So, like, I thought about getting a Street Performer's License. I didn't... or haven't yet. But as follows are some of the Ideas I came up with. And yeah, the word Ideas in that last sentence, does need to be set off somehow, as the quality of those Ideas is highly debatable.
Fine! No! No! Fine! If I'm not going to be a World Famous Street Artist, I'll just be a ho-hum conventional World Famous Photographer. As in, the photographs have nothing to do with the text.
Wait! Was the previous thematic explanation of the textual elements not clear? Oh, well. You'll catch on. It's just (another) collection of random ideas for ways in which to harass random passerby's in the hopes of eliciting spare change, while staying on the good side of the law.
And as to the photographs, well, the photographs (besides being High Art) are of the A or B variety; as in, which image is better? A or B?
But in that last, I joke, as a license costs a mere $100 for two years; and the exacting application process can take upwards of ten minutes. I mean, they don't just let anyone juggle balls on the street (or fail to juggle balls on the street; as in, drop balls on the street, as I might do). It requires a Photo ID... and a hundred bucks.
Have I mentioned that hundred bucks part?
I don't have a hundred bucks!
If only there was some easy way I could make a hundred bucks out on the street...
Safety pins! Safety pins! Get your safety pins! Two for fifty cents, three for a dollar, four for five bucks. Limited edition safety pins, straight out of the box. They have a million uses, my good sir and/or unnervingly suspicious good lady, too numerous for me to mention at this juncture.
I hear tell, by me if no one else, that they were invented in the early seventies by socially maladjusted punk rockers looking for a more dangerous way to pierce their ears than going down to the local druggist.
Ah, would you like a bag for your purchase?
At which point, yours truly, whips out a Big Ass Bag™ to hold the small (safety-pin-like) items now lost in its depths.
Or if that doesn't work for you (so clearly, we are making a callback to that A or B thing), maybe the following Public Performance Debacle would better suit your moods.
I think it goes without saying that if I were to make any money singing by the side of the road (on the public path, as it were), it would be because folks (and kindly, generous folks they be) would be paying me to stop, 'Whatever it is that you are doing, because singing, it ain't.'
She doesn't love me. <sniff> Never did. <sniff-sniff> So, buy her wedding ring off me. <sniff-sniff-sniff> I'm selling it cheap. <wink>
And yes, most of these Ideas (I sure wish you would stop making me italicize it like that) are sales pitches for items of dubious value, as the 'Wedding Ring' in question might well be (that is to say, it would quite obviously be) of the Finest Plastic Quality!
You know, those cartoon caricatures that folks draw on the spot.
'Seriously, dude! You are the worst sketch artist I've ever seen. Even your samples look like sh!te!'
Um, need I say more?
I got your Rubber Bands, right here! Three for a dollar. Never be caught short for Let's Make a Deal, again.
And no, this is totally different from that Safety Pin shtick, so back off. I ain't repeating myself... not yet, anyhow.
Shirt Off My Back
I imagine wearing a Hawaiian Shirt (and not one of those cheap pieces of crap either) as I offer to.. Sell the Shirt Off My Back. A small twenty dollar try on fee and we can see if it's the right shirt for you. This was the shirt I was wearing when I decided to travel around the world. And now, this is the shirt I'm going to be selling in order to buy that ticket back home. So, a mere thousand dollars buys The Shirt Off My Back.
<as an aside>
The cost of this trip is getting seriously out of hand, dude. I cannot begin to tell you how far I under-budgeted.
I can, also, see putting up a shower-curtain fitting-room of sorts for folks to try on clothes.
Perhaps, I should have a rack of bikini... hopefuls! You know, as in, I hope someone tries these skimpy things on.
Sheesh! Just joking!
Fine! I'll have a Business Suit Retirement Sale, instead.
So, I don't know about the 'Street Scene' where you are from, but 'round these parts banging madly on a plastic drum is the most common gig out there.
Um, it's damn annoying!
I mean, it wasn't that annoying the first few times I heard them drum. But now? Give it a rest already... or learn how to play... or maybe just put some felt pads on your sticks, so you don't make so much frickin' noise.
Anyhow, I propose Playing the Drums (or The Plastic Bucket, if you want to get technical about it) sans the drums (and/or plastic bucket), for a quieter interpretation of the Musical Scene.
Yeah, it is true, many of these Ideas (stop italicising it, already) are born out of frustration, like the following, which (perhaps) makes more sense once one realizes that there are a lot of 'Monks' (and this really is one of those quote/unquote things) on the streets I seem to be frequenting these days.
