One Track Mind: Transamerican Hobo Adventures

Serge Zbrizher (center) and Baby Cat, “Maria” in hand, (far right) with fellow “hobos” in Portland.

By Tamara Zbrizher
Published: December 10, 2008

I was driving to Newark, smiling uncontrollably, burritos waiting for my little brother, Serge, who’s back from hopping freight trains. Philly to Portland, Oregon in two months with $200 in his pocket…thank Oden he didn’t get arrested this time.

He was lying on the train car, being hot, when he looked down to see a cop’s face. ‘Why is there a cop on a moving train,’ he thought, and then it hit him: I’m really fucked.

“We got pulled off the train, get hand cuffed and shoved against the fence,” said my brother as he slowly realized he was in Virginia. “They found my brass knuckles and weed.” A month later, we took a trip to Virginia to go to court. Thank the public defender with the flawless head of hair, Serge got off with a small fine.

“It’s all worth it,” he said, recalling a time he rolled along a thunderstorm, somewhere in Utah. “I look out and I’m in the middle of the ocean and I couldn’t understand what was going on. All I can see is water on both sides of me. I felt like I was a sailor somewhere far at sea. Then I look up and there are more stars than I ever hoped to see in my life. It was so beautiful that it scared me: laying there, looking up at the sky, being soaked in rain, thinking: everything shitty that’s ever happened to me has been worth it to see this.”

I pulled up to Newark Penn Station and spotted two too-tanned, too-dirty boys. Serge leaned in to hug me, and Baby Cat (his partner in crime) dove into the back seat. An overwhelming smell of sweat and dirt, which has been baking onto their skin for weeks, filled my nostrils.

“How often did you guys shower?” I exclaimed while rolling the windows down.

“Probably never,” responded Baby Cat. “I like my own stink. Everyone has their own, and when a million people smell the same, it gets kind of boring. You know?”

This hobo lifestyle wasn’t always a way of life for these intrepid, young explorers. Serge Zbrizher was a freshman psychology major at our very own Kean University.

“I didn’t want to live a linear life: going to school and working, being tied down,” said Serge, who spent a few semesters not going to class before realizing school just wasn’t for him. “It seems like there is so much going on everywhere else that I could be experiencing.” He hooked up with Baby Cat, who wanted to “get away from reality” and everyone else who “is just a bunch of pussies,” and hit the road.

Three months after their big return, the three of us sat in the kitchen of my apartment. Baby Cat, a 5’5”/100 lb Cranford native, drank wine and rapped about his day. (He’s gots some rhymes.) Serge sipped whiskey and coke, playing “Maria,” his acoustic guitar.

“A gift from these two sluts,” said Baby Cat. “We partied with them at this really rich house […], MTV generation type kids, a bunch of wieners, but they gave us the guitar.” Maria wasn’t the only gift from the road.

“All the kids were really creative and got joy out of having people at the house,” said Serge, remembering a Chicago collective he stayed at. “They trusted us with their house, gave us food, hung out with us, and made it a point to get to know us.”

One Utah stranger gave them pizza and shelter because she was working on a pamphlet for the homeless: They “talked about politics and religion.”

I tell Serge that scary movies start out that way.

“Most of the time we were traveling with a group of four or more people, so the strangers had more to worry about then we did,” explained Serge. “Plus you can usually judge a person’s character pretty easily.” Serge played some folksy tune while Baby Cat adds raspy vocals. That’s how they passed the hours on the road, waiting for trains.
“How do you hop onto it?” I asked.

“You just run and hop onto anything you can,” replies Baby Cat. “A cart or a platform...boxcar is the best. You can have a party in there.”

The wine was gone, the whiskey on its way too. I told them that school awaits me in the morning. They both called me lame.

“I think the best thing about all of it, is living without the concept of time and being outside more then being inside,” said Serge. “You feel better when you wake up. There is so much more outside than you can ever get from indoors: Walking a lot every day, never looking for anything to do, just doing what you need to do, not working for the sake of having money, but working for food.”

