I Could Never Have Made it as a Hunter-Gatherer

How do I arrange to sit my fat ass on a barstool, and do goddamned nothing all day? Because if there is a recipe for this, I think I need to know how I might go about pursuing such an occupation. Perhaps I could become one of those people the call town drunks. Perhaps, instead, I could arrange to be born with a permanent, parasitic twin growing somewhere south of my bellybutton. Perhaps this twin would require a basket. Perhaps the government might be obliged to send me pills in the mail every single month. Perhaps I could live among the storks and ostriches, the only creatures that will accept me. I wonder how long I could live in a lean-to anyway. I wonder about cardboard boxes sometimes, too. If I could somehow claim the real estate under a cardboard refrigerator box, in Manhattan, I could sell the property and arrange to sit on a barstool for the rest of my life. How can there be any poor people in New York City, anyway? How can they call a person "homeless" when he has staked out a good spot under an overpass. Clearly he or she has a home, it is simply a very BAD home. Home is where the heart is. A person can live out of a suitcase, but not actually live in a suitcase. There are suitcases big enough to sleep in, I have seen them. I suppose it depends upon whether a person is short. I slept in a cave, once. The thing about my cave is that it had an oval depression, from where a mountain lion probably slept, on occasion. I slept in a mountain lion's bed once. I was a fool for sleeping in that mountain lion's bed. It had no sheets-it was a rock overhang. I do not know if I could have made it as a hunter-gatherer....probably not.