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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, ... 1

This question is now closed.

An Odd Flash
A very hirsute, very masculine tramp once asked me if I wanted to see his fanny.
Being curious as to what this would entail I said "Hell Yeah!"
With a big cheesy grin he lobbed his horrid cheesy cock out. Ho hum what an anti-climax..
(, Thu 9 Jul 2009, 13:27, Reply)
A tramp with morals..........(ish)
A repost from the shoplifting QOTW ages ago but still suitable:

I was working in Tescos on night shift filling the freezers in the aisle next to the drink. Tramp comes in gets a carton of orange juice and heads straight for the Vodka. Being late at night it can't be sold due to licensing laws which he knows. He opens the Vodka and quickly takes a good slug followed by a drink of orange juice. At this point security shows up, as they had had their eye on him, and grab him. The tramp then digs into his pocket and brings out money to pay! He then explains (amazingly coherently) that he is an alcoholic and was desperate but didn't know what else to do. Luckily management used common sense and did not ring the police but quielty dealt with it. Couldn't help but feel strange admiration for the poor guy.
(, Thu 9 Jul 2009, 12:46, Reply)
Two tramps walking down the street
The first one stops and says "can you smell that?" to which the second replies "what?". The first tramp takes a big lungful and says "I can smell shit!" before looking at his matey. He eyes him up and down and says "you've shit yourself, haven't you?". The second tramp looks startled and says "No I haven't! How dare you accuse me of that?".

First tramp tells his matey to whip his kecks off and prove that he hasn't shat himself, so in a bid to prove his innocence, tramp #2 whips 'em off and reveals the most disgusting pair of grundeys ever seen, liberally caked in lumpy brown goo, all over the backs of his legs and in his trousers. The first tramp wrinkles his nose and screams "I BLOODY KNEW IT! You have shat yourself, you filthy bastard!". To which the second tramp replies "Oh sorry, I thought you meant today".

Yes, this joke WAS worth the wait.
(, Thu 9 Jul 2009, 11:56, 3 replies)
I saw a tramp once
True story.

I was on the bus from Ealing heading home (many a year ago) and looking out of the top deck window I saw this shabbily dressed guy shuffling along the broadway who then suddenly stopped, looked intently into a shop window and start sprinkling from the front of his trousers. He carried on walking after finishing, without a care in the world.

The joy at being able to use one's own trousers as a toilet.
(, Thu 9 Jul 2009, 11:35, Reply)
Local tramp
I often see this old guy in the local park, sat on a bench usually. It's near the Kids play area (I cant help feeling hes a bit of a paedo, the way he watches the girls). He's a greasy old git, snotty nose, tatty clothes, the works. He sometimes goes to the Sally-ann too. Still, I think he's on the way out, he's got a horibble cough (Pneumonia?)

I. Anderson.
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 22:45, 3 replies)
I used to work from home
And would therefore barely ever shave, sort my hair out or wear matching clothes.

Once while waiting to meet my girlfriend from the local tube station 3 different people gave me their unwanted travel cards (back in the day...) presuming i was begging.

I started to bother a bit more about my appearance then (until i got an office job and it all went to pot again).
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 22:24, Reply)
13 Kittens
I grew up on a farm, about 5 miles out from the nearest town. We always had a couple half-feral cats around, keeping the mouse population down in the barn. One year, however, we had a kitty population explosion. Someone dropped off a couple ripe female cats, and our old tom got up to his tricks -- before you could turn around we had 13 kittens mewling around the barn.

This was too much for us, so my mother put an index card advert in town: Free Kittens. We didn't expect much result from this, and were frankly considering the .22 caliber solution, when one day a neighbors flatbed truck pulls up in front, and a crowd of hippies piles off and comes up our driveway.

They'd moved into one of the long-abandoned houses on the outskirts of town, and had a rodent problem. They'd seen our card, and hitched a ride to get some natural mousetraps. Soon enough they took all 13 kittens, plus both mommas! My dad was so pleased he fired up our own truck, piled the hippies into the back, and drove them into town. Nice folks, really.
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 22:00, Reply)
Was there a keyboard player for Smash Mouth? If so,
I might have met him.

