Friday, December 31, 2004

The Littlest Warrior

Jack called me at work tonight to ask me if I ever talked to Angi and Tommy. He told me Savannah was having severe problems. He asked me to let them know they were in his thoughts. I haven't been able to think of much else since. You see on numerous occasions I've told them that Savannah was in mine and Jens prayers. What that means is, I tell Jen what's going on and she prays. I haven't talked to God in a long time. That is until tonight.

When I came home from work I went to Savannah's site. I wanted to more about this little girl. All that I really knew, was that she needed a new liver and by some miracle she got it. Everything I knew came from reading Angi's blog.

I sat down and began reading Savannah's story. I scrolled to the bottom of the page and worked my way up. I'll admit I didn't read everything. But I read most. I read until my eyeballs bled. Now I know Savannah has some form of rare disorder called, Urea Cycle Disorder Citrullinemia. She has had to battle her entire life. She has had to eat special food, measured out very carefully. If she gets too much protein, she has problems. She has had a feeding tube for most of her life. She has been in and out of the hospital. She has even been in a coma. It seems the last four years has been one long fight for this little girl.

What really gets me is that in every picture that I've seen of this child, she is smiling. She continues to fight these health issues and yet she remains smiling and happy. I truly admire her spirit.

Tonight this little warrior managed to get me to do something I haven't done in years. Tonight I prayed. I prayed for her and I prayed for her family. I don't know if God was listening to me or not, but it seems if she could get me to do what no other has been able to, that ought to be worth something. Shouldn't it?

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

To Grandmothers House We Went

We spent the holiday at Granny Grunts house. It was fairly uneventful, no screaming, yelling, fighting, or any of the other pleasant things I remember of Christmas' past. It took all day Christmas Eve to get there, what with going through the woods and over the hills and over the bridges and across the plains and past the swamps, we finally arrived at Granny's house late as usual.

We have a fairly small car (tiny, tiny, tiny). So the back was full, there was stuff shoved between the boys, and Jen had stuff under her legs and in her lap. But I was comfortable, because you never crowd the driver. When we got there I had to surgically remove everyone from the car. No easy task.

We finally settled in and the feast began. Tamales for dinner, Christmas Eve. Chicken spaghetti for dinner, Christmas Day. Tons of cookies and other sweets throughout the rest of the weekend. My mom has always made Chicken spaghetti and Blonde Brownies for Christmas. It used to be the only time her four boys got to indulge in these treats, so she was always sure one of us would be there on Christmas. She finally gave up the recipes a few years ago to her daughters-in-law. I guess she figures she's getting up in years and she won't always be around to cook Christmas dinner for her boys. She spoils her boys and now she spoils my boys.

Granny Grunt sounds like your typical little old lady. Cooking pastries and wonderful meals and just generally spreading love everywhere she goes. Nothing could be farther from the truth. We all remember Little Red Riding Hood, right? She gets to Granny's house, only Granny ain't there, it's the Big Bad Wolf in Granny's clothes. That's my mom. The Big Bad Wolf in Granny's skin. Only this time the Woodsman didn't show up to cut Granny out. Oh she's nice enough on the surface, but if you cross her you'll be dealing with 5'3", 115lbs. of claws and fangs. Most of you know how vindictive I am from reading my past stories, well let me tell you, I come by it honest. Compared to Granny Grunt, I'm strictly amatuer hour. I've never seen anyone hold a grudge like this old woman. Jack hasn't been allowed at her house since 1985. It's nothing he did, it was just easier for her to hate him than to apologize to him, because she was clearly wrong. I'm going to give you both versions of the story. Jacks version and the truth.

Jack's Version: Jack was sitting in a chair in Granny's house watching church on TV, having some milk and cookies, while waiting for me to finish getting dressed. We were late for choir practice. We went to church every Sunday morning and night, and also on Wednesday night. We never did anything wrong. Suddenly the modern day version of Lizzie Borden (Granny Grunt) came sneaking up behind him. She was holding a Louisville Slugger tight in her little withered hands, but she had a real good grip because her claws sank deep into the wooden handle. She raised the bat above her head and just as she was about to strike I came around the corner screaming "NO, MOTHER, NO." It was too late. She beat Jack without any mercy. She swung the bat repeatedly, striking him about the head and shoulders, until I could grab her. As I held the snarling beast, Jack, bloodied and beaten crawled to the front door to make his escape.

The Truth: Early January 1985. The day before I left to serve my country, Jack and I hung out together. That evening we wound up at my mom's house. My mom and I were having a heated discussion about the truck that I was selling to my brother. This little talk eventually turned into a full blown argument. My mom and I are both very animated people when it comes to arguing. At some point she jumped up screaming, so I jumped up yelling. Jack knowing about my violent tendencies, jumped up to stop me from clocking the old broad (I would never have hit her, but Jack didn't know this). Jack landed between me and The Big Bad Wolf. He was facing me. I said I would never have hit her, but I didn't say she never would have hit me. Right as Jack landed between us, she swung. POW, right up side Jacks head. I could swear I heard bones break. She was mortified, she had just hit an innocent (yeah right) bystander that was trying to protect her. Jack was immediately banished from the house. FOREVER. If you remember a few post ago I said I don't apologize, well, I come by that honest also. For the last 20 years my mom has hated Jack. It was easier to hate him than to admit she was wrong.

The day after Christmas I was on the phone with Jack. We wanted to get together for a few minutes before me and the family left town. After I hung up my mom said the damnedest thing.

Granny Grunt: "Why doesn't he come here? Wouldn't that be easier?"
Trashman: "What?"
GG: "He can come here, can't he?"
Trashman: "You hate him."
GG: "Why do I hate him?"
Trashman: "Because you hit him."
GG: "I didn't ever hit him."
Trashman: "You hit him."
GG: "If I ever hated him it was because he was a doper."
Trashman: "He's not a doper. Never was a doper. He's a narcotics officer. He's the anti-doper."
GG: "All your friends were dopers."
Trashman: "My friends were not dopers."
GG: "Well I never hit him."
Trashman: "Jesus."

I told her the story exactly as it happened 20 years ago. I called Jack back and told him to come on up to Granny's house.

Jack: "You want me to come where?"
Trashman: "Come to my mom's house."
Jack: "Are you sure?"
Granny (In the background): "Tell him I won't hit him."
Trashman: "She says she wont hit you."
Jack: "HA HA HA HA HA"

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Judy Blue Eyes

When I was in high school I worked at a local restaurant/hotel. I think that's where I met Jack. Just about every kid in town worked at this place at some point in time. Some of the kids from other towns close by worked there also. One of them was Judy. Sweet, sweet Judy. I literally fell for her.

She was a blonde haired, blue eyed, German girl. What a bombshell. I can close my eyes and still remember what she looks like. Of course I can do that with most women I have fallen for. I keep a library of images in my head, for those lonely moments in the middle of the night or day. You know what I'm talking about. Especially you Jay.

Back to Judy. She had it all. Looks, brains, hot for me. She also had a really bitchin 56 Ford pick-up. It sat high in the air and had a hot rod 302. Cool girl, cool truck.

We only worked together for a few months before I left for greener pastures. While we were employed at the hotel, we kept trying to hook up but our schedules always seemed to conflict. Some things are just not meant to be.

I was making a delivery one day at the local Dairy Queen, when I heard a rumbling engine behind me. I turned around and there sat Judy in the cherry 56. She waved me over. As I headed for her truck, I had two choices, take the long way around or jump the fence. Hey I'm cool, I jumped the fence. Unfortunately my left foot is not as cool as the rest of me. Nope it decided to hang on the fence, and down I went. I popped up as quick as I could and walked over to Judy's truck. She was howling. So much for trying to hook up now. We chit chatted some, but after my little display of balance, I just couldn't bring myself to ask her out. I guess it was because during our conversation she would keep busting out in laughter. When I look back now even I start to laugh, but for a different reason. I know something she doesn't. I used to run the hurdles on the track team, and I was even pretty good at it. I guess my left foot was cooler then.

A few weeks later I was making another delivery. This time I was at one of the local liquor stores dropping off brown paper bags. When I came out, who do I see? That's right, Sweet Judy. She was parked at the Sonic Drive Inn waiting for me to come out. She honked and waved me over. Here are a few important details.
1. I used to always wear cowboy boots
2. It was raining slightly.
3. Sonic has smooth concrete driveways

I ran across the street in the rain and no sooner than I hit the Sonic driveway, down I went. This time I didn't stay in one spot. No, I kept on going and I slid right under Judy's truck. I opened my eyes. I was in the perfect position to change her oil. Oh the humiliation. I just prayed she would drive away and kill me in the process. Nope, she turned the motor off and called down to me.

