Alms Za Try N To Reach Out As Legatee Wannabe

Alms Za Try'n To Reach Out As Legatee Wannabe Yukon pots sib bully challah me Jude dish hiss literary panhandler schlepping along virtual figurative boulevard Asia brogue kin bloke rattling tin cup aware how quickly passersby dodge away as if I got some incurable fatal disease, which choice donning schnorrer roll barley bread within these genes, and leavened during years as flour child, now dem years, where boyhood penuriousness found prior once pip squeak punkish kid, now scavenging analogous to Dicken's poverty stricken London), one lone backstreet beastie boy, (albeit naive, innocent harmless, et cetera), quite vulnerable to elements (periodically tabling something wicked that invariably came my way), but Justine Nick O' Time plucked me out the maws obviously saving worse fate than death (still waiting for Godot), asper living scrounging for measly morsels to stave off starvation, a smidgen moldy stale vegetable, way overripe fruit crawling with maggots (ah...protein), or ziplocked airtight sweet treat, yet most scouting around to treasure handful of grub met yours truly with defeat, especially competing, (asper survival of fittest), a ratty matted pack of wild hungry animals (humans indistinguishable among hordes), and singular primal sounds comprised soul fully bellowing warning, and no matter these poor looking mangy ravenous skin and bones managed mustered guarding spit of territory issuing threatening guttural growling, a warning other predators took seriously otherwise, they (ragtag motley crue most often banded together) could find their defiling ranks decreased, the weakest among scraggly bunch taken down with ease, which ruthless occasions found yours truly secreting his bonafide bony hide, lest he get snapped up, without warning one fell swoop, would mercilessly clutch this forever pencil necked scrawny geek, and attempt squeezing livingsocial daylights, but not without fighting spirit, ("FAKE" Irish seeps out), perhaps suffering minor cuts and bruises, whereat remembrance, when long dip hearted dearly mother enforced telling extremely shy lad (barely resembling wasted weasley wobegon whippersnapper scratching out illegible words writ with blood (tragi-comic farcical ploy) imagining philanthropic stranger whisking (after sharing whiskey) one speck of flotsam within jetsam amidst whirled wide web deriving cold comfort (southern, when heading to warmer clime during) bitterly cold nasty not so short winter (lasting a bajillion years) hankered when sizzling dog days o' summer return with vengeance.