The first rule of tramp club
A few years ago, when I first moved into my current abode, there was an old trampy looking guy who used to hang around my house. I think he must have been sleeping nearby, as many mornings I would awake to the dawn chorus of him yelling incomprehensibly on the street outside.

One night my housemate and I were in the kitchen, which offers a lovely view out onto the carpark that passes for our backyard. As we did the dishes, we heard the unmistakable sounds of a fight going on outside - loud shouts and the thwack of something solid impacting into flesh. We rushed to the window to see if we could tell what was going on, only to see the old tramp stagger into view, yelling and screaming as he bashed himself repeatedly over the head with a length of PVC pipe, like some kind of aged itinerant Tyler Durden.

Still pummeling himself, he staggered through the carpark and disappeared from view. We never saw him again, but there weren't any stories of homeless dudes turning up dead from self-inflicted pipe wounds so presumably he just found someone else's carpark to live in.
(oball needs Satan more than he needs me, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 4:18, 1 reply)

Christ, man!
Have you not read the other posts? We are not idly mocking the homeless - that was a Human Being! He was someone's daughter - or uncle or summat.
Instead of selfishly enjoying the spectacle you should have rushed out and fed him a beanie (apparently socks don't work).
Sheesh! DO try to keep up.
(St Sepulchre's Belle tolled for thee on, Wed 8 Jul 2009, 4:51, closed)