“Nah man! Train-hopping is like a fucking video game,” added Baby Cat as they put on their coats and walked out the door. “The most fun video game you’ve ever played, where you dress up like a ninja and hide in bushes and your power-ups are whiskey bottles and blunts!”

(Top Left) Baby Cat huddled on a
train car, traveling across America.

(Bottom Right) One of the many
trains that they took across America.

Bipolar Time

“The Holiday season means helping someone who cannot help himself. It is in giving that we receive, and when we receive kindness, we are made whole. So give from your heart, smile often and never turn down the opportunity to love your neighbor. Happy Holidays.” –Dusty, Kean University Actor, and Life Coach.

TJ: Hello Kean World, and Happy Holidays! Have you noticed the jubilant installments that have been given to our campus, this year at Kean? I’m talking about the statues; that are like Legos™ after you dump the box on the floor: SPREAD OUT. We also have a lot more benches and, new dorms on the rise! According to Dusty these statues, benches, and other things are the kindness that makes us whole. As well as un-harnessed artistic beauty strewn across the land.

Ralph: If you have sex with the giant stone-vagina outside the CAS, you become Zeus, remember that.

TJ: Nothing screams Holiday Season/Auld Lang Syne/ New Year/ WOW like an erection. I’m talking about the erection of NEW DORMS. That’s right, MORE people have chosen to come to KEAN! They will be arriving in 2009 and now they will have a place to hang their tits and nuts. We as students are being given the opportunity to make new friends, and possibly increase our sexual relationships.

Ralph: If ‘NO’ means NO except when ‘NO’ means YES, then the ‘safety word’ means NO. My safety word is ‘Frugal’. Remember that.

TJ: Finally, what gift is better than the ability to ward off flying-feathered-freaks of nature? None. The geese machines were given to us, specifically for the springtime. And though they may disappear for the winter months we mustn’t forget about their amazing capabilities. Geese are predators, they eats souls, and children’s wishes. Look what happened to the Republicans. . . Geese fucked them up. But we digress, these geese machines are the kidneys of Kean University. They literally keep us alive. So make a wish tonight, children, knowing that the Geese are satiating their appetites, throughout the southern states of America. Positive.

Ralph: When the geese return in the spring, our robot army will be ready to fend them off. Remember that.

TJ: In conclusion, Ralph and I would like to merge all the holidays into one, a holiday that can be celebrated without awkward tension. POSITIVIUM. Happy Positivium everybody!

Ralph: All the Coug’s down in Keanville, the tall and the small, live for Positivium, a Holiday for all. Remember That.


“I hate cleaning reindeer shit off my roof.” Kevin, Kean University Actor, and Realist.

Loin Star: What it do Kean?! Loinstar and Cocoatano are back to bust another negative load into your sweet eye-pussies. I know. We threw up too after reading that pile of shit to our left. The additions to the campus aren’t gifts. Dusty’s quote, by definition, refers to them as kindness. That’s true, if kindness is a flame that burns the shit out of all your money. Hey Dusty, take your Holiday quote and sell it to UNICEF. And Ralph, the ONLY thing you’ll be fucking this holiday season is that stone vagina. Saddle up, Zeus.

Cocoatano: Santa isn’t real. Know This.

Loin Star: Nothing screams Suck up/Brown-nosing/Fuck-handles like Ralph and TJ. I’m so happy these cum-swallowing elves decided to bring up the dorm situation. We would like to address a quote from Positivity time, “New Dorms. That’s right, more people have chosen to come to Kean” Woa. Woa. Woa. Hold your horses, you Flagrant Fucks. Kean is a safety school. Kean is where you go when the only thing you put on your SATs is your fucking name. Kean is not a choice, it’s a lifestyle. Hey Ralph and TJ, why don’t you climb to the top of those new dorm buildings, embrace and plummet to the site below? AND if you can’t get laid by now, you might as well travel back in time, and go fuck yourself.