Judy: "Are you OK?"
Trashman: "Just wanted to get a better look at the bottom of your truck."
Judy (laughing): "Come out from under there."
Trashman: "No. I'm fine here. I'll just wait till you leave."
Judy: "I'm not leaving."
Trashman: "Maybe the rain will pick up and I'll drown."
Judy (laughing more): "It's OK. Come on and get in the truck."
Trashman: "No really. I'm staying here. Need anything fixed while I'm down here?"
Judy: "If you come out, I'll give you a kiss and make it all better."

I popped up in her window like a Jerk-In-The-Box. She laughed. I laughed. She leaned out the window and kissed me. She kissed me long, slow, hard, and every other descriptive word I can't think of right now. She had full, soft lips. It was like being kissed by an angel. My knees got weak and I know I was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. I had been waiting to kiss that mouth for months. When she pulled back, I almost forgot to breathe. She parked her truck at one of the order stations and I managed to walk over without falling down again. We had lunch together, made some small talk and exchanged phone numbers. We kissed one more time. I waved as she drove away.

I never saw her again.

Monday, December 20, 2004

Weekend Update

First I would like to say Thank You to all those that sent their best wishes to me and the Mrs. Friday after the ceremony, we went out to eat, after we got home Trash Jr. proceeded to get sick. We spent our honeymoon hanging out in the garage/computer room/smoker's lounge. I called Zelda and sort of made plans to make plans for the weekend.

Saturday morning we had our first argument as a married couple. She wants real and I want fake. Get your minds out of the gutter, I'm talking about Christmas trees. We finally agreed to look around for the best deal. We started at Target.

When we got there we went back to the seasonal department and found the floor models were on sale for 50% off. There was a really nice one that was marked down to $35.00, we decided to get that one and forget about driving all over hell and creation. The lady in that department informed us that if we applied for a Target card we would get another 10% off our total for the day. I being the frugal shopper (cheap bastard) that I am, did a little happy dance. I filled out the paperwork and we looked at decorations and picked up some lights. When we got to the checkout, the girl started ringing up our purchases. She called one of the floor managers over to get our tree. The SKU reader wouldn't read the SKU on the tree, so she entered the info by hand. The tree rang up at 1 cent. That's right 1 cent. The girl pointed this out to the floor manager.

FM: "That can't be right."
Trashman: "Sounds good to me."
FM: "OK. I don't care. Let him have it for a penny."

Here comes the Really-Fucking-Happy-Dance. After all the items were rang up, I handed her the paperwork for the Target card so I got another 10% off the total. My tree cost me 9/10 of 1 cent. What a bargain. I couldn't get out of that store fast enough.

Saturday afternoon I talked to Zelda again. We decided the light show in Austin was out because it's a one mile walk, and she would wind up carrying one or both of her children (I don't miss those days). So dinner it is, however Trash Jr. got sick again so we had to cancel those plans also.

Saturday night at midnight I headed for WallyWorld. I walked around for a couple of hours and picked up some things for the boys for Christmas. I paid the cashier $160.00 cash. On my way out the door I was stopped by a large black man. Another fine WalMart employee.

WalMart Dude: "Excuse me sir I need to check your receipt."
Trashman: "No you don't"
WD: "We always check receipts."
Trashman: "Not mine."
WD: "I'm going to have to ask you to step back inside, so I can check your purchases."
Trashman: "Not gonna do it."
WD: "Sir..."
Trashman: "Let me tell you something. I've never had my receipt checked. I just gave the clerk $160.00 cash. I didn't write a check. I used CASH. You're not checking a damn thing."
WD: " I'll have to..."
Trashman: " Call security and have them detain me. Then call the police. When they get here I'm going to file against you for false imprisonment and I'm going to sue you and WalMart for discrimination. I'm going to my car now."
WD: "Have a good Christmas sir."
Fuck WalMart they ruined my good mood.

I came home and hid everything in the attic. It's now Sunday morning. I waited until 7:30 am and headed for Toys-R-Us. I picked up a few more things. I saw a drum set at Toys-R-Us that was the same price at WalMart. It was the last one. I found the manager and talked him down from $100.00 to $50.00. I explained how they could really use the floor space, and it was the last one, and don't make me go back to WalMart. Had to do some persuading but I got my price. Happy dance time again.

I came home and headed for the attic again. I went back out and hit Target again, then a different WalMart, I talked to Jack on the phone while there. I didn't buy anything. I went to the pet shop and got a gift certificate for Trash Jr's snake. A girl I work with is friends with the owner, so I got a discount. Here's the happy dance. I went to a sporting goods store, got the boys some BB pistols. I know. I know. They'll put their eyes out. Then I went to another discount store and got a few more things and headed home. It's now 2:00 pm and bedtime for Bonzo. I crashed.

Sunday evening at 6:30 pm, Jen woke me up. Trash Jr. was feeling better and they all wanted to go on the mile long walk at the light show. We drove to Austin and parked at one of the state garages. We waited in a half mile long line to get tickets. Then we rode the bus to the light show. Half of the population of the Great State of Texas was there. We walked the mile of trail, there were some beautiful light displays. However I am severely claustrophobic, and the people were jammed in like sardines. I'm lucky I came out with whatever little bit of sanity that I have left.

That's the weekend short version. I'll be so glad when this nightmare is over. Me and the Mrs. will be spending Christmas at my mom's this year. It will be the first time in 16 years that I spend a holiday with the old broad. Last time I got into a fight with one of my older brothers in the kitchen. My mom beat us both with a broomstick until we separated and took it outside. I have really missed those good times. I hope all of you have a great Christmas. I'll try to post once more before then. While I'm at moms there won't be any internet. I'm going to miss y'all.

Zelda, we'll definitely do something next time. Tell Jethro I was really disappointed we didn't get to meet and I still owe him that beer.

Friday, December 17, 2004

End Of An Era

At 3:21 pm Texas time today I climbed the gallows and the hangman's noose was tightened around my neck. Oops wrong story. At 3:21 pm Texas time today, Jen officially became Mrs. Trashman. That's right we finally did it, after an 11 year engagement. They say the first year of a marriage is the hardest, I sure hope we make it. I believe we had only been married for 30 minutes when I asked for a divorce. I just wanted to say it first. In an unprecedented move I am now going to let my bitter half say a few words.

Mrs. Trashman: "OK all you jealous women out there, I have managed to do what 1000's have tried and failed at. I got him, he's all mine, and you can't have him. He is the most kind, warm, loving, thoughtful man alive and he's all man. He has made me his queen. Keep your hands and dirty thoughts to yourself."

Yeah I know she didn't say it, but she would have, if I would have let her speak. Unfortunately she is chained to the stove. I'm hungry.

Do you hear that Jay? The voices are calling you to the dark side.

Tuesday, December 14, 2004


I really hate when someone thinks they got one over on me. In fact I will do whatever I deem necessary to make things square between us. That means I'm going to win. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, no matter how long I have to wait, I WILL come out on top. I will stoop to any level to triumph over you. Call it the nature of the beast, call it childish, call it anything you want. Bottom line. I win.

We got a call at the agency one beautiful spring day. The guy wanted a girl for a hour. I remember his name was Mike. We'll use Dipshit as his last name. The rates were explained to Mike and he agreed to everything. He wanted a blonde with big jugs (nothing new there). We had a girl named Debbie working that afternoon that fit the bill. She didn't have a driver because she preferred to keep the driving fee for herself. I always said it was better to be safe than cheap, but you just couldn't get through to some of these girls. She took Mr. Dipshit's address and she was off on her merry way. Thirty minutes later she called back.

