. As I was flicking though them she came across one taken by my mate at the house, of me in my sleeping bag next to a broken window.
"wots this?"
"Oh thats me when I was homeless".
Cue a sparkle in her eyes and shazam.... got me end away

result
(EvilMeister, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 15:33, 3 replies)

CASELOAD 44
back in 2005, My girlfriend at the time and I worked in the Hatchet (pub in Bristol), we both needed somewhere to live other than our parents and so found a nice flat in Bedminster to rent. one of the regulars in the pub was Craig, we had both known him for ages since drinking and working in the pub. Craig is one of those people who thinks the world owes him a living, and having dropped out of University some years ago, had been sofa surfing or sleeping rough (kipping out as he called it) ever since. the inevitble happened and we allowed him to stay on our sofa for a bit here an there, in return he did the dishes, skinned up, want to the shops to earn his keep sort of thing. this went on for the best part of a year before he decided to move to exeter to follow (read stalk) a girl who he got the wrong impression from. some months went past and we heard nothing until one day I got a phone call from craig saying hes out of prison (in exeter) and would be coming back to Bristol soon, could he stay with us. He had been arrested for stalking this girl. we let him stay with us again, same terms. we had parties he came, passed out on the sofa and was jestfully tortured, socks set on fire, glasses coloured in etc it was all good fun. Craig classed himself as a poet, and managed to work the system to get funding to help him create an album (the globe project) and a book of his works (the penfold collection) from the Princes trust. craig had some paid work on and off, and would flit between my place and other friends. My girlfriend and I split and she moved out, Craig then had the spare room, got housing benefit and all was good for a time. until craig went a bit mental, I think all the weed had taken its toll on his state of mind. he met a random equally mad bloke in Glastonbury called seth, they both concocted random conspiracy theories regarding the abduction of madeline mccann, gordon brown and many others. people started distancing themselves from him. I tried to not engage him in conversation about the mad topics and always changed the subject whenever he brought it up. eventually I couldnt take it anymore and he had to go, he went off one day and didn't come back for his stuff. his attitude towards me changed and he added me to the list of people on his conspiracy lists, accusing me of 2 murders and his "attempted manslaughter" (his words not mine), constantly quoting case load 44 and diplomatic immunity, and claiming he had evidence against a gang he called the "glastifari" and that he had regular contact with Gordon Brown and Prince Charles. I managed to offload his belongings to a friend of his, and managed to get in contact with his Dad who understood that craig was a bit unstable and once he was back on the weed ( i had managed to get him to stop drining and smoking for a while) there was nothing anyone could do for him.

I tried to call craig a few times and my calls were met with a torrent of swearing and threats, I persisted and managed to get some info from him, that he was in london and making his voice heard, more accusations of madeline mccann, gordon brown, the glastifari etc.

So I eventually gave up, I did have to report his myspace pages for accusing me of these crimes which were removed by the myspace admins

www.myspace.com/craigwilson27
www.myspace.com/highperformancepoetry

check those out for more info.

I valued craig as a friend for a long time when many other "friends" didn't. I treated him with respect, homed him, fed him and invited him everywhere I went and treated him with respect and shared my wages with him. he never went without. the sad fact is that he was unable to grasp reality or accept responsibilty for his actions or indeed take ownership of the problems he causes other people, always blaming others despite the help he was offered.

I don't know where he is now, last I heard he was in the hatchet still going on about the mccann case (he believes the glastafari did it, whilst distracting the media with a poetry slam in bristol).

so I do have some sympathy for the homeless, its his choice.
(wireless_tommer, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 15:31, 3 replies)

Truly lovely
Back in 2005, I think, there was an article in York uni’s Nouse paper about how student drinking was spiralling out of control in the city centre. To illustrate the truly Inferno-esque levels of depravity we pesky students got up to when we had a skinful, the article led with an enormous photo of two wasted girls sitting on a kerb outside the Gallery nightclub on a Tuesday night.

Girl A was French-kissing a tramp (who still had firm hold of his special brew with his fingerless gloves whilst working his moves), and Girl B was being heartily sick on Girl A’s shoes.