Vow of Silence
I have taken a vow of silence!
Um, please note the irony, as I shout this at the top of my lungs... or at least loud enough for those pedestrians on the street, who are now giving me a wide berth, to hear.
Having renounced attachment to All Worldly Goods, all I have are these wooden bracelets with which to make fifty dollars for a steak dinner... five hundred for my hotel room... or seriously, just write out a check for twenty five grand and I'll call it a season, take off this stupid bathrobe, and hit the beach.
Beef Jerky... er, I mean, Funding the Resistance
Not only is Beef Jerky a manly snack (a manly-manly snack), it is the Official Snack Food of the Fifth Street Irregulars.
Or in other words, I am proposing the sale of candy, snacks, and most especially beef jerky (at the risk of being redundant) in an effort to pay my lawyers the vast sums of money they require in order to defend My Constitutional Rights... rights which pertain mainly to the ownership of large barrel shotguns and talking smack to any and all comers.
Don't tread on me... or I will dance the watusi on those potato chips you just bought and shake up your soda prior to handing it over! Booyah!
So, like, up and coming (sure they are) rap singers like to hawk CDs of their work down on the drag. Only (not only do said rap performers likely suck, you know, or they'd actually be rapping their sales pitch at me, but) the closest thing I have to a CD player these days has direct access to my computer's hard drive. And I am not granting a strange disc access to my hard drive.
Conflickr! Heart-throb! Doom Ticker! Like I know the names of these things. Get your virus infected disc, here. In mere minutes, be uploading the contents of your hard-drive to the Internet. Be the first to share your personal information with the world.
Free Keylogger! Let me capture your your passwords!
Or if you want to get more meta... and you know that you do...
Sixty Minutes of Silence! Blank CDs! Ten bucks a pop! Aspiring young artist selling his best work, yet!
Along the same lines, I could see selling (or giving away, but let's try selling them first) bootdisks that would launch some Free Speech Linus Distro... if only I could remember the name.
And Tails, it is!
Cigarettes for the Homeless
Lots of non-profits do food, some do shelter, a few even provide methadone, but I'm collecting money for what's really important in life: Cigarettes for the Homeless!
Ever been out and about? Well, I'm guessing you have. And if so, you've likely seem some trendy couple having their wedding pictures taken. Be in ours.
Take your picture with the bride, only five bucks; and help us fund some sort of honeymoon better than Her Parent's Couch.
It's Like a Rubber
So, like, some of these things (pitches, performance pieces, whatever) need a bit of explaining. In the local market, they put little cones out on the sidewalk whenever they wash the windows of those great big skyscrapers. It's to warn you. But what good is a warning that you might get wet if there's nothing you can do about it? Well, now you can!
Rent one of my umbrella's for the length of the building. Protect yourself from any dirty water falling from the careless window washers above!
I suppose I would have to have a collection bucket down the way... you know, six or eight feet away.
Hey! Come back with that umbrella!
Maybe, I will have to spray the umbrellas with big orange letters; as in
Streetside Book Reading
A sign, a circle of chairs, and a small table with several copies of the same book on it says it all. Though, maybe we will want to arrange for donuts or coffee if this takes off and we plan to have any future meetings.
So, Trump is an idiot... or he's a great-great super-swell guy. I'll let you decide. I could care less.
That preamble out of the way, here's a short mathematical symbol primer for you.
T: stands for 'Top' and/or Truthfulness
⊥: stands for 'Bottom' or Falsity
It's actually a bit deeper than that in that
T stands for
Source and ⊥ stands for
Destination (or maybe I have that backwards) of the
Successor Series, but as that likely gives little to no clarity to the general reading public as to the mathematical concepts involved (they mark the beginning and end of a continuum, he said, wondering if he was getting any closer to the
Truth; so, with that said), perhaps it is best I move on.
Suffice to say, with the one 'T Pin' (or should that be '⊥ Pin'), one can show favor (or disfavor) for their favorite (or not so favorite) political leader... or anything else.
For whatever it is worth, this was the first 'real' idea I came up with. And so, maybe explains why I never did get that Street Performers License.
Money for Your Betters
I believe the idea speaks for itself. But if you don't like that shtick, why not help me out with the next one.
Looking for a New Shtick
Help me figure out what to do with my Street Performers License. I can't sing. I can't dance. But I am more than willing to make a fool of myself for money. Have any ideas? And if so, how much are you willing to pay to see them implemented on a street corner near you?
© copyright 2018 Brett Paufler