Trashman: "House of Ho's, can I help you?"
Debbie: "This guy says he doesn't have any money."
Trashman: "Shit. Tell him to give you the driving fee, and then split."
I hear her talking to him.
Debbie: "You need to give me $25.00 For a driving fee."
Mike: "I don't have ANY money."
Debbie: "Trashman he says ..."
Trashman: "I heard him."
Debbie: "I think this is his mom's house. He's really young. about 18 or so."
Trashman: "Put the fucker on the phone."
Mike: "Uh. Hello?"
Trashman: "Mr. Dipshit, we seem to have a dilemma."
Mike: "Idon'thaveanymoney."
Trashman: "Calm down, we'll figure this out. Now when you called, our rates were explained to you. Including the driving fee. If you don't want the girl for ANY reason, you still have to pay her something for showing up. Didn't you agree to this."
Mike: "Uh. Yeah?"
Trashman: "So pay the girl $25.00 and save me a trip."
Mike: "Idon'thaveanymoney."
Trashman: "Then you need to give her a VCR or a T.V. or something."
Mike: "I can't do that."
Trashman: "Sure you can. Just unplug it and and put it in her car."
Mike: "I can't do that."
Trashman: "Mr. Dipshit put the girl back on the phone."
Debbie: "Hello?"
Trashman: "I'm on my way. Get the fuck out of there and get a long ways away."
Once again I hear her talking to him.
Debbie: "He's on the way and you are so fucked. HAHAHA"
The phone went dead.

I drove over to the next little town. As I entered Mr. Dipshit's neighborhood, I met a patrol cop going in the other direction. We nodded at each other and continued on. I found the address I was looking for and parked to the side of the house. There was a real estate sign in the front yard. Luckily no dogs. I knocked on the backdoor first, and got no answer. I moved around and tried the front door, no luck there either. I walked to the back door for one more try. Nothing. I figured I would have to catch him later by surprise. As I headed back to my car, cops came pouring out of the woodwork, guns drawn and ready to shoot. Unlike the idiots you see on "Cops", I know how to handle this. The first thing you do is empty your mind and listen to the nice officers. Once they have the cuffs on you, then you can start thinking of the lies.

Cop 1: "Stop right there. Turn with your back to me. Put your hands on your head. Now follow my voice and back up towards me. Stop. Now get on your knees."

I was surrounded, had I made any sudden moves and then dropped to the ground these morons would have shot each other with crossfire. It was quite comical. I was cuffed, brought to my feet, leaned over my car, and searched.

Trashman: "Can I ask, what the problem is officer?"
Cop 1: "We got a call that a big scary guy was trying to break in this house."
Trashman: "Since when is knocking on the door an attempt at break in? Plus I'm pretty sure if I wanted to break in I could have just run through the door."
Cop 1: "Then why were you in the backyard?"
Trashman: "I was knocking on the BACK door."
Cop 1: "The resident inside says he doesn't know you and you were trying to break in."
Trashman: "That cop over there (nodding at cop 2) saw me awhile ago, driving down the street. If I was going to break in, would I do it in broad daylight with cops in the neighborhood?"
Cop 1: "Is that true, Cop 2?"
Cop 2: "Yeah I saw him. Wasn't suspicious."
Cop 1: "Then why are you here?"
Trashman: "I work for House of Ho's. The guy inside called and requested a dancer."
Cop 1: "You know they're not dancers."
Trashman: "As far as I know all they do is strip. Anyway we sent a "dancer" over here. She called me back and said this guy kept grabbing her. Since she doesn't have a driver I told her to try and get out and I rushed over here to make sure she was safe. I kept knocking on the doors because I didn't know if she was still in there. I was on my way back out to the car to call you guys, when you showed up."
Cop 1: "What's the guys name?"
Trashman: "Mike Dipshit. The girl said he's about 18 years old."

The cops talked to Mr. Dipshit and he finally admitted that he knew I was coming. Except he said I was coming to get money. I calmly explained to the cops that he had already lied to them once and he definitely wasn't going to admit to sexually assaulting the girl. I was released and told not to be found in the neighborhood again. Yeah, right.

For the next couple of weeks I would randomly call Mike Dipshit and ask for Mrs. Dipshit. Every time I called, Mike answered the phone and demanded to know who was calling and why. I even had some of the girls call and ask to speak to his mother. No luck. This guy must have been sleeping right by the phone. He was bound and determined I wasn't going to talk to mommy.

One day I had one of the drivers go by the house and get the number of the real estate company off the sign out front. I called and made an appointment to see the house, I also requested that the present owner be there in case I had any questions.

Saturday morning I met the real estate agent at the house. She knocked on the door and the lovely Mrs. Dipshit answered it and let us in. As we entered the living room from the foyer, Mike was coming in from the kitchen. He looked up and saw me. He froze like a deer in the headlights and dropped the plate that held his sandwich and chips. The plate shattered on the floor. Mrs Dipshit turned and looked at her son.

Mrs. Dipshit: "Mike! What's wrong with you?"
Trashman: "I'm sorry Mrs. Dipshit. It's all my fault. You see Mike and I have some unfinished business."
Mrs. Dipshit: "Huh?"
Real Estate Lady: "What's going on here?"
Trashman: "I'm sorry I had to deceive the both of you. But there was no other way for me to contact Mrs. Dipshit."
Mrs. Dipshit: "What are you talking about?"
Trashman: "Well you see two weeks ago, probably while you were at work Mike called "The House of Ho's" and ordered a stripper. I supplied that stripper. Only when the girl showed up at YOUR house, Mike refused to pay her. He even refused to pay the $25.00 driving fee that he had agreed to when he called me. The police even came by here. Isn't that right Mike?"
Mike: "Mom..."
Mike: "Mom..."
Mrs. Dipshit: "I SAID SHUT UP"
Real Estate Lady (whispering in my ear): "I like your style."
Trashman (whispering back): "Thanks."
Mrs. Dipshit: "PAY HIM."
Mike: "Mom..."

Mike fished out his wallet and handed me $25.00. He was shaking so bad I don't know how he ever managed it.

Trashman: "Now see Mike, we could have avoided this whole mess. All you had to do was give the girl the money.
Mike: "Mom..."
Mrs. Dipshit: "SHUT UP MIKE."
Trashman: "Once again I want to apologize to you Mrs. Dipshit and to you also Real Estate Lady. I am truly sorry for the deception."
Mrs. Dipshit: "Just get out of my house."
Trashman: "Yes ma'am. Oh, and Mike, I always win."

Real Estate Lady and I walked out. As I was walking to my car you could still hear the screaming inside.

Trashman: "I'm really sorry you were a part of this."
Real Estate Lady: "Most entertaining Saturday morning of my life."
Trashman: "You'll probably lose this account."
Real Estate Lady: "That's OK this house has been listed forever anyway. She wants too much and the upstairs is a mess. Thanks to Mike."
Trashman: " Well I've got business to take care of."
Real Estate Lady: "Are you really in the market for a house."
Trashman: "No."
Real Estate Lady: "Well take my card in case you change your mind."
Trashman: "OK. Thank you."
Real Estate Lady: "My cell phone number is on there also."
Trashman: "OK?"
Real Estate Lady: "I'm not doing anything tonight. You know if you wanted to call me, maybe we could get together or something."

Like I said "I always win."

Friday, December 10, 2004

Two Stepping - 3 Kinds Of Ladies - Impending Nuptials

While I sit at work doing the chores of a retarded monkey, I have plenty of time to think. I know this is a scary thing. Trashman thinking can't be good. Tonight for some unknown reason I started thinking about my childhood. I have some fairly fond memories of growing up in honky tonks. For those of you that don't know what a honky tonk is, it's not a meeting place for the Klan. It's a small family establishment, they just happen to serve alcohol. Anyway I spent some great times in honkey tonks as a child. Back in the day you would find entire family's in the bars on Saturday night. Back then things were a lot different, sure mom and dad were drinking but when the kids were there with them, parents would tend to keep it to a minimum. Not like this day and age where you have parents getting high with their teenagers.

I remember the juke box pumping out great old country songs in between sets of live music. All the kids ate corn nuts and drank coke until they were pissing brown, if you were lucky your parents would buy you a bar pizza just to stop the cries of "I'm hungry."

I remember Saturday nights was the only time I saw my dad smile or heard him laugh, usually while hustling some sucker at the pool table. He really enjoyed money he didn't have to work for.

I remember it was the only time my mom was really happy, because my dad was happy. Mom didn't get beat on Saturday nights.

I remember playing tag or some other game with the other kids in the parking lot.

What I remember most is dancing the two step. Even as a small child I was on the dance floor every Saturday night with the cutie of the week. It's funny I don't remember learning the two step, but I remember dancing it. I guess I just always knew how.

We traveled all over "The Great State of Texas" when I was a kid. I think my dad was on the run a lot or he was just trying to find some new guys to hustle at pool. I've danced my way across this state, from Wichita Falls to San Antonio and El Paso to Pasadena. I've danced in big night clubs and small beer joints, but my favorites were the honkey tonks.