I was asked three times that day whether I was Girl A. I could say with confidence that I was not Girl A, as I didn’t own a pair of shoes like that.
(Wheezy Luv-ah is pootling about on, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 14:03, 1 reply)

Ah.. Connie!
Back when I was a juvenile Sparklet, I worked in a city centre burger bar. We served burgers on plates and everything, with waitresses. It was there that I first encountered the lovely Connie.

She was short and always dressed in a good woollen winter coat, even when it was a hot sunny day. And she had an impressive collection of plastic carrier bags. Each bag contained many tatty and mucky looking cuddly toys. Connie also had a large manky looking teddy bear under one arm as she travelled around the city. On the day I met her she announced her arrival shouting "Margaret!!! MARGARET.. WHERE ARE YOU!!"

At this point, the manageress, (named Margaret) whispered "oh deary me it's Connie" and tried to make it to her office before Connie saw her... Too late...

"THERE YOU ARE MARGARET!!" yelled Connie

With a sigh Margaret, a chic, well turned out middle aged lady of (I think) Dutch extraction turned around and mentally wrote off the next ten minutes as Connie took a deep breath, and continued

"MARGARET THATCHER!! YOU WANT ANY CONDOMS MARGARET? I GOT THESE ONES THEY'RE BRILLIANT!" She yelled across the busy cafe She waved a grubby fist, filled indeed with prophylactics, although we didn't want to know how she knew how good they were.
Margaret swallowed, and graciously declined the kind offer.

OK THEN MARGARET!! YOU ARE MARGARET THATCHER, AIN'T YOU?" Connie asked her right up close to where we were both standing. Close enough that I could smell both Connie's Eau de parrafin lamp and Margaret's L'air du Temps..

Margaret half sighed "yes I am Connie, if you want me to be!"

"See I told you she couldn't fool us!" Connie chuckled to her moth-eaten Panda, and went on her merry way...

Two years after this encounter, my Mum stood waiting for my Dad to pick her up after a morning shopping, and Connie appeared behind her, wreathed in smiles..

"GUESS WHAT?" she shouted at my Mum.

"I don't know" My Mum replied

"I'm going to Skeggy*, and THEY'RE ALL COMING WITH ME!!!" yelled Connie in delight!

My Mum tells me that the look of sheer joy on this smelly, grubby and deeply troubled woman's face made her smile for months.

Sadly, we never heard of Connie again after that, I hope she liked Skeggy!

*Skegness, Lincolnshire. Favourite seaside resort for Leicester folk.
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 14:03, 4 replies)

The punk
I just remembered this one. Not my story, but one I rather like.

Anyone who lived in Manchester in the late 1980's/early 1990's will probably remember the punk beggar. He was a big bloke, both tall and muscly, and he'd use his size to be intimidating. Interestingly, he was also apparently deaf and dumb, so he'd come up to you and grunt menacingly in your face whilst holding up a card saying which read '50p for bus'.
It worked pretty well for him; people were scared of him enough to hand over the demanded 50p, and when he'd got enough he'd be off down to the Salisbury and the Banshee to spend it all. (He certainly got money out of me - I was scared shitless of him).

And then there was Andy. Andy was a copper who didn't like bullying much, and didn't take well to a six-foot-odd punk menacing old ladies for fifty pence peices which should have been going in their gas meters, so he took to carrying a notebook with him when he was off duty. Sure enough, one day, Punk came up to him and leaned in menacingly and held out his card, Andy pulled out his pad and wrote '"Which bus do you want to catch? Where are you going?', and handed over the pen.
A certain amount of to and fro got punk to admit he wanted to go to Northenden (the middle of nowhere), so Andy gave one of his mates a quick shout on his radio and out of the kindness of his heart got him driven all the way there, for free, in the back of a cop car.
(davywavy, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 14:01, 5 replies)

50p lil
around here (northampton) we have a very famous tramp lady
who actually isnt a tramp - she owns houses, but is a complete nut-nut!
she works the streets (charging 50p - hense the name 50p lil) and a friend of mine has witnessed her her doing a poo in the middle of the street!
I have also been "voodoo hexed" by this woman who came running up to me in the street and waved her hands in front of my face muttering pure giberish!