I had the privilege of making the All-New Jersey Honors Orchestra, with the illustrious gig of playing a concert in Atlantic City for the annual teacher's convention. The 'honor' part of the orchestra meant that your mode of travel from the cushy Howard-Johnson Motel to the Convention Hall was by hoofing it down the boardwalk, in concert attire. So now there's about a hundred kids walking down the boardwalk in fancy dress in the middle of the day in November. This is when myself and a fellow musician met the keyboardist for that band Smash Mouth.

He walked up to us, Trump Taj Mahal Casino cup in his hand and wearing varying shades of brown. With the cup outstretched, he comes up to the two of us and says: "Hey, is there a wedding going on or something?"

I wanted to just say yes and keep moving along, but my companion decided to stop and answer him, explaining how we were all musicians that were going to be playing in a concert for the teacher's convention, etc. etc. Why I stopped along with him, I'll never know. But the rest of the conversation I will remember forever.

The bum nods his head in understanding, "Oh, neat. I played piano for the longest times. Piano/keyboards."


"Yeah, I was actually in that band Smash Mouth, you remember them right? 'Walking on the Sun' 'All-Star'..." He named a few others, but honestly--who actually listened to any of their other songs? And before we could even respond to that, the story kept on coming.

"Yeah, I played keyboards for them. Got pretty rich off from doing it too, if you can imagine. A couple million for a couple of hits. But then I got ALS--Lou Gehrig's, you know? And that all messed up my sense of timing and pitch and everything else. I was pretty much useless to them and couldn't play piano or anything like that anymore so I was out of the band.

"And, I was living in California at the time. So my wife sued me all I had; because under California law, a spouse can sue for having power of attorney over their spouse's funds if they have any sort of mental illness. Lou Gehrig's Disease counts as a mental illness under state law so she took everything."
(That's a huge bunch of bullshit-smelling legal babble, but kudos to this man if he thought it up on the spot.)

Here was the spot where I thought he was going to give his plea for some spare cash (it was the perfect set-up for it, in a way). Instead, he said this: "So anyways, I was broke and my wife took all my money--so I came back home to here in Jersey. But, everyone gets what they deserve you know? Like my wife--I killed the bitch. Shoved her through our third floor window into the driveway, the cops thought I had a seizure because of the ALS. They don't know shit."

That certainly came as a shock to me, and there was a very uncomfortable moment of silence between me, my fellow musician, and the (alleged) former keyboardist from Smash Mouth who confessed to killing his wife. Then he nods his head again, and with cup still outstretched towards us says "You guys have a nice day." And walks away.
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 21:49, 1 reply)
once I was homeless...
...for quite a while, living in a stolen car with a friend.

It was about 10 years ago: I was 19, I'd been in Australia (Byron Bay) for quite a while and was running low on cash, but didn't want to get a job. i remeber pissing it up on Xmas day safe in the knowledge that I was spending the last of my cash and that was a good thing, as I would no longer have to worry about getting closer and closer to being broke. I would just be broke, and it couldn't get any worse.

So on boxing day morning i moved out of the youth hostel i'd lived in for the last 4 months, and into a car we'd been occassionally "borrowing" (it was presummed dumped, it had been in the hostel car park for several months).

It was a huge 1970's Holden with bench seats (I had the front since you ask) and massive boot, so plenty of room for all the crap I'd foolishly brought travelling and enough room to sprawl out and sleep.

And so we stayed in there for about 10 weeks, until the hostel owners asked us to leave the car park... after that we drove the car around various other places near by until the police removed the plates as we had no tax, mot (green ticket or something) or insurance.

Then we slept on the beach for a couple of weeks - but everything started to get really sandy...

Finally I called up my folks and asked them to lend me £100 to go to Sydney and get a job, but really i would have happily stayed living on the beach if i could - it was getting a little colder though and starting to rain more - and tramping without a roof aint no fun in the long run!

Something amasingly invigorating about having nothing at all!

I'd get up in the morning with no cash in my pockets, no wallet to worry about, no keys to loose (and this was before everyone had mobile, so didn't have that to think about) and just do whatever I fancied.