Those Saturday nights were filled with laughter, great music, good times, old friends and family. I wish I could give my kids Saturday nights like those.


I attract three kinds of women. Psychos, Sluts, and Strippers.
Jen doesn't dance nor has she ever removed her clothes, publicly or privately. She's not a stripper.
I'm only the third guy she has ever been with in an intimate manner but I'm the first real man she's been with. She's not a slut.
That only leaves one thing. I guess it's a good thing I like crazy women.


We got our marriage license two days ago. We can get married after 2 o'clock Saturday afternoon. We have 27 days in which to tie the noose, I mean knot. We had an 11 year engagement. We wanted to test the waters. You know live together a while, have a couple of kids, see if we we're a compatible family. Plus nobody is going to vote for a guy that's not married.

Thursday, December 02, 2004

"THAT" Girl

Anything I say today will pale in comparison to Jay's announcement. Congratulations to both Jay and Jazz.

I will be making "whistle stops" in the future in regards to my candidacy for President of the United States of America. I know a lot of you think I'm crazy and a crackpot, but I am seriously going to run. I'll admit to being a crazy crackpot now. It shouldn't hurt my chances any.

Let's get started. Today I want to talk about "THAT Girl" or as I call them "BRB's". The Bank Robbing Bitch. These are not women that go around robbing banks as the name would suggest. No. These women are far more dangerous. They are the women that make men do stupid things. For instance, robbing banks without a gun. The conversation would go something like this:

BRB: "Do you love me?"
Sucker: "Of course baby."
BRB: "Then rob that bank for me."
Sucker: "But I don't have a gun."
BRB: "Silly, you don't need a gun. Just use your finger and point it like a gun."
Sucker: "OK."

"BRB's" make you do things like deliver cocaine to upstate New York. First a few 8 balls and eventually a few pounds. All without regard for personal safety. I'm not saying I ever did this. I just know how they make you act.

The world is full of "BRB's". Every man has one, if he is lucky he has never met her and never will. Jen used to get upset when I mentioned "BRB's" because she knew she wasn't mine. It took a long time for me to get it through her head being a mans "BRB" wasn't a good thing. You see the relationship between a man and a "BRB" has nothing to do with true love. It's more of a twisted, sick, perverted, vile, dark, mutated form of love and lust combined. It's the kind of thing that will make you do the stupidest shit you've ever done, all for a woman. A woman that will never love you, a woman that will use you and discard you when she's through. A woman that is evil to the core, yet she doesn't really have any idea she is evil. That's the fucked up part. She thinks she loves you, she makes you think she loves you. Yet she makes you do stupid shit and love has nothing to do with it.

Now I know a lot of you ladies out there are going to start to question your men about "BRB's". I would suggest leaving it alone. If he is not thinking about her don't bring it up. You see once a "BRB" gets her hooks into a man she injects a poison. This poison for the most part is not lethal, but it has been known to kill some men, usually in a very violent manner. Case in point. Two of the most famous "BRB's" are Helen of Troy and Cleopatra. Both managed to destroy men and countries. Most "BRB's" do not work on such a grand scale. Most only affect one or two lives.

Back to the poison. Once this poison is injected, there is no way of getting it out of a mans blood. It will be there for life. Sometimes it will lay dormant forever, sometimes it will move around coursing through his veins. You will know when it's moving around by the vacant stares and the slobber running down his chin. Don't confuse the slobber with drool. Drool is what he does when he is in heat. Slobber is what he does when madness is running though his veins. The poison will make him think of her from time to time, it can't be helped. Don't worry these are not fond memories. They are just memories. Memories of a woman that used him. Memories of the stupid shit he did just for a little attention from her. Memories of a time he is glad is over and done with.

Ladies if your man has a "BRB" in his past you are lucky to be with him. Simply because he got away from her without dying or going to prison. Very few men make it far enough away from their "BRB" to start a new relationship. The poison usually kills them or turns them into a lunatic. That is if he manages to dig the hooks out. Most men will never meet their "BRB". They are the lucky ones. A few have met them and managed to get away before the hooks were set. I would say they are lucky too. The ones that have had those hooks set in and still managed to get away are just lucky they survived. My "BRB" had her hooks so deep in me I don't really know how I ever got away. Jen had a lot to do with it. I never told her how bad it was, simply because she wouldn't understand it's not love. Her love is what saved me and pulled me out of the abyss.

I'm really lucky I survived.

Wednesday, November 24, 2004

Bucking The System

I know I haven't posted in awhile. I've been working overtime so I'm lucky to have the time to read other peoples blogs. The company I work for has a very strict no overtime policy. In other words if you go into overtime you get fired. They asked me to work OT on a special project since my production numbers are so high. All that means to me is I'm slightly more productive than a poorly trained monkey.

I've been in a foul mood for the last few days. I don't mean depressed. I mean mad. Angry. Mean. Urinated to the highest degree of pisstivity. I don't know why. It's just one of those things. However I woke up in a great mood about 10 minutes ago. Got my coffee in one hand, my dick in the other, a cigarette between my toes and typing with my left foot. All is right with the world.

I've decided to do things differently instead of making a list of things I'm thankful that I have, I'm going to make a list of things I'm thankful I don't have. Here goes.

I am thankful I don't

1. Have irritable bowel syndrome.
2. Have Jack's pussy problems.
3. Have El Sid's customer problems.
4. Smell like the French.
5. Have a really big Johnson. (strike that I do have a really big Johnson)
6. Have an ugly wife. (she's reel purrty)
7. Have to pay alimony.
8. Have the clap or any other STD. (dodged that bullet)
9. Like sushi. (nothing like breath that smells like bad pussy)
10. Have hair. (hair care products are expensive, ask Jay.)
11. Have low self esteem.
12. Have sensitive nipples. (wait, just checked, they are sensitive)
13. Have Inanna's neighbors.
14. Have Rob's job.
15. Have any real drama in my life.
16. Have any neurotic disorders. (I'm neurotic just not disorderly)
17. Have more than 300 channels of nothing on TV.
18. Have an empty bank account. (whoops, wrong again)
19. Live anywhere but The United State Of Texas.
20. Have to burn in hell. (thanks Tommy, start blogging again you Cruel Bastard)
21. Drive a Yugo.
22. Have to deal with anymore rain for a few days.
23. Have to answer to anyone. (I'm the mother fucking man)
24. Have to drive anywhere this weekend.
25. Have old man balls. (yet)

This is just a short list of the things that I am glad are not in my life. I will try not to be so negligent in the future. I plan on writing all weekend so I can post even when I don't have time to write.

Wendy asked for a story about when I was a porn star. I was in one movie. It was called Real Swingers Stories 2 Phuckin in Phoenix. I worked under the name Ben Scrooed. End of story. I wish there was more to tell because I am a long winded fucker. I like to hear myself talk or in this case watch myself type.

I really do hope y'all have a Happy Thanksgiving.

Sunday, November 14, 2004

Stop The Hate In 2008

Ok good people I haven't been on here in a while, due to the fact I've sort of been planning my campaign. That's right, The Trashman is running for president. You heard it here first and as soon as I can find out how to make it official, I will.

Now I bet you're wondering "What does The Trashman know about being president?" Well to that I say, just as much as the people I'll be running against. George Bush can't be president again and the only way anyone could know what it takes, would be to have had the job already. Who else are you going to vote for? Hillary Clinton?

I do know this much. America is a business and should be run like a business. It should be run by businessmen not politicians. It's all about profit. Now I've been pretty successful running my own businesses, unfortunately I had to leave them due to legalities. So why not give me a chance with a legal business.

I have inhaled and forgotten to exhale. I've lied, cheated, and stole. I have broken most laws, commandments, and rules. I'm not going to hide from my past. Ask me the question and I'll give you a honest answer, unless you ask me about that sheep when I was 14. Basically what I'm saying is, I'm putting it all out there for the whole world to see. Nobody can drag up my past indiscretions to cost me the election. If I lose, then I lost all on my own.

I can balance the budget almost immediately. How you ask? The first thing is foreign aid. After I'm elected Foreign Aid will be an imported drink. That's right no more free money. If you want Americas money you better have something to sell, we're not giving it away anymore. The second thing is welfare. Gone. You want a government check, get it the old fashion way. Earn it. If you receive government money you will be required to work at least 40 hours per week. Go clean up some graffiti. Number three. The military. They're all coming home. We have borders to protect. I figure if we're not messing around in their backyard then they shouldn't be messing around in ours. When was the last time someone attacked a country that was minding they're own business?

