Whatever Happened to Honesty and Integrity in the Pan-Handling Business?

If you are starving, then look fucking starving. When you are trying to sell me your starvation 150 pounds overweight and wearing brand new retro Air Jordans, pardon fucking me when my heart refuses to bleed and my wallet remains sheathed. When you walk the streets of Chicago, you see a lot of the gentleman in the lower photo asking for help to get something to eat, but very little of the gentleman on the top asking the same. There used to be integrity in pan-handling. I recall a time that when approached by a pan handler you had to really consider if that person was starving or just in dire need of some Thunderbird. I'd respond much more positively if a vagrant walked up to me, said "Pardon me (and not in that woe-is-me pussy assed way, but like you meant it) sir, but I'd like to smoke some rock today and wash it down with a couple of 22-ounce pounders of Steel Reserve. I'm currently underfunded and seeking some start-up capital. Are you interested?" Depending on my mood I'd say there is a 30% chance I'd give him $1. That is a much greater chance than the 0% you have when you are built like Fat Albert and tell me "Can you help me get somethin' to eat?". No, I can't help you Pigman. It appears you've plenty of help in stuffing your fat gullet. Now fuck off. If you want me to buy that you're starving, you've got to sell it. Be skinny. Be frail. Look wild with hunger. Try to entice a fly to land on your eyeball. Have a distended belly. Look a little more like Gentleman A on the top above. There is too much dishonestly in the world today without the noble pan-handler reducing himself to running Ponzi schemes.