apparently she is "looked after" now. - havent seen from her in a while!

although she does have myspace and facebook pages from local "fans!"
(piggietress, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 13:59, Reply)

Could this be...
... the world's poshest hobo?
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 13:50, 2 replies)

This took me most of the week to remember!
Mostly because it's not where I live, but was somewhere where I visited - Hastings. Those who take part or live in the area will know that Hastings is host to one of the biggest bike rallys in the country, on May Day each year. People come from far and wide, ride the same route with thousands of others, and park up on Hastings beach for a bikey event.

Here I saw a man of epic greatness. He is actually quite famous in the area, as I remember.

He was about 50, short cropped grey hair, trackies abounded. I don't know that 'tramp' is a fair description. Let's just say he had mental issues of an undisclosed nature, and apparently has been doing this 7 days a week for years.

His pastime was to go down to the seafront, put in his earbuds from a Sony tape player, and proceed to sing all the hits of the '70s, particularly Abba, in a delightful, tuneless shout. Only paused to change the batteries.

What a ledge!


( Rookie You'll have to speak up, I'm wearing a towel, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 13:42, 1 reply)

window-popper terrifies local student
So, when I was at university, I was unfortunate enough to be sharing a house with eleven other people. What's worse is that I occupied the first room (Room 0), which was the very front room of the house, the enormous windows facing the busiest thoroughfare of this particular town. It was also an ancient house, with them kind of slidy windows you only really see in wartime films or cowboy shows.

Anyway, I was in my room, happily smoking a joint one evening, looking at porn on my uni-funded laptop - and to my surprise I had found that the town tramp had silently slid up the side window, poked his head through the space and was quietly watching me. I noticed him, instantly became terrified, (closed down the porn sites), and inquired as to his motives for becoming a peeping tom.

"Have you got the internet by there on that computer have you is it?"
(The university was in Wales)

I nodded.

"Right tidy, go here on the internet will you then, and go to this place then will you?"

He handed me a scrumpled note upon which was scrawled the address for a self-tattooing kit. I loaded up the site for him and he looked in awe. He was getting pretty comfortable at this point, poking his head further in, leaning his elbow on the sill.

"Ahhh, tidy! Look at that! Tidy mun, tattoos innit! Nice one, lush mun!"

I neglected to mention earlier that even though he was being fairly polite with me (despite the ninja-like opening of my window), he was one of those hard-looking tramps with tattoos all over his rotting face. As he looked at my computer screen I fearfully looked at him, willing him to disappear behind the curtain and out of my room forever.

"Listen butt, 'ow much is that kit by there on that computer?"

It was something like £60.

"Ahh tidy son, now listen, will'ew buy that for me and have it delivered here and then what I'll do is come back to this window and pay you for it is it, tidy?"

This fucking tramp was using my window as a business opportunity.

I was terrified by this point. I agreed and mumbled some computer jargon to confuse the tramp. I then proceeded to pretend to order the kit and tell him the estimated delivery time would be about two months.

"Two fucking months? Duw, I thought the fucking internet was fucking quicker than that! Hahaha!"

And then, just like that, he swooped backwards out of my window and was gone. I shut that window with so much fucking force that I'm surprised I didn't trap my now-utterly limp cock in it. I locked the window and the front door. I didn't sleep much that night. I left the house soon after.




I visited the house recently since the story above took place about three years ago now. The (my) front room's window had been smashed in, and the room had been gutted by someone, leaving only rotted cardboard boxes and my old mattress on the floor. I hope I never bump into that hard tattoo-wearing tramp. He'll probably kill me.
(Hernandez Fiendish probably won't be here until at least, say, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 13:35, Reply)

A broken fuel guage or something.
There’s a petrol station at the end of my road that I sometimes frequent for late night snacks and booze or even petrol. Regardless of the hour, day or season I’m always bumping into the same man; a straggly Carribean chap with a big welcoming smile. Whenever we meet he politely tells me that his car has run out of petrol and could I possibly spare a couple of quid for enough petrol to get him home. He must be the unluckiest driver in the world. What a nice chap.
( blindmelon, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 13:00, Reply)

Ginger
Hello.