Immigration. Touchy subject. If you do not have a work visa. Get the fuck out. If you do not have a student visa. Get the fuck out. If you have not applied for citizenship. Get the fuck out. If you do not have previously granted political asylum. Get the fuck out. That's another thing. Citizenship. If you want it you better learn to speak fucking American (we don't speak English, the English speak English, we speak American). We need to take care of our own before we worry about the rest of the world. What's the old saying? Charity begins at home.

No more labels. Stop with the Afro-American, Hispanic-American, Japanese-American, Whatever-American bullshit. By putting prefixes on American you point out the differences in our population. What's wrong with being AMERICAN? Then we're all the same. I'm not saying we can't all be a little different, individuality is a good thing. But we are all American aren't we? It's that common bond that should pull us together.

Healthcare. Still working on this one.

United Nations. Get the fuck out. Go set up office on an island somewhere. We will no longer be host to a bunch of weenies that hate us anyway. Besides the UN building would make great housing. Which brings me to another of Americas problems.

The homeless. There is no call for anyone to be homeless in America. This is after all the land of opportunity. I would set up an organization to help these people get of the streets, but they're going to earn it. That's right, America will help you get a home, but you're going to work for it.

Imports. America will gladly let you ship your cheap electronics into our beautiful consumer land, but you better be prepared to accept the same amount of stuff from us. If you don't buy our stuff. We're not buying yours. By keeping our money in our country and making our own stuff, we create more jobs for our people. In turn these people spend the money buying American made products. See the big picture?

The two inevitable. Death and Taxes

The death penalty. It will now include child molesters, as long as there is DNA proof. That's another thing, DNA proof. Let's clear out some of these old cases. If there is DNA proof and it could free someone then by all means let them out. But if there is DNA proof parking your ass on death row. Fuck the appeals . Sparky meet Killer. Killer meet Sparky.

Tax. No more income tax. Flat rate sales tax. You buy something, you pay taxes. This way everybody gets taxed at the same rate. Now, some rich fucker is going to say this is not fair, he pays more tax because he bought a Ferrari. Well I say, buy a fucking Chevy you prick.

This is what I've come up with so far. I figure I've got four years to perfect my plan of attack. I've also started picking my cabinet members. Well one of them anyway.

Secretary of State. Jack. I think we need a diplomat with some good old Texas common sense. Plus he's not in the shit business. He doesn't give it, he doesn't take it, and he damned sure ain't buying it.

I know not everybody is going to agree with me. The ability to disagree with The Trashman is part of what makes this a free country. Yet I'm sure I could do a good job and make y'all proud.

The next President of the United States will now accept your questions.

Saturday, November 06, 2004

Simple Assault

Two weeks ago Trashman Jr. went to school, just like any other day. The difference this time is he was attacked by a girl in his class. Now this was not an ordinary attack in the screaming , hitting, biting, hair pulling, pinching sort of way that you would expect from a 10 year old girl. No, this little princess who I will refer to as LB (little bitch) decided to spray my son with paint remover, causing a chemical burn on his leg. The assault happened before class started for the day, where all the kids line up to go to their classrooms. My son told his teacher about the incident. She questioned the little girl and of course LB denied everything. Jen and I were not notified until 1:00 pm.

Throughout the day my son asked to go to the bathroom to put water on the burn. Finally he asked to go to the nurse. They managed to get LB to confess and they found a spray bottle in her desk. The nurse called the poison control center. They said to wash the burn for 15 minutes and to keep it covered with something moisturizing like vaseline. The school eventually called Jen. Jen called me, and I of course in typical irate father fashion, headed for the school.

Once I got there I had to sign in and all the "necessary" bullshit before I could see my son. I asked John how his leg was and he told me it didn't burn anymore, he was fine. He also told me earlier it burned so bad he wanted to cry, but he wasn't going to cry because he wasn't a sissy. At that point I had three feelings. Pride; because my son dealt with it like a man. Anger; because it must have really burned intensely to make him want to cry, he's one tough kid. Severe Anger; because they let this happen in the first place.

I sat in the front office with Trashman Jr. and waited for the assistant principal. When she finally showed up I was even angrier.

Trashman: "I'm calling the police."
AP: "Why would you do that?"
Trashman: "This is a case of assault."
AP: "Let's go in my office so everyone doesn't have to hear your business."
Trashman: "I don't care who hears this."

I was lead into the office and she immediately drew the blinds and closed the door.

AP: "Let me start by apologizing..."
Trashman: "Why? Did you spray him too?"
AP: "Certainly not. I was just going to say..."
Trashman: "Don't apologize to me. I don't want to hear it. I don't apologize for anything I do, so I don't expect anyone to apologize to me."
AP: "Well I think when we make mistakes we should apologize."
Trashman: "I don't make mistakes."
AP: "You're saying you've never done anything wrong?"
Trashman: "No. I've done plenty wrong, it just wasn't a mistake. If I say or do something that's what I meant to do."
AP: "Well as part of the punishment process we make the children "own" their mistake, so I want LB to apologize to you."
Trashman: "I don't want to hear it. I won't believe it. She's not going to mean it, and it's just going to piss me off even more."
AP: "Well it's part of the process that..."
Trashman: "My process is to call the police and have her arrested."
AP: "You don't want to do that."
Trashman: "Why? What are you going to do the girl?"
AP: "I can't tell you due to privacy issues."
Trashman: "Well I can tell you. You're going to hug her and talk about what happened and why did little precious squirt the mean ol boy. As a matter of fact. Why did she have this stuff at school?"
AP: "We're not sure why?"
Trashman: "I can tell you why. She brought it to school to spray somebody."
AP: "We don't know that."
Trashman: "I do. That's why she brought it in a spray bottle.This is why I hate public schools."
AP: "This could have happened anywhere, at the store, at the mall. at the..."
Trashman: "No, it wouldn't have happened anywhere."
AP: "But it could have..."
Trashman: "I guarantee it would not have happened if I would have been here. I unlike others know what's going on around me, at all times. So are you just going to hug this girl and "talk" about it?"
AP: "I can assure you I have a lot more at my disposal as far as punishment. If you read the hand book we sent home with your child you would know it could be anywhere from a time out to three days suspension."
Trashman: "That's not enough. The only way she will learn is if she faces some real consequences."
AP: "Those are real consequences."
Trashman: "No, but an arrest is real."
AP: "You're being a little extreme aren't you?"
Trashman: "I'll tell what I'll do. I'll let Trashman Jr. make the decision. Son do you want to have her arrested?"
AP: "It's not fair to put that on him. You can't ask a child a question like that. That's too much for a child."
Trashman: "I already asked him and he's going to make the decision. I'm trying to raise two men not two little girls, and life's not fair and sometimes you have to make decisions you don't want to make. Well this is one of those times. He will make this decision, he's the one that got burned, he decides what happens."
AP: "I'm raising two boys by myself and I know you have to be tougher on them. I know because I'm their father and their mother. I don't get to give my children the motherly love they should have, because I'm to busy being their father the disciplinarian. That's too much responsibility for a child."

At this point I knew what I was dealing with. I should have known by the butch haircut and the sweat pants and the whistle hanging around her neck. What we had here was a dyed in the wool manhater. She found a sperm donor, got pregnant twice and ran him off. This was a clear case of a woman suffering from penis envy. She was pissed because God castrated her. Of course I was evil, of course my son must have started this. We were men therefore we were the enemy.

Trashman: "He's going to make the decision."

I turned to my pride and joy, the apple of my eye and said very firmly for her benefit.
"MAKE the decision boy. Does she go to jail?"

Trashman Jr: "I don't want her to go to jail Dad."
Trashman: "Good enough for me."
AP: "Well I still want her to apologize..."
Trashman: "I still don't want to hear it."
AP: "How about if she just admits what she did? I'll tell her not to apologize."
Trashman: "You're not going to leave this alone are you?"
AP: "No."
Trashman: "You do know you shouldn't poke a sleeping grizzly with a stick?"
AP: "Will you accept an admittance from LB?"
Trashman: "Fine."
AP: "Now just so you know I will not let you berate this child."
Trashman: "What makes you think I would do that? I don't berate my own children. Why would I do that to someone else's?"
AP: "I just know you're personality..."
Trashman: "Lady, you don't know a damn thing about me. I may be obnoxious and an asshole but I don't pick on little children. I'm offended by that."
AP: "Well I'm sorry if I said anything out..."
Trashman: "Save the apology, you meant it."