We usually popped in to one of the various youth hostels and helped out for a bit to earn a free breakfast before hitting the beach all day, and then returning to our original hostel to help cook an evening meal they sold there.

We often seemed to find cash on the streets - enough to get some bread and honey once in a while... and usually some group of fellow travellers would ask us to join them in a box of finest Auzzy wine, so most evenings were free fun down on a beach. If you build a big enough bonfire - people will come.

Only thing i actually wanted cash for was to develop a couple of rolls of film I'd taken, but that waited.

My friend found it a little harder as he was a big smoker - and resorted to hitching to the next town to rob a store of 4 large packs of rolling tabaco. Before that he'd taken to smoking dog ends through a pipe... Desperate times for him.


i have some amazing memories (and photos) of that time of my life, really was a glorious time for me, being a true beach bum. I missed having a tan so much that when i came back to the UK for uni i bought a tanning bed... but that wasn't quite the same as spending all your day doing fuck all on a beautiful deserted beach...

I'd do it again in a second if i could unravel myself from modern life! The book 'diary of a supertramp' is well worth reading if you are interested in living outside! Though my ultimate dream is to live the life of Tom Neale - 'An Island to Oneself' is my bible.

(sorry, story not funny... just wanted to share!)
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 20:56, 3 replies)
A friend of mine
once went out drinking & after unsuccessfully trying to take a short cut through a park fell asleep on a bench only to be woken up by a tramp man sucking his cock.
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 18:43, 5 replies)
Coming from Amsterdam
I've had my fair share of encounters with tramps. The best one was the black dude on Surinameplein though. (a large square with roundabout outside the centre).
He was always there when i passed it on my way back home from work. And i also had to change trams there occasionally so i had the misfortune of being close enough to smell him a few times (the basic piss, poo, sweat and alcohol aroma. You get the drift).

Anyways, summer or winter, he always used to wear at least two winter coats with some sort of crust on the outside and trousers to match. He didn't seem to mind though, he was always merrily bantering away and always smiling while "controlling traffic", blessing the trees, looking for something (his sanity probably) in the large flower pots the city used to put there during the summer or managing his collection of footballs he used to keep in the bushes.

One time though, i spotted him while i was on the bus and i was actually afraid of being passed for being a bit loopy myself, coz i could barely stop myself laughing out loud.

He was doing his usual thing, can of beer in hand, laughing and bantering away. When suddenly he stopped in his tracks and gave his can a rather bewildered look. He peered into it, gave it a bit of a shake, started talking into the can and then held it to his ear. He repeated this a couple of times, talking louder and louder every time and getting increasingly worried every time he peered into his can. Until he started panicking a bit, shouting into his can and shacking it franticly.

My guess is he heard the echo of his own merry banter in his (nearly) empty can, thinking a tiny person was trapped in it.

I wonder if he's still there, i haven't seen him since i was lucky enough to move to a nicer part of town. All i can find on him is a blog entry dating 2002 and some official city document mentioning complaints coz he used to kip in the central hall of a nearby block of flats. The last also mentions he used to say "I once killed a man you know!" to the passing residents for no apparent reason, smell must have been awful in there too.
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 18:25, Reply)
There's a voice
keeps on calling me. Down the road, that's where I'll always be. Every stop I make, I make a new friend, can't stay for long, just turn around and I'm gone again. Maybe tomorrow I'll want to settle down. Until tomorrow I'll just keep moving on.

Down this road that never seems to end where new adventure lies just around the bend. So if you want to join me for a while, just grab your hat, we'll travel light, that's hobo style.

bah, it's kinda bindun...
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 15:16, 1 reply)
Not really a tramp
A guy I know decided to leave home when he was about seventeen. He just wanted to see the rest of the world, so slung his old guitar over his shoulder, stuck on his favourite cowboy boots and started walking. I'd see him walking along the road, his red hair blowing in the wind, just walking on.

I'd heard a rumour that he used to have a girlfriend that hurt him pretty bad, she made him pretty sad. I've not idea what was going through his mind, but he just decided to leave the world behind.