We used to have a tramp where I lived when I was a student. A ginger haired chap who, rumour had it, had been a successful lawyer with a family and had lost it at work one day starting the downward spiral that ended up with him on the streets.

He died and I believe was buried by the state in a paupers grave. It just takes the right set of circumstances and I guess we are all potential tramps.
(MrHappy, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 12:24, 2 replies)

Tramp juice
I used to have a Head of Department who was, I believe, unique. He the only person I've ever seen drink Special Brew indoors.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 11:51, 9 replies)

If I was losing my home
I went to a conference once with my boss and we were saying that if it was looking like we were going to become homeless, the one thing we'd keep hold of would be a good smart suit. With that, you can always get free food - there's always some conference, wedding, funeral or other event that you can blag your way into. A selection of simple name badges would probably help too.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 11:35, Reply)

Dundee Drunks
We used to get kicked out the fire exit at my old work to go for a cigarette, on to a piss-soaked, syringe covered, cobbled alleyway where lots of old drunk and homeless men would sit all day sharing cans of Tennents Super T and telling anyone who would listen anecdotes of fights they had been in.

One story that stood out was from a man called Rufus who was very drunk one Wednesday morning. He told me he had gone up to Lidl at 8am and picked up 2 bottles of vodka and stuffed them in his jacket and tried to walk out, only to be confronted by the manager and escorted to an office round the back. Lidl only ever seem to have about 2 staff working at anytime so the manager had to go back on to the shop floor while they waited for the police to turn up, leaving Rufus alone in the office....with the 2 bottles of 'evidence'.
The police turn up, are shown to the office by the manager to find an inebriated Rufus giggling in his chair, the police say they can't arrest him for trying to steal empty bottles (they obviously couldn't be arsed with the paper work) and as a final kicker...offer Rufus a lift back to his shelter because he's to drunk to walk.

What a clever tramp.
(rmmkkenny, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 10:34, 4 replies)

well

Well there's a man I know
At least I used to years ago
I didn't really mind
He used to come 'round all the time
Of course he had to be fed
I had to give him a bed
He used to kip on my sofa
They used to call him a loafer

I've heard he's changed
A lot since then
But some of his ways
He just can't mend
Told the other day
That he'd offered to pay
He didn't like his dad
He earned all he ever had
He didn't have no shame
He was a master at his game
He never showed his hand
He was the bed and breakfast man
He was, he was the bed and breakfast man...


Madness 'Bed and breakfast Man' would youtube it for ye but the monkey fucks I work for have tight reigns on t'interweb here...
(The Cats Twat, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 10:20, 2 replies)

Cycling tramp
When I lived in Croydon there was a tramp who rode a ladies bike and wore a motorcycle crash helmet.
My sister used to call him my bruv cos she said his feet looked only slightly worse than mine.
You could see where the large flakes of dirt had come off his bare feet showing actual skin underneath.
(Captain Spacker I lick windows, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 10:20, Reply)

Pretend tramp
I used to live next door to a really nice bloke, always helpful, do anything for you type of guy.
At the time I was working in a town 10 miles away and one day took a different route home past McDonalds. Who do I see but my neighbough sitting in the doorway asking for change. Said hello but didnt offer any. When I saw him at home the next day it turned out he made £60-£90 a day doing that while I went to work for £40. Decided never to give to tramps again.
(Captain Spacker I lick windows, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 10:15, 2 replies)

The Seattle Homeless Rock!
I was there for a little over a year, and I would like to state, that they have the best, truly A-Grade mentalist tramps anywhere I have seen!
Apart from the usual 'sleeping in their own faeces' types. The ones with creative banners pleased me greatly. Among my favorites that I can remember...

"Help, Wife taken by Aliens, now they want to give her back. Need money for lawyer to fight them"

"Homeless, Unemployed, Need money for Crack. (at least I'm honest)"

"Starting to sober up, it's scary, need money for drink"
( Pixieelf got his 1st front pg. when MJ died! Double Whammy!, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 9:49, Reply)