~Neil Gaiman
One of my favorite bums in Las Vegas is a guy named Harry, also known as -Dirty Harry- If you ever see him; you'll understand how he earned his moniker. Harry holds the title as the most delusional braggadocio on Vagabond Lane: A few weeks back, I was charging my phone in a power outlet on the outside of Wendy's. As I was standing there waiting for the phone to charge; two things distinctive to his presence occur: a smell that resembled rotten milk appeared in the morning air coupled with a dragging noise on the concrete. I didn't even look up to acknowledge him when I said, "What's going on Harry?"
Harry is disheveled to say the least and if the smell doesn't tip you off to his presence; the dragging noise of his lame foot caused from an auto accident years ago will. "Where have you been Dr. Seuss?" He calls me Dr. Seuss in homage to his favorite writer. We then spend a few minutes catching up on all the latest street gossip and such. Now most people can only take so much of him before it is time to politely excuse themselves. I am no exception, "Harry, I have to meet a friend of mine, so I will see you around." As I am walking away, he says this to me, "Did I ever tell you about the time I banged Pamela Anderson in the back of a limousine?"
I was twenty paces or so away from him when I decided to wheel it around and listen to his tale: "My friend and I were standing outside a restaurant in Las Vegas panhandling when a big black limousine pulled up beside us. The window rolls down and I notice a women with long blond hair staring at me. I make my way up to her thinking that she was going to throw me some coin and lo and behold it was Pamela Anderson in the flesh. I then said to her, 'You're Pamela Anderson, right?' She looks at me and says, 'Guilty as charged. I have been watching you for a while and I was curious to see if you wanted to do a little partying with me."
Being disrespectful to people on the street is the quickest way in the world to get your ass kicked, but I couldn't contain my disbelief, so I told him this. "Harry, let me get this straight; you're telling me that Pamela Anderson pulled up in a black limousine and told you that she wanted to party with you. Come on dude. Do I look like a moron?" He then looks at me with all the conviction in the world and says. "That's exactly what happened. So I jump in the limousine with her and we have a few cocktails. She then tells the driver to pull around back and to go for a walk. A few minutes later both of us are naked and you know what she told me then; she said if you're going to fuck me, fuck me like you mean it, and that is exactly what I did! Now that's a story for your blog Dr. Seuss."
To be honest, I hadn't given his story a second thought until I talked with another street urchin friend of mine today. We started yakking about Harry and he asked me if I had heard the Pamela Anderson story. I rolled my eyes and told him I had. My friend then tells me this. "He has told that story to every derelict in town for the last two years and even the craziest of the crazy refuse to believe him. It is hard to imagine a guy who has been banned from Wendy's and McDonald's due to his lingering stench ever bedding Pamela Anderson, but who knows, maybe she suffers from sinus issues."
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