Now, you might call him a tramp, but I know it goes much deeper than that.

He's a highway chile.


Walk on brother.
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 15:04, Reply)
My dad's favourite joke.
Two toothless members of 'the portable wine tasting society' are strolling along one day, when one of them notices a strong smell of faeces in the air.

"Have you shit yourself?"
The first tramp enquires.

Replies the second.
"How dare you suggest such a thing?"

The first tramp, albeit sceptical accepts this answer and they carry on their merry way.
A little while on and the smell of turd has only got worse.

"Are you sure you haven't shit yourself?"
The first tramp again asks.

"No, I have not bloody shit myself"
Once again replies his bridge camping companion.

So they continue on.

A little while on and the first Harry Ramp notices that they have not managed to beg a penny off anyone. People are actually crossing the street to avoid them, due to the stench of fetid arse matter that is surrounding them.

"Look, you fucking stink."
Says the first tramp.
"You are scaring away customers with your smell, are you sure you have not shit your pants?"

"I promise I have not shit myself, check for yourself."
The second tramp answers while turning round and undoing his 'Giorgio Armani summer collection' rope belt.

Once undone, the smelly tramp bends over and exposes his bare, foul stinking, sloppy arse gravy covered bum and cack caked kecks to his mate.

"Oh Jesus!"
Yells the first tramp, retching at the sight and odour.
"You have fucking shit yourself, its fucking everywhere!"

The smelly tramp replies....

"That's yesterdays."

Thank you, thank you. I'm here all week.
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 15:03, Reply)
i slept rough once too
very drunk. far too many snakebite and blacks. on my way home from t'pub in the middle of a freezing winter. for reasons unknown to me still, i decided that instead of going back to my warm snug bed, it would actually be far better to climb over the railings of a local synagogue and break into a little shed they had in a children's playground there. luckily there was a little plastic chair inside for me to prop up against the door to keep it shut. slept for a couple of hours before waking up and deciding that on top of what was going to be a mammoth hangover i really didn't want to have to explain myself to an angry jewish caretaker in the morning, so i went home to sleep in aforementioned warm snug bed.

ever tried to have a kip on a hard wooden shed floor? i'd definitely define it as sleeping rough. consensual sleeping rough yes, but still.
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 15:00, Reply)
Cheeky Bum
In 2002 a bunch of friends and I were in Bath for a night out. We dumped our stuff where we were staying and headed straight out to the bright lights of Bath City centre. First stop for us all was a cashpoint to get us all some beer tokens. The nearest one, as it turned out, was a supermarket just outside the centre.
This supermarket had a covered walkway leading towards it, and in there were some gentlemen of the night, asking if we had any spare change, which of course we didn't.
Once we were all cashed up we headed back up the walkway to be confronted by the sight of a very generous lady offering these bums sandwiches she'd just bought for them.
One of the bums then made us all stop and stare by saying to this lovely lady "I don't like prawn, have you got any chicken?"
Shocking. I mean - THE NERVE of these people! What more can you ? This country.
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 14:16, 6 replies)
Nairobi, 1979
In true African Capital City style Nairobi had the full quota of tramps and homeless people - mostly attracted by the tales of streets paved with gold. Unfortunately nobody told them the gold paved streets were only at the Presidential Mansion and that was surrounded by members of the Police GSU ...

In Westlands near the nice new Uchmi supermarket and the Jacaranda Hotel was a large roundabout - it has since been flattened as they built the Sarit Centre on it.

Living in the middle of this roundabout was a large black gentleman - he appeared to spend every minute of his time tending a bonfire surrounded by bouganvillia plants and piles of rubbish he had collected. As we drove past him my sister and I would chant "Look! look! It's 'Burning Fingers'". And our Mother would counter - and that's why you should never play with fire! You'll end up having to live with 'Burning Fingers' for the rest of your lives.

Wise council; you may say - well she was wrong! It is worse. I played with fire and now I live in Norfolk :-(
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 13:33, 4 replies)
Crying shoeless tramp scamp
Not sure if this one has been posted yet or not, I would read all the stories and check, but then I would have already finished my lunch break.....although I am enjoying the subtle compassion vs. loathing for the great unwashed battle taking place. My Mum is a great soft touch and we have taken in many a waif and stray over the years, so I do have a couple of stories to add to the pot this week.

