I am a pervert and I am prepared to admit it. But, despite my occasional outrageous conduct, I do occasionally behave like I have a heart or a conscience. I’m sure some of you have run into this dilemma. You feel a desperate need to be desplooginated by a gorgeous woman whom you’ve never even met. You jump into your car, swing by the nearest ATM and head off towards your favorite strip club where you have reliably received emergency desploogination services in the past. On your way, you stop at a red light and spot a destitute family (mother and two young children), begging on the side of the road. You try not to look at them, but the seriously bored and unhappy faces of the children demand your attention. It inevitably occurs to you that the $500 to $1,000 you just pulled out of the ATM would go a long way towards making this family’s next few days a lot brighter than they would otherwise be. At the very least, they could get some hot food. But you really do need to be desplooginated … and soon! Your sanity depends on this. I confess that, most of the time, I soldier on with my original plan. I’ve already been to the ATM. My trousers are now bulging with cash and bad intentions. I am loaded for bare! If it is one of those truly desperate days when an excess of male hormones has turned my brain to oatmeal, nothing can be allowed to endanger the successful accomplishment of my emission. I hate these tough decisions!
But on a few occasions, I roll down the window and offer some or all of the money I had planned to spend in the club to the family on the side of the road.
I briefly consider asking the destitute curbside mama with the hungry kids for a blow job, but decide against it. I drive away, feeling mildly good about myself and go home to let the ever ready and reliable Mrs. Hornibastard solve my problem. Please don’t tell anybody about this, I would truly hate to ruin my terrible reputation.
I returned from Tijuana on Wednesday following a four-day sexfest and more than a thousand dollars lighter and did some grocery shopping late Thursday night. Not many people in the store. Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn and it's this thin, destitute-looking Black guy. He asks for a couple of bucks to buy something to eat. I've long been suspicious of panhandlers, wondering if some are just scamming. So I'm sort of programmed to blurt out, "Sorry, can't help you," when approached. That's what I did. He walked away. About 10 seconds later, I looked into my wallet, which was filled with leftover $1 bills from the TJ clubs. I walked around the store hoping to run into the guy, but he apparently left. Honestly, I haven't felt that bad in some time. I wish I would have taken a second or two to think about it. I would have concluded the guy really did need a meal. I donate money to the local food banks every year around the holidays and after this encounter, I will make sure to change my way of thinking and give a couple of bucks to people in need who approach me. If they're scamming, perhaps their conscience will catch up to them some day, like mine did on this night. Thanks for the reminder, Rev.