Yo. I’m a little short on funds… a little light in the wallet. If ya feeling generous ya can drop me a deposit. Anythin? Anythin ya can spare. A fiver? A tenner? I can get freaky fer a Franklinaire.

Can ya help a bother out?

Need ta get some bits from the shop. The bits that fit in the place I flop. I don’t know. Never did know a lot. Where did my cash go? Did I miss my shot?

Seriously… no seriously… hear me out; I’m bout ta go over the top. Who needs a job? I’m too free thinkin for that. I’m not a sheeple or cop. I eat out of trash cans sometimes, so I’ll never get fat.

Don’t judge. Don’t judge, ya suited rat. Ya look like ya can afford ta fill in my gap.

If I could Go Fund Me, I would. But ya need WiFi fer that… and a computer. I used ta have a lap top, before I got tapped. This transit commuter is ALWAYS strapt, with his government phone an’ hustler couture! Where’s that at? I’m one pitiful cat, to be sure.

But I don’t want your pity. I just need a cure. Can ya help a bother out?

I got this cold too, more like the flu; I hawk and spit the whole year through. My moms knows I’ve been sniffin but only the glue- so does my counselor, my sponsor- everyone else too. I don’t care ’bout that cause I’m livin’ off phat, the phat of my Timberlands gifted for my services from a well-ta-do WOE-man. The phat off The Strip and the blubber from the vat of The Sands.

See? I can sing fer my supper too. How I got here, I don’t have a clue.

Seriously… no, but, seriously… hear me out, don’t take me wrong. I’m a little light in my loafers, my accounts and my dong, but I live fer my moments- sad I can’t pay fer my bombs. But… but… ya see… I need a donut, yo! And I need some money fer my motel room, bro. Maybe a drink to keep calm.


So can ya spare some skrill?

A clammy drill?

Some of them little yellow pills?

Yo… give us a cigarette, bro! Help a bother out.

Got some little brown sores that look like smores an’ a coat that I think is magic… my Medicaid’s been dumped, my broad’s been humped by another sucker as tragic.

So, listen… seriously… I got a bus ta catch… I’m stranded like a toad. I’m tumblin down the hatch, tossed at the side a the road. I’m short. I’m broke. I’m a five dollar whore and a fifty cent joke. But, that ain’t the point. I need to get a beer. Could ya buy me a beer? Gimme a hit a yer joint?

I got shorted; mission aborted; don’t get it distorted; just hear me out.

Just a little grease fer my wheels.

I need somethin real.

Somethin. Just somethin. Can ya help a bother out?

I’m so skint, got pocket full a lint and my lucky flint lighter that’s outta fuel. Don’t mean to be a tool. I just don’t feel so well. Shit, I don’t feel good at all. Teeth roots a rottin’ in my jaw. Belly so full of impacted stool. Heck, I haven’t crapped for a week or two, but I’ll be a’ight. Especially if ye can spot me? Just a lilla skrilla to get me through the night?

Somethin’? Anythin’?


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