The first tramp in question is not one who my Mum invited to stay with us, and is probably not a tramp at all. In fact, the guy is probably doing very well for himself. Or not...

This "tramp" would sit on the pedestrian precinct in Manchester's city centre, overtly shoeless, sobbing his heart out. The bloke had a proper theatrical gift (or perhaps some serious inner angst to draw on)and the first time people saw him, they would quite often instinctively go and ask him if he was ok, and perhaps give him some money (from memory, he wasn't actually asking).

The novelty did wear off though, and rightly or wrongly most regular passers by decided this sobbing routine was a con. Confirmation that this was the right decision came when a group of (female) friends of mine saw the said shoeless wonder in a swanky wine bar in Deansgate enjoying a mojito. I believe the phrase "Oh, you've found your fucking shoes then" was used to full and embarrassing effect.
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 11:54, 2 replies)
Not my story. Neither do I know the itinerant narrator.
Forty years ago I had just returned to London from India and Nepal. I was broke, dirty and jonsing pretty badly. One night in hopes of gaining access to a drug store I was on the roof of the building above it. In truth, I wasn't much of a thief and my rooftop escapade was a sort of adventure to keep me from jumping out of my skin. As I passed a skylight I suspected someone saw me but chalked it up to paranoia and searched on.

When I saw a black Jaguar (police cruiser) snake into the courtyard my glands overdosed me with adrenaline. I had been fairly athletic before drugs but it surprised me that I was able to fly down the fire escape and scale the huge barbed wire gate with energy (but little time) to spare. The Jag was on my heels as I made the jump onto the fence. I ran like a demon for as long as I figured it'd take for other cops to respond to their radio call and then slowed to what I thought was a casual walk.

By then I was feeling pretty sick and I ducked into the Chelsea Drugstore. This was a very fashionable shopping mall which included a few pubs and I slipped into line with the crowd that was waiting for admission.

I was sweaty and unkempt and imagined that I stood out, so, in hopes to blend in with the crowd I started a conversation with the guy closest to me. He was eating life savers and was very friendly.
He was noticing a much overdressed couple and I used one of my conversation openers: "Real Circus around her isn't it," I pulled that line out of a Donavan song that ended with 'there's only one catch to the fun, to hell if you're willing, your names on the billing and it seems you're wanted in ring number one.'
He looked at me with a curious smile. "Oh yea, I know what you mean, costumes and all."

I went on, "Great performances but the billing probably includes both of us" I said hoping for some irony or humor. He sifted through his life savers and popped one in his mouth, looked up and gave me a big smile, "I know a bit about performances."

OK, I should have recognized him immediately or at least by then, but it was a little beyond belief and I was in a bit of a situation. When he looked back to his life savers I asked him if he saved his favorite flavor for last. "Nope" mischievous smile again, "I always eat the red ones first," and he displayed it as he popped it in his mouth.

By then he was in full control of the conversation; I was 20 and he was older and had the attitude of a man who is very much in charge of his life and being the center of things. I was a scruffy little junky. He asked what an American like me was doing in London. I told him I had just been on an overland journey including Vienna and Istanbul along with Bombay, Delhi and Katmandu. He said he didn't know a thing about Istanbul and that the only thing he knew about Vienna was the Choir boys and, finding another red one he flashed his grin.

By then we were involved in a very fluent conversation. He was very easy to talk to despite his status as a star. He even listened to a few of my stories about the east. At one point when I implied that I was trying to get something that night that I couldn't seem to locate he knew exactly what I was talking about. "You can't always get what you want but..." Which sounded like sage advice to me. He was really very charming and extremely clever, not to say an entertaining conversationalist.

I am terrible at face recognition and usually only thinking of the next thing I could add to the conversation. But by then his identity was penetrating my thick scull. I introduced myself as Jim and asked him his name. He said Mick, of course, and we had a bit of small talk about a dealer I knew that was named Mick before he asked me my surname.

