All the Priests are Becoming Doctors

A homeless man came up to me yesterday and lifted up his arm. Along the bone ran a gaping wound, held together ineffectually by office staples. The wound leaked a clear liquid. I gave him the contents of my pocket—70 cents. That was probably enough to buy more staples. Enough to keep that wound within the semblance of a cure. Just like my effort. I’m so great it hurts.

Some girl at a New Year’s Eve party offered to show me her breasts for a dollar. I had the dollar but refused her. Then I explained supply and demand. She was angry. I bought some gum with the money and chewed it until all the flavor was gone.

At the DMV, while I waited for my new license to be printed, a lady walked in with a stroller. At the same time I happened to notice a sign on the wall that read No Eating or Drinking. I turned to the lady and motioned to her kid, “Excuse me, ma’am, read the sign.” Then I realized she wasn’t going to eat the baby, she was just watching it or something. But you never know.

Sam Pink is 24. He blogs at He is hoping to one day have sex with that one girl from Clarissa Explains It All.