After a short time I was lead into another room, LB was sitting there but she didn't seem very worried.

LB: "I squirted you son with some paint remover."
Trashman: "Good enough for me."

I turned and walked out the door.

AP: "I'm glad you've calmed down."
Trashman: "Who says I've calmed down?"
AP: "It just seems like you're a lot calmer."
Trashman: "Well, I'm not. Right now I'm so mad I'm on the verge of a heart attack."
AP: "I think you're calmer. You just don't want to admit it."
Trashman: "You're really trying to kill me aren't you?"
AP: "I have to deal with LB. Have a good weekend Mr. Trashman."

I could have strangled that bitch on the spot and it would have been worth the trip to prison, but I didn't because I made a promise to Jen that I wouldn't go to jail until after the boys grow up and move out. Ten years from now I'll be hunting that bull dyke.

The following Monday Trashman Jr. came home from school and what he told me boiled my blood.

TJ: "Dad, I had to go talk to the counselor today."
Trashman: "What the fuck for?"
TJ: "I went in and LB was sitting there and she said she sprayed me because I cussed at her and I wouldn't stop talking about Vice City. I was talking about Vice City but I didn't cuss at her."
Trashman: "I know you didn't son. They just gave her all weekend to come up with an excuse. What else was said?"
TJ: "The lady asked me when I got sprayed how did I feel. I told her it burned. So she said not how did it feel on the outside but how did it make me feel on the inside."
Trashman: "And?"
TJ: "I told her it didn't make me feel anything on the inside. She said I must have felt something. Sad or hurt."
Trashman: "Keep going."
TJ: "I told her I don't have feelings like that. It's just something that happened. She said everybody feels sad when someone does something mean to them and that I did have feelings like that."
Trashman: "What did you say?"
TJ: "I told her not me, I'm not sensitive. If she wants feelings she should talk to T3. She said to come back and see her when I have feelings."
Trashman: "That was it?"
TJ: "I told her, I guess I don't have to come back here."

My little man is growing up. He knows men have four basic feelings. Happiness, Pride, Love, and Anger. Nothing more nothing less. We don't always show them. I manage to show one of them regularly the other three I'm working on. Sometimes shitty things happen to good people and sometimes good things happen to shitty people. It's just the way of the world. There's nothing you can do about it, so there's no sense in getting all emotional.

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Tattooed Steel and Sex Appeal

Vader, baby this one is for you.

For years I had talked trash about getting a tattoo on my johnson. One night I went so far as to track down a female artist (ain't no way a man is touching my dick). I called the tattoo shop to get prices. The girl that answered the phone had a sweet little girl voice and was named Candy, it already sounded promising.

Trashman: "How much would it cost me to get a tattoo on my crank."
Candy: "On your what?"
Trashman: "My crank, my cob, my willy, my johnson, my dick."
Candy: "Oh you want a tattoo on your penis?"
Trashman: "Is that the medical term?"
Candy: "The price would be $150.00 handling charge and then the tattoo price would depend on the size of the tattoo."
Trashman: "I'm a white guy, so you don't have much to work with."
Candy: "What did you want tattooed on your penis?"
Trashman: "A lightning bolt."
Candy: "I can do that. What is the significance of the lightning bolt?"
Trashman: "Lightning never strikes the same place twice or I cum in a flash. Take your pick."
Candy: "You realize it's going to be painful?"
Trashman: "I plan on fainting right before you start, with any luck I won't feel a thing."
Candy: "When would you like to make the appointment?"
Trashman: "How about tomorrow?"

The time was set. The next day I was at The Saints shop talking shit about getting my dick tattooed. I don't think I had any intention of making the appointment. That is until The Saint called my bluff.

The Saint: "You see that dry erase board?"
Trashman: "Yeah."
The Saint: "This afternoon it's either going to say, Trashman is the mother fucking man or Trashman is a big wet pussy. Your choice.

I walked out the door and drove straight to the tattoo parlor. I was ready to meet the sweet voiced Candy. My dick was about to be handled by a strange woman with a name and voice that just dripped sugar. I walked into the parlor and found a rather unpleasant looking woman sitting there. Her upper body was fine but her ass was as big as a Buick and square like one too. She had on coke bottle glasses, and her straw like hair was pulled back in a pony tail. This woman was ugly.

Trashman: "I have an appointment with Candy."
Ugly (in that voice): "You must be Trashman."
Trashman (thinking "please God don't let it be her"): "Yeah. Is Candy in?"
Ugly: "I'm Candy."
Trashman (fuck, fuck, fuck): "OK. Nice to meet you. Lets get this done."

I figured at least there was no chance of me getting a hard on and I better be nice because this beast was going to have my dick in her hand. No way was I going back to the shop without this tattoo. I laid on the table and Candy went to work. Now let me tell you, for the most part it was quite painful but at times she hit spots with that needle that were wonderfully euphoric. First pain then pleasure, back and forth. I didn't know whether to punch her or kiss her. Then I would look at that face and know instantly kissing her was out of the question. Candy finished the tattoo after a couple of hours. During this time we got to know each other. Turns out she was probably the nicest person I ever met and not just because she had my manhood in her hands. She regularly takes kids off the streets and puts them back in school, then she helps them find a job and a house. She has been doing this for years. Personality in an ugly woman will work to her advantage sometimes. But I'm sorry to say, no matter how much personality Candy had or how nice she was there was just no getting past that much ugly. Damn shame. That voice, that name, that sweetness, that personality, and THAT face.

Getting off the table and moving around was surprisingly pain free. It was like nothing had happened. Just so you know that tattoo required two pints of ink.

Candy: "All done."
Trashman: "Thank God."
Candy: "You know you can't have sexual relations for six weeks, right?"
Trashman: "Huh? You mean no fucking."
Candy: "Yep and no oral either."
Trashman: "I can't even get a blowjob."
Candy: "You are really crass aren't you?"
Trashman: "I don't know what that means."
Candy: "Unrefined."
Trashman (smiling): "Oh yeah that's me."

I left the parlor and went to see Kelli. She loved the tattoo so much she just had to taste it. Who was I to stop her. Candy must have been kidding about the no sex stuff, it was even better than before. I left Kelli's and went to The Saints shop, I walked straight to the board, took the marker and wrote in huge letters TRASHMAN IS THE MOTHER FUCKING MAN.

The Saint: "You're one twisted mother fucker."
Trashman: "You need proof?"
The Saint: "Fuck no. I don't want to see your dick."
Trashman: "I wasn't going to show you my dick. Call Kelli, she just kissed the lightning."
The Saint: "You know you're going to pay for that."
Trashman: "Bullshit. I don't feel a thing."

That night my dick swelled up to the size of a large watermelon. I could feel my heartbeat in it. Walking was out of the question. The Saint got me ice bags and towels so I could sit and play cards. What a great guy.

A couple of weeks later I was hanging out with JJ (my two legged pit bull).

JJ: " You really got it tattooed."
Trashman: "Wanna see?"
JJ: "Fuck no I don't want to see your dick."
Trashman: "OK."
JJ: "Did she shave you?"
Trashman: "Yeah."
JJ: "Did she use vaseline."
Trashman: "Yeah."
JJ: " How long did she hang on to it?"
Trashman: " About two hours."
JJ: " Did you get a hard on?"
Trashman: "Nope."
JJ: "She shaved you, smeared you down with vaseline, and fondled you for two hours and you didn't get a hard on? Bullshit."
Trashman: "Get in the truck."

We drove to the tattoo parlor. On the way there I told JJ to be nice when we got there. He asked "Why?" and I just said "You'll see". We walked in and no one was in front. We went to the back of the parlor and Candy was working on some drawings. As we approached she looked up.

Trashman: "I want you to meet a friend of mine. He's thinking about getting a tattoo."
Candy: "Hello."
Trashman: "JJ I want you to meet Candy."
All he could say was. "Oh."

Saturday, October 30, 2004

Danny O'Death

I spent the summer I turned 16 at my older brothers house. His wife had a Danny O'Day ventriloquist dummy. I was stuck in a small town with nothing to do, so I started working on the art of ventriloquism. By the end of the summer I inherited Danny.

