Death by Beetle

Can you imagine being smacked dead by a volkswagon beetle? I can. This is san francisco after all...Where pedestrians are SO Pedestrian that cars want to drive right through them.

I watched my nephew cross North Beach streets while reading a Garfield comic book, with cars reeving their engines and smiling evil grins waiting for him to land on their grills.

But that was yesterday.
Luckily nothing happened there.

Still, I have to say that this worried me more than most things.

AND THEN:

What the hell is up with this city's Faux Homeless population?
(I know, I know; easy target.)

We gave a "homeless" woman a box of food and she looked at it rather dubiously and said in Fine Harvard English-forced to sound slang: "Yeah, Lasagna is Cool..."

This She-Hobo all but handed us a Berkley business card with "Senior Professor of English Literature and Elocution" printed on the front.

Then she stacked our dinner left-overs on her pile of To Go Boxes kept carefully hidden from public view and commenced looking miserable and hopeless.

We watched as S.F.'s Finest Bum Lady stood up (leaving the large cache of food collected on the curb and in the gutter) and in two shakes she:

Brushed off her homeless look;

Shrugged the defeated slump out of her posture;

Wiped the bruised expression from her face;

And, counting her mostly Ca$h Dollar$ take for the day, she hopped merrily onto the nearest bus headed to Pacific Heights, where she could have her hairstylist rinse the fake gray from her hair, braid her extensions back in, change her clothes before her dinner meeting to go over her latest business plan with clients.

Etc., etc., etc.

You really have to believe this shit to see it!