Cocoatano: Sluts make up 90% of the earth’s eco-system. Know this.

Loin Star: The goose machines are a serious problem. They sound like an argument between Sarah Palin and Hellen Keller. The last thing I wanna hear when I walk on this campus is blind, deaf, and dumb Republicans. Plus, the geese flock to this thing! For all we know the thing is screaming, “Hey guys! Come eat and shit over here! Step right up and fuck the goose of your dreams!” Cocoatano should perch in a tree with a shotgun and pick off the soul-swallowers as they land. Duck-Hunt, the real game.

Cocoatano: If you kill a goose, and gut it, you can wear it as a hat. Know this.

Loin Star: Thanks for that last-minute gift Idea! T.J. your asshole is a last minute gift idea, for Ralph. T.J. is a bitch-made, tight-jean wearin, ain’t been laid since July, Ballerina. These Positive lies need to stop now; something needs to be done about Lance Bass and Little Richard to our left. We’re gonna start the New Year off right, know THAT. I hope none of you readers get the gifts you want. I hope that you all cry on Christmas morning, or any one of the 8 nights of Hanukkah; and if you celebrate Kwanzaa we know you’re already crying. Happy Ramadan, Eat Up! We leave you with this famous holiday quote from It’s a Wonderful Life, as told by Cocoatano:

Cocoatano: Every time a bell rings. . . You have AIDS. Know this.”

Sleep Deprivation

Photo by Keith Dobbs

“Hey, how are those finals coming along?” You immediately want to crack the person who just asked you that question right over the head with an iron.

“They’re going fine, mom,” you say through your teeth.

You feel like a loose cannon. It is quite unusual for you to act so edgy towards everyone you cross paths with. You inadvertently bump shoulders with some guy walking by and you want to scream at him until his head bursts into flames. Later in class, some girl startles you when she accidentally drops her book on the floor. You fantasize about ripping her head off, placing it on your hand like a puppet, and making her say, “I shouldn’t have been so careless!”

Yes, in case you were wondering, all of these insane thoughts in your head mean that you are indeed going insane. You’re hallucinogenic, irritable, and your friends hate you. You, my friend, are sleep deprived!

Just in time for exam week, your sleep deprivation will expand to new heights. During this state, you have the inability to make rational decisions and you may destroy lives in the process. But don’t worry, there is hope. First, you must become one with the sleep deprivation and welcome all the baggage that goes along with it. To do that,you must understand the effects of sleep deprivation:

Decreased mental activity—Ha! You call this a result of sleep deprivation? I call this growing older.

Dark circles under eyes—This isn’t so bad. The old “raccoon eyes” is a sexy look nowadays. (I can’t back that up.) Live with it. Embrace it.

Hyperactivity—You may get short rounds of energy that seemingly come out of nowhere. Once again, embrace this effect because the other 90% of the time, face it, you’re a complete bore.
General confusion—See Decreased mental activity.

Memory loss—Look on the bright side. All those awkward moments from your teens will no longer haunt you.

Weight loss or gain—This one is tricky. This really depends on what you’re shooting for. If it ends up working out, all the power to you.

Lucid dreaming—When you finally do go to sleep, you will be condemned with the agonizing ability to control your dreams! Wait a second. You will be able to control your dreams, in such aspects as who is in them, and how your dreams transpire? Sign me up!

You will finally be able to enter a reality where everything is going right for you. You can take a magic carpet ride to Egypt, or perhaps talk to that cute girl you stare at every day during class, you weird creep.

Pallor, or increased paleness of skin—This is what Hollywood Tans is for. Gawd!

Legal “high”—Some people deprive themselves of sleep on purpose to get a “high” feeling without drugs. Wow. That is exciting… seriously. Something tells me this widespread practice occurs in such thrilling states as Utah or Wyoming.