School rolled around and Danny's wooden ass was parked on a chair by my bed. He sat there night after night staring at the wall, never complaining. I pretty much forgot about him, but not for long.

One night I woke up just knowing something was wrong. I rolled over and to my horror Danny was no longer staring at the wall, he was looking straight at me. I froze. Those cold wooden eyeballs were looking right dead in my eyes. I swear he winked at me. I couldn't move or make a sound. Finally I called out my brothers name. Nothing. I called him again. Still nothing. I slowly reached down to the floor, grabbed a shoe and threw it at him. Bullseye. He sat up in bed screaming.

G: "What the fuck do you want?"
Trashman: "Turn on the lights."
G: "Huh?"
Trashman: "Just for the love of God, turn on the lights."

I knew my brother didn't have to fear the forces of darkness. He walked hand in hand with evil most of the time. Believe it or not I'm the good twin. He stormed out of bed, walked over and smacked the light switch. Salvation, the lights were on. I jumped out of bed, grabbed Danny by the throat, opened the closet door and threw him on the shelf. I closed the closet door, dusted my hands together, killed the lights and went back to dreaming about whatever starlet was the pick of the week.

The next morning I rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. All the happenings of the previous night were already distant memories. After relieving myself I went back into my bedroom to get ready for school. As I opened the closet door I saw movement out of the top of my eyes, I looked up quickly to see what was going on. In a split second I knew what insanity tasted like. It has a coppery taste like blood when you bite your tongue. Only it's cold, bitter cold.

There was Danny coming at me arms stretched out, maniacal grin on his face. I knew he was coming to drag me into the bowels of hell. Somewhere in the distance I could hear a bitch scream. It was a high pitched panty waisted sissy school girl scream. The kind a 12 year old girl would make if you dumped a bucket of worms on her. If you could spell the scream, it would look like "EEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH" only longer.

My brother ran down the hall into the bedroom.
G: "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
I realized I was the one screaming. I looked down at the floor. There lay Danny grinning up at me, as innocent as you please. He couldn't fool me. I knew he was demon spawn. I looked back up at my brother.
Trashman: "This fucking dummy fell on my foot."
G: "You need to do something about that dummy. Between last night and this morning, I'm starting to wonder about you."
Trashman: "He fell on my foot."
G: "Pussy."
Trashman: "It hurt."

G turned and walked back down the hall. I looked down at Danny, flipped him the bird and kicked him under my bed.

The next few nights getting into bed became an Olympic event. I would turn the lights off and jump across the room, hoping to make the safety of my blankets before Danny could snake that stuffed arm out and drag me kicking and screaming (like a 12 year old girl) into the netherworld. A few days after Danny attempted to steal my soul, I was sitting at school when a friend of mine came up and sat with me.

Dago: "Yo, Dude?"
Trashman: "Yo."
Dago: "You still got that dummy?"
Trashman: "Uh, yeah. Why?"
Dago: "Can I borrow it? I want to scare my little brother."
Trashman: "SURE!!!"

That afternoon he came over to my house to pick up Danny. I pointed under the bed.

Dago: "He's scary looking. I'm not sure I could keep him under my bed. HaHaHa."
Trashman: "I ain't scared of nothing."
Dago: "Thanks man. When do you want him back?"
Trashman: "Uh. Never. Keep him."
Dago: "Really? Cool. I can scare a lot of my cousins with this thing."

I thought, Dago my friend you don't know the half of it. Dago headed for the door and he looked at Danny and said "Come on Danny. We're gonna have some fun." With that he carried Danny out my front door like you would a small child. As he walked away Danny was looking over Dago's shoulder at me. I swear he winked.

Thursday, October 28, 2004

Whip It Good

I haven't been able to get on blogger for 24 hours. I don't know if I was the only one affected but it seems so, since everyone else kept posting. Now I have to catch up on my reading. The first thing I read was written by Jay and the next was written by Jack. These were two serious stories about both of their past's and the huffers they knew. Both, Jay and Jack have an amazing ability when it comes to story telling. They both make you care about the people involved in their stories and for me at least they make me remember the people in my past. I, unlike the two of them refuse to do anything seriously. My apologies to Jay and Jack for stealing your topic. It came back in a flood of memories and I knew, I better write it before I forget it. So keeping with the topic at hand here is my story.

The year was 1987 and I lived on the south side of Austin with my girlfriend Karen. Next door to us there were a couple of girls that worked with her. We all lived on the third floor of an apartment building, it was summer time and the parties never stopped. Usually the doors were just left open and people wandered back and forth from apartment to apartment looking for booze or drugs. The girls next door we'll call Vette (curvy, fast , and sweet) and Dizzy (cute, dumb as a stump).

At the time I was selling pharmaceutical liquid opium. Dip the joint in, let it dry and it made for a wild ride. Basically, smoking a low grade heroin and weed mix. One night we were out of weed, so we were trying anything. That's when Vette's boyfriend Jim came up with the ideal of doing whip-its. For those that don't know you can keep the Readi Whip can upright and inhale the gas in the can, you hold your breath as long as you can, toast some brain cells, and giggle like a schoolgirl. Well Jim had the industrial Readi Whip canister with refills for the O2. So the party was on.

The canister went around the room a few times, everybody taking turns doing brain damage. I think Jim was on his fourth or fifth go around when he turned blue and fell out of his chair. Well being the rocket surgeons we were, we all busted out laughing. After about 10 minutes it wasn't funny anymore. Panic began to set in.

Vette: "Jim. Quit playing."
Dizzy: "Is he OK?"
Some Guy 1: "Dude he's still blue."
Trashman: "Wake him the fuck up."
Some Guy 2 (laughing): "How do you wake up dead people?"
Trashman (screaming): "Karen come wake Jim the fuck up."
Vette: "Jim, don't die baby, I LLLOOOOOVVVVVEEEE YOU."

Karen was the only straight one in the bunch. She came over and felt around for a pulse. She threw water in his face. She slapped him around. Nothing worked.

Karen: "He's dead. He's fucking dead."
Trashman: "We're all going to prison."
Dizzy: "Are you sure he's dead?"
Some guy 1; "We've got to get rid of the body."
Some Guy 2: "HaHaHaHaHaHaHa"
Vette: "Are you kidding? I love him."
Trashman: "Grab his feet. Let's get him in his car and get him the fuck out of here."

Karen had to hold Vette down and keep her quiet while we carried Jim's carcass down stairs and put him in his car. Me, Some Guy 1, and Dizzy drove him way out by the lake and parked his car. We gave it a quick wipe down, slid Jim in behind the wheel, and satisfied that no one saw us we made a hasty retreat back to my apartment. We all took a vow of silence where Jim was concerned. For the next week Vette was kind of mopey but I took her to the Butthole Surfers concert and she perked right up. After the concert we went back to my apartment and the party was in full swing. Somehow everybody knew about Jim. There was 20 to 30 people there and they all fucking knew. I'm pretty sure Dizzy was running her mouth because she avoided me all night.

At around 2:00 am the people were winding down and just mostly sitting around high, drunk, and semi comatose. A few were telling their favorite Jim stories and making toast in the honor of Jim. I threatened to beat a few asses over beer being poured on my carpet. Just as I was getting ready to run everybody out, my door flew open. Vette and Dizzy started screaming like their guts were being ripped out. Karen's legs gave out and she collapsed. Some Guy 1 and Some Guy 2 started doing the backwards spider crawl across my floor. A few people bolted out onto my balcony. It was general pandemonium. I looked up at the front door, right into the eyes of Jim.

Jim: "That was wrong dude. Just fucking wrong. If you're going to dump a body make sure the fuckers dead."
Trashman (laughing): "You WERE dead Jim."
Jim: "Yeah. Well I didn't stay that way."

Saturday, October 23, 2004

Life On The Line...Conclusion

Here it is folks the end of this little tale. I would like to thank everyone who stopped by and read my story. It is a true story, the only things changed were the names (to protect my sweet ass). I'm not too sure about the statute of limitations on some things. There are lots of side stories that took place before, during, and after this one. I will touch on those at a later date. I have told this story one or two times but never in this detail, it was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I was amazed at the feelings and emotions the re-telling of this tale brought back to me. I have mixed emotions about ending this. In a way I hate to end it because of the attention you have all given me, yet at the same time I am glad it's over with. Hopefully it will take the paranoia and panic attacks with it.

Here's what happened to everyone.

