The Hobo's Bladder

The scene of the crime

Yeosu, Korea, may be the most beautiful city on earth. 95% of the city is a a breathtaking, set in a lush valley and stretching into the incredibly blue sea. Unfortunately, our chapel was located in the 5% that smelled like old ladies and older fish. The church was kept in excellent repair, but even so, there was a small section of tile at the bottom of the outside staircase that smelled unpleasantly like a sewer. The smell would be gone some days, but it always came back.

Other than the mysterious pee smell, my time in Yeosu was pleasant. I had spent most of my mission thinking that I was on President's bad side, and now I finally had evidence to the contrary. I had just been appointed district leader, and I had been given a young companion. The spiritual fate of this city rested upon my shoulders.

My confidence was immediately shot down no sooner than the first night. We were locking the doors of the church when I first caught a glimpse of the man at the bottom of the stairs. I had seen him around before; he was a ragged man who spent most of his time wandering the streets with a glazed look in his eye. Although I doubted he had come to our doors in search of spiritual enlightenment, I put on my missionary optimism pants and called down to him.

"Hello there! Looking for someone?"

He could not have given a worse response. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he looked up at me as a very long string of drool bungeed from his mouth. Maintaining eye contact, he casually pulled down his pants. Although the stairs mercifully blocked the view, the sound of liquid hitting pavement filled in the blanks.

"Hey, uh, excuse me. You-- you can't pee there." I stumbled out in Korean, mentally adding it to my list of phrases I thought I would never say. "This place, uh, isn't a bathroom."

The utter shock of what was going on robbed me of my usual eloquence, and all I could to was weakly stutter threats. The man stood there, unblinking and uncaring. Neither of us would break eye contact.  My confidence was draining faster than his bladder. I was a servant of God. I had spent 19 years hearing that I could move mountains. Yet here I was, unable to move a hobo. My angry thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a zipper. The hobo had finished his work. Although his blank expression remained unchanged,  the slurping sound his drool made as he sucked it back into his mouth was an unmistakable victory song. The man stumbled away, leaving us to wallow in our defeat.

(I usually told this story to young missionaries when they got big heads. Now I just tell it to entertain)

SECOND VERSION

The Hobo's Bladder

We all knew hobo man. We saw him almost every day, in fact. He usually patrolled the few blocks  around the church. Hobo man seemed to hold no influence or power whatsoever [rumors] , and he seemed to be worth less than a two of hearts. What we forgot is that occasionally, an Ace can beat a King [metaphor].

Hobo man, although seemingly homeless, actually claimed more property than most real estate agencies. Although I didn't realize it at the time, he was perpetually marking his property. The pee stains on the bridge and in the market weren't accidents, they were conquests. If I had put the dots together, perhaps I could have protected the church. But once he had his eye on a piece of land, hobo man was unstoppable.

He arrived at the church at the same time we were leaving. He apparently hoped to erect his flag and something else [syllepsis] under the cover of night, but we caught him yellow-handed. Even so, the pleas of two foreigners wouldn't stop him. The pleas of the conquered had never stopped Alexander [comparison, degree].

Swiftly dropping his pants, hobo man wrote his name in an acidic pen, sanctifying this new territory with his filth. I tried to muster the power of an imprisoned Joseph Smith, but my attempted battlecries came out as whimpers. Hobo man paid them no heed, and I wondered whether my words were even coming out in Korean. He was absolutely immune to any criticism, any attempt to dislodge this unwanted conquerer was unfruitful. With a resolute zip, hobo man refastened his pants, and haughtily hobbled into the darkness. His cracked kingdom [alliteration], invisible to all but himself, was vast and powerful [contrast and contraries, antithesis]. He would conquer all.