Severe yawning—Has anyone ever yawned at you before when you are telling him or her a story? You know… attention-grabbing stories, like the time you bought shoes at H&M in red but you decided to return them for the white ones, tee hee! Well, yawns, aka, ‘shut the fuck ups’ could become severe when you are sleep deprived. Frankly, I have no problem with this. There is nothing wrong with telling someone to severely shut the fuck up if they take their self-absorption a few steps too far.

You know what? Sleep is overrated. The side-effects of not sleeping aren’t that bad; aside from the risks it imposes on your body’s ability to metabolize glucose. On second thought, get plenty of sleep or you will get diabetes.

Now that we now know the effects, what about the causes? How can we prevent sleep deprivation, especially during finals? Well, the main culprit is procrastination, of course. Procrastination is caused by peers pressuring you to do fun and exciting (sometimes illegal) stuff instead of studying. Also, it is caused by distractions, such as T.V. or stalking the guy on Facebook that your girlfriend is cheating on you with.

The only clear answer here is to take all of your belongings, including your posters, mementos, and even your wardrobe, and burn them all in a glorious ritualistic bonfire. Make sure you have only a table (a chair is optional) and a bed left in your newly cleansed and distraction-free room.

Step one: Study.

Step two: Go to bed.

Step three: Repeat until someone hands you a diploma.

You may be asking, “Hey, what if I have trouble sleeping and I can’t get myself back on schedule?” Here is a tip:

An old fashion blow to the face, courtesy of your friend’s fist, always helps. Do this about eight times daily soon after dark. This will reset your internal clock and put you back in a routine along with the rest of our ever-decaying society.

If you do not have any friends, then its time to get creative. Some of you adventurers could use gravity and heavy objects to knock yourself out, but there are non-violent and painless methods that could be used also. Perhaps you could have some ether handy on your bedside every night. Take a deep breath and just relax:

Sweet dreams.

On The Keg with Professor Touchdown

Photos by Keith Dobbs

Professor Touchdown is Kean University’s number one good time, resident party animal, and local newspaper columnist. Hailing in with a Doctorate in Cool-ology and Masters in Keg Sciences, Professor Touchdown is clearly...drunk. Every month, The Steaming Pipe will bring you his words of wisdom as he tries to answer your questions....somehow.

Q: Dear Professor Touchdown:
I am graduating this semester. Do you have any tips for resumes?

- Craig, 22, Pirate Astrophysicist, OBGYN.

A: What… Resume?! It’s spelled resoomay, jack ass. Get spiel sheck. Dude, if you want a resoomay done right, you gotta do it one way and one way only…naked…in front of the mirror, tuck your balls under your legs. But make sure to pack that frank with your bunz and then you’ll be ready to begin…what are we talking about again?

--Prof. T-Down

Q: I’ve been going out with my girlfriend for two years, what do you think I should get her for Christmas?

-Leroy Doug, 18, Small IQ

A: Pregnant…TOUCHDOWN!

--Professor H.R. Touchdown

Q: This is a woman…I just did my fiwst bweast exawme. I found some wumps. What?

--Valewie, 13, going on 30

A: Those “wumps” are boobs, call me in two years for your second exawme…with my penis…DING!

--Professor Two-Hand Touchdown

Q: Hey TOUCHDOWN! My boyfriend just got me pregnant because you said so! The problem is that he left me…but I’ve always felt that well…you’re the real father. Please, will you be the father?

--Starr “ex-girlfriend of Leroy Doug” Jenkins

A: If I had to marry all of the babetaculars that I filled up with little Touchdowns, I’d be beating them with my goal marker. That is why I created the fetus football helmet, now comes with your favorite football team logo. COUGALOUG!

--Prof. Touchdown

Q: I’m thinking about going to Kean but my mom says it’s a shitty school, what should I do?

--Mary Dingleberry

A: Kean iz awesome! COUGARLICIOUS! M! Dude, I got in with a 650 SAT score, eight functioning fingers (six of them can be dead) and an ability to wear mesh t-shirts. Screw your mom, and by screw your mom I mean can I throw an F in that A?

