NOODLE KNIGHT

I understand there are all types of crazy. There’s everything from John Wayne Gacey clown crazy to Sarah Palin Dinosaurs-Existed-2 thousand-years-ago crazy, to ex-girlfriend crazy and so on and so forth. And, sure, every type of crazy is interesting in its own right – but for me, nothing is as entertaining as bum crazy.

Bums are fantastic. Bums are sieved, raw, uncut, pure, unadulterated examples of just how nuts we can be. They’re like filthy , crazy, walking Christmas presents – because if you come across one out and about, then grab the popcorn, because chances are solid gold entertainment will ensue. And unlike hobos, which can be highly dangerous due to their tendency to stab and their repertoire of dark hobo magic spells they’ve taught themselves, the only harm which will befall you as a result of a bum encounter is a sore midsection thanks to some hearty chuckles.

Bums also represent a nod to a simpler time in life, like when we were children and everything was make believe – because if you’re a bum, who gives a fuck what people think? You’re already filthy and crazy – and you gotta entertain yourself somehow right?

And you know what, bums? Dave Carender is on board with your craziness. I am in, bring on whatever bonkers ass shit you want, sell it to me, I want to buy it.

You’re an astronaut today? Fuckin a. Oh, you’re a tennis player? Go for it. Today you’re a chef? I believe you!

In what has proved to be a tantamount example of my staggering arrogance, I actually thought I’d seen it all when it came to street-people crazies. Oh, boy – earlier this month I discovered just how wrong I was when, on the corner of Grant and Campell, the craziest bum I’ve ever seen graced me with his presence.

Imagine, if you can, a man with aquiline features, sun baked leather for skin and hair as wild as his eyes. He stood on the corner, in one hand he held a two way radio (or maybe one of those baby monitor walkie-talkie things) from which he was no doubt receiving gospels from whatever bumgod commanded him to do His work. In his other hand he wielded a green pool-noodle with which he vehemently whipped cars as they sped past whilst screaming at the top of his lungs.

This was, in a word: AMAZING.

There have been precious few moments in my life in which the events taking place rendered me truly speechless. As I beheld Noodle-Knight (as I instantly dubbed him) prosecuting his righteous work, words quit me.

As I sit at the red light Noodle-Knight screams, whips cars and occasions stops, stands bolt-upright like a Meer cat while holding his radio to his ear to receive some transmission then proceeds to point at something that, obviously, only he can see – then repeats the entire process.

I felt like some heathen Muslim during the crusades witnessing a Templar knight in action, going about some esoteric work, the minutiae and intricacies of which were wasted on my simple mind – but understanding, on some fundamental level, that this was important work. That this was bumgod’s work.

Oh, noble Noodle-Knight – I can’t fault you, in your mind you were defending the parking lot from the onslaught of nefarious four-wheeled dinosaurs. Is there a greater calling? I can’t think of one.

ADDENDA:

I texted everyone I knew about noodle-knight right after I witnessed him, figuring I’d never see him again but as fate (or bumgod) would have it, me and kungfuroni passed him a few days later and I was able to capture a few pictures with my phone. So here in all his righteous / filthy glory I present Noodle-Knight:

I know the picture quality is bad - but we were driving by and i used my phone - sorry. If I see him again, and I hope I do, I'll get better pictures.