In your mind, the best way for the hobo to get some money is for him to run about complaining of bleeding from a part of him that, though you assume he does not have, you’d still rather not ask about. It may work, as his appearance is fairly androgynous with his loose rags and the prevalent filth that surrounds him. He may very well be mistaken for a woman with some internal bleeding. Failing that, he may get some money just by convincing people that he’s a dangerously psychotic hobo.

You set him loose at a busy street corner and watch as the magic unfolds. He accosts person after person, demanding money to treat his “problem.” Several people actually take pity on him and donate some money. A few people give him a look of horror and revulsion before turning on the heels and running away. Plus, a few women even stop to donate some “feminine products” to aide your hobo. He asks you what they are, and more importantly, if they’re edible or not, but you shush him and take a moment to clear your mind of any images that had begun to form involving the hobo and the products in question. By the end of two hours, you’ve collected a small sum of money, but at this rate, you’ll never collect enough in time to fund a wicked Halloween party. You need to change locations. On that note, you grab the hobo and head on down to the nearby women’s college. If anyone will sympathize with your hobo’s alleged plight, they certainly will.

"Your WHAT is bleeding!?"

You put the hobo to work just outside of one of the dorms, shouting his nonsense about bleeding from a phantom orifice. A group of the women look at him funny, and he repeats his lines again, telling them to give him their money. One of them determines that he is, indeed a man, though his smell offers evidence to the contrary. She demands to know why he’s doing this and, under this relatively light pressure, he breaks down and starts crying like a baby, saying that you put him up to it and pointing a dirty, gnarled finger at you for emphasis. The women are almost immediately upon you, and not in a good way, either. The beating they give the rest of your body is nowhere near the severity of the brutal frog-stomping that they give to your crotch.

WHEN YOU STOP PEEING BLOOD, START AGAIN!