Now, where I am from they call it your last name and I didn't really know what a surname was. I remembered that when you called someone 'sir' you usually used his first name. So I said James... thinking he wanted to know my proper first name. "No, no, I mean your family name," he clarified. I figured he meant the nickname that my family called me and I said, "Jimmy" This cracked him up; I suppose by then he thought me a complete idiot. He said "so you're Mr. Jimmy, huh, that's great... Mr. Jimmy" laughing loudly.

I figured it out. Normally I am not so terribly obtuse but, understand, I was not well at all. I told him my last name, he said, "O God, forget it, I'll never remember that, I can barely pronounce it. Mr. Jimmy is fine."

Just then a man came out and very politely tapped on his shoulder. Before he was lead through the long line into the club he turned to invite me to join him. By then I was getting really ill; I thanked him and left.

It had been a while and I knew I would be safe.
I was very stoned on acid the first time I heard the song and made a big thing about it. No one believed me and a close friend said that even if the story was true I should just forget it, telling it would just make me look foolish. I didn't tell anyone else for 25 years at which time I told a few good friends I was drinking with. They laughed and turned the conversation elsewhere. I didn't bother to insist on the veracity of the story and was happy to just let it go. The only person who can verify the story is Mick.
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 11:16, 6 replies)
Tramp Joke
courtesy of google...

There was this tramp.

One cold winter's morning he was walking along a country road, when he
heard a cry for help from a nearby lake.

Without a moment's hesitation he ran out onto the ice and slipped and
slided over to a little girl. He managed to pull her out without
breaking the ice further and carried her back to the road. He took off
his coat and wrapped her in it then began looking for a car to flag

Coincidentally the father drives up. "How can I ever thank you sir?"
he says after putting his daughter into the warmth of the limo. "Just
name your price - I'm a wealthy man."

"Ah, well..." stammers the tramp, "... uh, I'm a little short of cash,
perhaps you could help me out."

"Oh dear," says the father, "I don't carry much cash with me, I only
have ten pounds - but come home with me and I'll get more from the

"No! No!" says the tramp, "Why ten pounds is more money than I've seen
in my whole life - that'll be plenty."

"Ten pounds," thinks the tramp, "I'm rich! I'm rich!" and off he goes
to the town to buy himself a holiday.

He finds a travel agent, walks in - much to the disgust of the staff -
and goes up to the desk. "I'll have one holiday please!"

"Ahem, which holiday would sir like?" asked the girl at the desk,
forcing a smile.

"Oh, any holiday I don't mind, anything up to ten pounds," replies
the tramp.

"TEN POUNDS! You'll NEVER get a holiday for ten pounds," says the girl

She goes into the back of the shop, and searches in the deepest,
dustiest filing drawers she can find. There - to her amazement - she
finds an old file.

"Well you'll never believe it," she says to the tramp, back in the
shop. "I've got you a holiday - its a super-duper, ultra-hyper, mega-
economy class round the world cruise - and it costs ten pounds."

"Yippee!" exclaims the tramp, "I'll take it!"

A few days later he arrives at the port, and there in the dock is the
most beautiful, most elaborately decorated, most expensive looking
ocean-going liner he has ever seen.

"Get off my ship ye dirty bum!" shouts a voice, and an irate captain
storms down the gangplank and kicks the tramp down onto the dockside.

"But I've got my ticket!", responds the tramp, "super-duper, ultra-
hyper, mega-economy class, and I want on!"

"Well okay," says the captain, "but you can't come on just now, I
don't want my first-class passengers seeing you. Come back at midnight
when it's dark and I'll let you on then."

So the tramp finds himself a quiet spot among some cargo cases on the
dockside, and he falls asleep.

"Psst," says a voice, waking him with a start. It was the captain.
"Hurry up, it's midnight, let's get you to your cabin."

The tramp toddles after the captain, along the dockside, up the
gangway, and onto the ship - and what a ship!

First they went down through the first class level: Oriental carpets -
6" pile. A genuine Rembrandt on every wall. Leave your shoes outside
for cleaning, and the steward brings a new pair. 24 ct gold trim

Then the second class: As above, but perhaps the carpets were only 3"
deep, and so on...

