Skid Row Feng Shui

I propose to make Skid Row a better place, through the ancient Oriental art of spatial arrangement, Feng Shui.

Feng Shui led me to invent a separate hamper system, strictly for socks I have masturbated into. The stiff-ankled sock with the chip crumbs in it is a bitter sweet reminder of when I ignorantly beat off while eating a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. Any masturbator worth his weight in semen will tell you that the best way to lubricate is with your own spit. It's cheap, good for the environment, and sometimes tastes like Kool Aid.

What those same masturbators won't tell you is that if you don't rinse your mouth out after eating a food with abrasive content, you're going to shred up your prick like an erosive gravel deteriorating a rock formation. But I digress.

The first thing the citizens of Skid Row can do to ensure maximum Qi, is face their boxes, tents, or laying papers to the East. Those with begging receptacles should be sure to rotate them one quarter of a revolution, four times a day.

Further more, I…I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore. I'm a fraud. This, all this, is just a charade. I don't know the first thing about Feng Shui, or Skid Row for that matter. Hell, I've never even been downtown, and I certainly couldn't point it out for you on a map. I rarely even leave the house. I'm only just now realizing, that for me, Skid Row exists as a metaphor for my self-esteem: a run down hovel in Me-Town that could certainly use some tidying up.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go put Neosporin on my tattered genitals.