--Prof. H.R. Touchdown

The Straight Poop on Poop

Photo courtesy of The Daily Poop

By Jennifer Filannino
Published: December 10, 2008

Have you ever had the impulse to stick your head between your thighs after a pleasing poop and take a peek at it? Maybe there was a deep-seated infantile desire within you to see what grand load you birthed out of the rumbling depths of your innards.

Come my fellow Steamers, don’t be shy in quietly admitting to the newspaper in your subtle snickering that you have done it—We all do. It is an instinct that comes from the innocent days of potty training when we wanted to show mom just how grown-up we were by the girth of our poops.

I will admit it. I am a bona-fide poop-aholic. I am obsessed with my bowels and the lower region of my organs. I chart the times in the day I poop marking the shape and color. I give the big ones deserving names like Bertha and Buddha and the little ones names like Napoleon and T.T. (aka Tiny Turd). The insufficient ones are punished by getting no names at all.

If I am backed up I act like a frantic pregnant mother ready to birth the child of my recesses. I walk around cradling the little pooh-babies growing within me.

Poop can make the most pencil-straight, whatever-dude kind-of person into a sweaty crying baby, melting on the floor. Or poop can become an obsession if your stomach begins to grow into a massive man-eating larva when there has been no movement for days and days and days…

Ever heard that cliché saying, “you are what you eat?” Then we are the little poohs. Ever have a doctor ask you specifically about your bowel habits? They ask you to talk about the shapes and sizes of your poops as if it were brown play dough on the examination table.

For all the Steamers out there who do peek into the porcelain hole every once-in-awhile; the various shapes, sizes and stenches do mean something.

Think of all the creative words that we have for poop and what each stinker brings to mind. A “turd” is a dried-up old raisin that has been stuck in the depths of your constipated bowels for years.

“Dingleberry” is a dangling relic of some lost soul inside you that just won’t let go. A “turtlehead” is a poking, persistent problem that just won’t let you have what you want.

There are also numerous foul poop names that we throw around like poison darts at each other: “shithead,” “turdburgler,” “doo-doo face,” “fudge-packer.” We use poop as a cruelty.

“At the end of the day you can analyze your body really effectively by looking at what comes out of your body,” said Dr. Mehmet Oz, a cardiac surgeon and medical television personality.

A healthy poop will resemblance a foot and half long cardboard colored banana. No stench and no need for wiping. One of those logs creates a sense of peace and a nice heavy sigh. It is orgasmic to release one of those. You may see a halo of light around you if you squint a little.

Now for the explanations of the other shapes and colors of the poops. The colors for concern are yellow, pale-white and red. These are strong signs that something is seriously wrong with you and you need to head for the doctor. Dark-brown is from a lack of vegetables, an excess of salt and may be some kind of foreign desert. Green is the Jolly-green Giant’s baby coming to visit you in pooh forms.

Little pellet-turd balls that look like deer poops or enlarged M&M’s are a sign of constipation. The National Digestive Disease Information Clearinghouse states that having a movement less then three times each week indicates constipation.

Our stomachs speak to us. They have distinct and subtle gurgles like the sound of a babbling baby. Did you ever wonder if the stomach could speak to us what it would say? Maybe our guts are churning through some expert plan, and when we poop, it is a secret message expelled back to us in a brown camouflaged log. So when we excrete all the private parts of us come out like some giant explosive release. Maybe we should salute it, inspect it and give it the love it deserves.

The Higher Education Academy Subject for Philosophical and Religious Studies writes of an ancient sacrificial form of divination. Mesopotamians would slaughter a sacred animal and inspect the digestive system as to divine the future. Called “extispicy” this practice was repeated by the Ancient Greeks and Romans and is even stilled used by tribesmen in Africa today.

Ancient Chinese medicine is based on the state of the digestive organs.

In the psych-world, the bowels are a sign of emotional states.

Our guts are really trying to tell us something. To follow your guts, is to literally follow the melodious tune of your innards. Listen to the gurgling!

What is your bowl plop trying to tell you?