One industrious morning, I was out and about minding my own business when this dirty homeless guy surrounded by signs bearing incomprehensible barbeque quotes hands me an even less comprehensible pamphlet. I sit in my car and stare at it, utterly baffled--even more baffled than that fascist apartment complex on the corner of Magnolia and Pierce that has about thirty buildings addressed separately with apartment numbers arranged in no particular order and a gate that won't open even if God himself intervened and a map that seems to be deliberately misleading. The title of the pamphlet read like this: "Hi light! Attrition in your assignment? Spider hides on dark side of web!" And what followed was a list of known species of insects that spiders eat.

This creative mutilation of the English language reminds of when poorly translated Japanese video games would say things like, "Somebody set up us the bomb!" or when Jello Biafra compared George Bush's speech skills with his high school geometry teacher who would apparently randomly shout things out loud in class like, "Blabby dwer! Dee bonk winker bean???" like some Tourette-stricken cussaholic.

But this homeless guy in Magnolia Center gets around. I've seen him with signs that say things like, "Vodka kills," and "Publish proof." He rides around on a bike toting a huge American flag and some possessions I can only conclude are food items. I used to see his bike and a little tent in that big empty field going down Palm Ave. by Mt. Rubidoux that the city officially calls the "Tequesquite Arroyo Park," although I think it should be callled the "Tequesquite Arroyo Barren Desolation" because it's anything but a park. I guess he doesn't live there, anymore. According to eyewitness accounts (i.e., a friend who used to work at Bank of America) this man banks at said location and has about sixty thousand dollars. (I have no idea why he's still homeless.) I've seen him reading books at the Marcy Branch library (always expecting the book to be upside down, but always disappointed) and he isn't shy to expose himself in public should the need to urinate become unbearable. His name is Michael Lee Morrow, and he looks likes some combination of "Jesus" from The Simpsons and that skivvy-flashing POW character from Metal Slug (and his approximately 629,154 identical twins).

I know his name because local columnist Dan Bernstein did a piece about him a few years back that I unfortunately can't find in the Press-Enterprise archives (and even if I did I'd have to pay to republish it). According to Bernstein, Mr. Morrow is "43 belly button years old" (as of 2002) and he owns a company called FMA Monitors America. When asked what FMA stands for, Morrow replied, "It stands for FMA." Right.

Sometimes I wonder if homeless people are really the ones who know what's going on. Three thousand years ago they'd have been called prophets but today they're neglected and shuffled aside, only given an opportunity to rise when it's hilarious. The ex-cashier where I work used to pay a different homeless guy to talk to us. He'd seem pretty normal at first, greeting us with a "How's it going? How's business? I just had a beer, you won't tell my mom will you?" and that's how he'd flipflop. We tried to offer him a soda once but he didn't take it. Said it was bad for you. "What do you drink?" we asked. "Beer," is natrually his beverage of choice.

So at what point does it all become clear? I think I'm gonna start being homeless just to find out if I can become a prophet.