3rd, 4th, 5th class, down past the casinos, and the ballrooms, down
through the crew's quarters, down through the galleys, and the engine
rooms, until finally, at the lowest point in the ship, against the
very hull, the captain opens a watertight door into a tiny 7' x 4'
cabin, with a hammock, a bedside table, and an alarm clock.

"Sheer luxury!" exclaimed the tramp, "A room of my very own."

"I'm glad you like it," replies the captain, "but there is one more
thing... Your class of ticket only allows you to use the facilities of
the ship, at night - when all the other passengers are asleep. So
that's what the alarm clock is for. Enjoy your cruise."

Well the cruise began, and the tramp had a whale of a time. Sleeping
by day, and up on deck at night - he loved it. One-man-tennis, clay
pigeon shooting, more food than he'd ever seen...

Then one morning, a week or so into the cruise, the tramp decided he'd
have a go on the diving board of the pool. He had just enough time for
one dive before he had to go below.

He climbed up the ladder, stepped onto the board tip, bounced, and

... and what a dive...!

Perfectly poised in the air, he hit the water without so much as a

Now unknown to him, the captain - who'd grown rather fond of the poor
old tramp - was standing watching this.

"That was amazing!" exclaimed the captain, "Where did you learn to
dive like that?"

"Um, well I've never actually dived before," replied the tramp.

"Well that's incredible!" says the captain, "I've never seen..." He
broke off. "Hey, I've got an idea", he started again. "How would you
like to train a bit, and we'll put on a show for the other passengers.
I'll pay you, and you can then afford to go first class!"

"It's a deal!" says our man. For the next 3 weeks the tramp practices
like he's never practiced before. Back-flips, front-flips, triple-back
sideways axled dives, you name it he tried it.

Then one morning the captain comes to talk. "Okay, I'd like you to
stay in your cabin for the next 2 days. We're going to erect a high
diving board for you."

"Okay," agreed the tramp.

Two days passed, and the big day arrived. The ship was humming with
excitement. Everyone wanted to see the mystery diver. The captain had
provided the tramp with a new pair of swimming trunks and he wore
these as he stepped out onto the sun-beaten deck. Gasps of
astonishment from the crowd, and a hushed awe. Higher than the eye
could see, towering up and up, rose a slender column of metal.

"Well, tramp," said the captain, shaking his hand, "Let's see what you
can do." And with that the Captain handed him a walkie talkie. And the
tramp began to climb...

up and up...

below him the ship grew smaller...

on and on...

past a solitary albatross...

and still higher...

till the ship was but a speck on the ocean below...

and on still further...

till the ocean grew dim...

and the earth itself...

began to shrink...

past our moon...

and on...

and Mars...

and on...

higher, and higher...

through the asteroid belt...

and on and on towards the diving board...

past the outer planets, until...

on the outermost reaches of the Solar System...

he reached the board.

He climbed on top and radioed the captain...

and then...
.' '.
. .
. .
he jumped. .
Slowly at first, :
but speeding up, :
faster, and faster, :
speeding past Pluto, :
and the other outer planets,
through the asteroid belt,

past Mars,

and the moon,


and faster,

faster - ever faster,

and by now the earth was growing large in the distance,

the oceans and land masses grew clear,

faster, and faster,

past the albatross,

double-back somersault,

and he could see the ship, tiny in the distance,

hurtling down now, he posed, ready for the final 500 feet,

Down on the ship the crew strained their necks,

"I CAN SEE HIM!" yelled a passenger, "LOOK!!!"

The tramp streaked down towards the pool, did a last triple flip, and

















Into the sea bed, sinking a 37' shaft in the process.

Desperate for air he struggle out of the shaft, his lungs bursting he
swam frantically for the surface.

Up and up, desperate, gasping...

Out of the water, up the ladder onto the deck of the ship, into a
throng wild with acclaim.


And handing him a heated towel the captain spoke, as a hush fell over
the crowd.

"Well tramp, I have NEVER seen anything like that, EVER. That was the
most *STUPENDOUS* piece of diving I have ever seen."

The tramp blushed.

