Endless Activity Arsenal

So I've added another two additions to the list of things I carry around with me.
In addition to band-aids, a big black notebook, bottle of JB-Kwik weld, I now have a 1938 Underwood type-writer, and a yo-yo.

This yo-yo has already gotten me into trouble.

You'd be surprised at how mad drunks at bars get when I refuse to "walk the fucking dog, brah."
I won't walk the dog. Brah(?).

"What are you, a bitch? Just walk the fucking dog."

I'm not quite sure I understood completely, but I was getting called out for refusing to do a yo-yo trick for a bunch of drunk assholes. This sequence of events is slightly beyond me.

Conversely, some folks are so amazed that I carry around and play with a yo-yo that they buy me drinks. That sequence is right up my alley.

Yo. Yo.

The typewriter, while being an incredibly fun yet impractical machine to use for writing, also seems to provide an exceptional amount of pleasure to passer-by's, especially of the older nature.

I've had elderly women taking pictures of me with their I-phones saying, "I haven't seen one of those since 195X. It makes me so happy to see a young man like you using one of those."
I suppose there aren't enough people that appreciate the impracticality of using a typewriter in public like I do for these old folks to be seeing them around, but it makes them happy. So it's ok.

Some people like it, some people think I'm a giant asshole for having useless crap. Both are alright with me, really.