Does anyone else envision hobos doing all sorts of hobo things when they listen to this album? I mean this is a great album but I just imagine…
A hobo blowing his nose into a used diaper.
A hobo promising to pay a cobbler with three questionable cans of sardines.
A hobo inexplicably sweeping a lonely stretch of train track.
A hobo drowning his sorrows in a bottle of gin because of his messy divorce from a mongrel dog named Scraps.
A hobo sneezing one of those really gross snot bubbles, complete with just a hint of blood.
A hobo who takes credit for unsuccessfully aborting César Chávez.
A hobo wearing suspenders…funny ones.
A hobo using coal dust to polish his shoes in anticipation of the Frogtown Ball.
A hobo with unquenchable dry mouth, brought on by worry that Halfpint Jim discovered he peed in the local swimming hole again.
A hobo who continually waxes nostalgic about his time as rig foreman for Standard Oil…but everyone knows he’s full of shit.
A hobo with a set of disturbingly pearly whites.
A hobo who toured as roadie for Bob Dylan until he mistakingly asked what foreign tongue Dylan used.
A hobo with a life-threatening urinary tract infection.
A hobo with soft hands and deliciously hot breath.
A hobo who stole The Golden Spike and sold it for 10 tickets to a 5 cent peep show.
A hobo midget with a Kings Island Gold Pass.
A hobo with a heart of fool’s gold.