The captain went on, "but tell me, most amazing of all is how you
survived smashing through this boat after you dived - how did you do

And the tramp looked at the captain, and the crowd and replied
modestly: "Well you see...

I'm a just poor tramp...

so you must understand...

I've been through many a hardship in my life."
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 10:55, 15 replies)
When I was amuch smaller, younger person...
We used to all pile in my mums 2CV and go and visit my nan, pretty regularly. She lived in Birkenhead at the time and I remember every time we went over a specific roundabout that mum would chirp up with "oh look, here's Bugbiters roundabout"

"Bugbiter" as we learned over the months, was a tramp who lived on this roundabout. I know nothing else of him, which is a shame - I bet he had a good story to tell. We saw him quite a few times on our visits. Then we started to see him less, and then never. They've since resurfaced and reworked the roundabout (and this would have been a good 10+ years ago now) so I presume he's gone to the great trampy roundabout in the sky.

We never did talk to him or have any encounter other than ocassionally seeing him in the car.

Poor dude,
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 10:54, Reply)
Ever cuddled a Tramp? I have......*bokes*
10 years ago I was about to get wed, and chose to have a stag do in the big smoke.

We started drinking early, and by midday we were "well on the way", Beers..shots...cocktails, you name it..if it had alcohol in it, we polished it off.

Cut to the end of 17 hours solid drinking, it was 4 in the morning and time for bed..problem was..we hadn't booked any hotel rooms. So we stumbled to a train station and kipped outside on the cold concrete floor.

Now if you've never tried it, concrete wasn't really made for 'sleeping on', and the cold soaks into your body, into your bones, and wakes you with a jolt..even if you have had enough booze to sink a battleship. You just can't get comfy!.. no matter what you do, or how you lie.

The night passed...very very slowly, and eventually the doors were opened to the station so we could enjoy some warmth! My laughing mates woke me from a very deep sleep..The sunlight burnt a hole in my brain..so my eye's remained tightly shut.

"What the fuck is that smell"?? I thought.. Oh no..I've shit and pissed myself in a drunken stupour. I reached down to my groin to feel 'the wet patch'..but I was bone dry?

I opened one eye, and checked out my surroundings. Somehow, during the night I had moved in my discomfort and found what I thought was a comfy pillow..The reality was a big fat hairy tramp called dave, who stank of piss, was covered in dog shit, and what seemed to be a little bit of my sick.

He didn't seem to mind, and told me "He'd had worse".
Had worse? What did he mean by that? He'd had worse nights..or situations..or people being sick on him..or did he mean sexual partners!!

My head was certainly pounding more than my ass, so that to me was a good thing. So until the next time..I'll say "Never again".
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 10:02, Reply)
MK Central
If you ever see a man outside this station with his beautiful German Shepherd, please spend a few minutes talking to him. I remember the first time I stopped to say hi (admittedly to the dog) his face lit up. He was so happy someone acknowledged he was a human being. I shared a smoke and even gave him a few quid.

He looks like a man Joe Calzaghe would run from a fight with, but he is a genuinely nice guy and would rather die of hunger and thirst than not feed his dog.

I admire that in ANY man, yet alone a tramp.
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 4:38, Reply)
The first rule of tramp club
A few years ago, when I first moved into my current abode, there was an old trampy looking guy who used to hang around my house. I think he must have been sleeping nearby, as many mornings I would awake to the dawn chorus of him yelling incomprehensibly on the street outside.

One night my housemate and I were in the kitchen, which offers a lovely view out onto the carpark that passes for our backyard. As we did the dishes, we heard the unmistakable sounds of a fight going on outside - loud shouts and the thwack of something solid impacting into flesh. We rushed to the window to see if we could tell what was going on, only to see the old tramp stagger into view, yelling and screaming as he bashed himself repeatedly over the head with a length of PVC pipe, like some kind of aged itinerant Tyler Durden.

Still pummeling himself, he staggered through the carpark and disappeared from view. We never saw him again, but there weren't any stories of homeless dudes turning up dead from self-inflicted pipe wounds so presumably he just found someone else's carpark to live in.
(, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 4:18, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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