[Picking up chicks at candlelight vigils?] There's always CRYFEST: The Cure vs The Smiths Dance Party at Black Cat. Also, I object to your sexist use of the term "chicks." Acceptable substitutes would include "gashes," "hatchet wounds," and "that which bleeds for a week but won't die" if you're not into the whole brevity thing.
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So it's the Examiner who fires the first shot in the latest "War on Hobos." First of all, it wasn't a "throat slashing." He was merely offering to give his friend a close shave. And second of all, he wasn't trying to offer him a close shave, he was trying to slash his throat. And finally, he wasn't trying to "slash his throat," he was trying to start a fight over a porkchop. Get it straight.
This is just one in a series of attempts to frame Poopy the Magic Hobo for a crime he didn't commit. First the FBI blames him for the murder of his wife, when actually it was the mysterious One-Armed Man and second, he ended up with retrograde anterior amnesia where he can't form new memories, covers himself with tattoos, and has to avenge the murder of his wife by the mysterious "John G." All I have to say is, "remember sammy jankis."
[Band of candlelight vigilers?] Come to think of it, when I was dating my pinko ex-girlfriend in the 1980s, we were always running into the same people at the Rock Against Reagan/Racism concerts, pro-choice rallies, and NORML smoke-ins. I guess they all grew up, bought candle making kits, and need ways to use up all those leftover candles.