WBG: Serving 5 years for repeatedly being busted for promoting prostitution.
Thug 1: Copped a plea for 5 years for involuntary manslaughter.
Thug 2: Copped the same plea, plus another 10 years for trying to kill his lawyer.
JB: ????
The Saint: Did 5 years probation for promoting prostitution (side story). Still gambling.
CP Boys: Waiting for WBG to get out of prison.
JJ: Training with Tim Witherspoon.
The Machine: ????
M1: Married with children. Feds raided his fathers house for insider trading.
M2: ????
Brad: Gave up family owned business to deal drugs.
Uncle Paulie: As far as I know he's still Da Man.
Kelli: Still crazy, always will be. That's all I know about her.
The Detectives: Does it really matter? They tried to get me, but they failed.
Trashman, Jen, and the boys: Got the fuck out of town at a later date due to more of my stupidity. Another story for another time.

This story covered a few months. I'm not real sure how long because I was cokeified most of the time. I really miss those days sometimes but mostly I'm OK with life the way it is. Yeah sure, I can't fly off to South Beach or Vegas anytime I want. Yet being on the straight and narrow does have it's advantages. For instance I no longer have to look over my shoulder all the time. I don't have to break out into a sweat every time I see a cop (I still do, but I don't have to). I love my wife and kids and it's great to be reunited (and it feels so good). LOL I learned a few things along the way, some important some not so important. I learned family is everything. I learned true friends like The Saint and JJ are rare treasures. I learned you never hit on 15 when the dealer is showing a 6. But I believe the biggest thing I learned is...

Pimping ain't easy... but it pays real well.

Thursday, October 21, 2004

Life On The Line Part 12

I was followed for two days by the guy in the taxi, then it was gone as sudden as it had appeared. Uncle Paulie must have taken care of my little problem. I purchased a black jack table, poker table, craps table and roulette wheel. The Saint and I were now in the gambling business. Well I was anyway, he just "worked" for me and rented me table space.

About two weeks into our little endeavor, things were going good. We were making pretty good money off The Rich Boys and anybody they happened to bring with them. I was dealing black jack to M1, M2, and Brad (he looked like Brad Pitt) one night when we heard the door open. I looked up and Thug 1 was coming around the corner. I think one of The Rich Boys shit himself because the odor in the room took a turn for the worse.

Thug 1 had his hands shoved in the pocket on his hoodie and the hood was over his head, hiding his face. He threw his head back and the hood fell. At about this time, the three brave souls I was dealing cards to, all shot back from the table. It was kind of like you see in one of those cheesy westerns. Thug 1 was looking dead at me and I was looking dead at him. I couldn't go anywhere I was sitting in a corner and my asshole had puckered so tight and so fast I was vacuum sealed to my chair. I dealt another hand of black jack onto the table.

Trashman: "Hit or stand?"
M1: "What?"
Trashman: "Hit or stand?"
M1 (voice shaking): "I can't see the cards from here."
Trashman: "Come back to the table."
M1: "No."
Thug 1: "You ain't scared?"
Trashman: "Nope."
Thug 1: "You don't think I won't shoot you?"
Trashman: "Nope."
Thug 1: "Why?"
Trashman: "Three reasons. One. You're out on bail for a murder you "didn't commit". So you can't very well shoot somebody else. Two. Your lawyer has gotten discovery by now, so you know my testimony clears you. Three. The Italians got to you, and you don't have what it takes to pull the trigger."

Now I know that was a stupid thing to say. You don't poke a sleeping grizzly with a stick and I thought I poked a little to hard when Thug 1 pulled his hands out of the pocket. I swear I heard M1 whimper. Thug 1 shook out a cigarette from a pack, lit it up, and looked at me.

Thug 1: "We're cool."

He turned and walked out. That was that, our business was finished.

Trashman: "Let's play some cards. I need to pay child support."
M1: "Are you fucking stupid?"
Trashman (looking at The Saint): "I'm tired of people asking me that."
M2: "I can't believe you said that."
Brad: "You're out of you're fucking mind."
The Saint: "Trashman knew he wasn't going to shoot."
Trashman: "I was cornered. My ass was stuck to the chair. My legs wouldn't work. And I ain't going out like a bitch."
M1: "You are fucking stupid."

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

Life On The Line Part 11

I left Kelli's feeling better about life in more ways than one. I guess we were on again. The next day I walked out to my truck I noticed a big black Lincoln parked a few spots down. The driver was obviously Italian. He was sitting in the car reading the paper. When I pulled out of the parking lot he followed me. This went on all day. If I went to the store, he would get out and follow me in. Everywhere I went, the same thing. He would park a couple of spots away and just walk about 30 feet behind me. I went by The Saint's shop and he stayed in his car watching the parking lot.

Trashman: "Hey. Saint come look out this window."
The Saint: "What am I looking at?"
Trashman: "You see that Lincoln?"
The Saint: "The one with the goomba?"
Trashman: "That's the one."
The Saint: "Who is he?"
Trashman: "Not sure. Vinny or Vic or something like that. I haven't asked. He's been following me all day."
The Saint: "Why? Is he a cop?"
Trashman: "No. I went to see Kelli."
The Saint: "Are you fucking stupid?"
Trashman: "I think he works for her Uncle Paulie."
The Saint: "Are you fucking stupid?"
Trashman: "What am I supposed to do? The paranoia is eating me up. We know The Thugs are going to try to catch me here."
The Saint: "Are you fucking stupid?"
Trashman: "Do you want this place shot up and turned into a crime scene?"
The Saint: "No. I guess you had to go see her. But she's going to be the death of you. If you don't wind up getting killed over this crap now you're going to owe Uncle Paulie."
Trashman: "Not even. This favor is for her, not me. I'm in the free and clear."
The Saint: "One of these days that free and clear shit is going to bite you in the ass."
Trashman (laughing): "Until it does, lets play some cards."
The Saint: "I'm not allowed to gamble."
Trashman: "Huh?"
The Saint: "It's part of the deal with The CP Boys. Since WBG called them a Mickey Mouse organization, they want his money, not mine and they're willing to wait for it. In the meantime I'm not allowed to gamble. If they catch me so much as playing quarters, then I owe WBG's debt."
Trashman: "I told you everything would work out."
The Saint: "Fuck you. I need the extra money."
Trashman: "So rent me a spot for a couple of tables."
The Saint (smiling): "They didn't say I couldn't do that. But that what about The Thugs?"
Trashman: "I'll bring JJ and there's also that guard dog in the Lincoln. I'll call Kelli and have Uncle Paulie speed things up."
The Saint: "When do you want to do this?"
Trashman: "Sometime in the next week. I need the money too. When I leave here I'll go buy some tables and have them delivered. If The CP Boys stop by, just show them the receipt in my name."

As I was walking out to my truck I turned and walked over to the Lincoln. I bent down and looked at the guy.
Trashman: "Dude. Don't make it so obvious."
The next day he was following me in a taxi.

Monday, October 18, 2004

Life On The Line Part 10

The next couple of weeks were fairly uneventful. I was out of business and I was relaxing as best as I could. I spent as much time visiting the kids as mine and Jen's arguing would allow. Visiting the kids became work in itself. Everytime I saw a car rolling through the complex at low speeds or high speeds for that matter, I would have to look over at The Machine to see if he recognized the people. He was good for that, he knew everyone in the neighborhood. JJ found out The Thugs had some idea of where I used to live, but for the most part they were watching the girls that used to work for me, and if that didn't pan out they were going to try to catch me at The Saint's shop.

One day I woke up to a knock on my motel room door. I went into a panic. When I looked out the peep hole it was just the maid. I had slept really late. I guess all the stress was getting to me. That's when I decided to call Kelli. We had a very on again - off again relationship. At the time we were off again. I met her shorly after Jen and I had split up. I was walking through a store in the mall, when she offered me a spray of some new cologne. When I declined the bitch sprayed me anyway. I turned to yell at her when I noticed she was a stunning Italian girl. She had a great figure, too much eye shadow, bright red lipstick, bleach blonde hair, and when I looked in her eyes I new she was fucking crazy. I decided then, I had to have her. The bitch was stone cold nuts, that's why we were off again. Right then she was the only one that could put a complete stop to this shit.

Trashman: "Kelli? You there, pick up the phone."
Kelli: "Hey baby. Where have you been?"
Trashman: "I'm in trouble. I need your help."
Kelli: "Come to my house. Whatever you need."

When I pulled up she was sitting on the porch. She ran out to my car and threw her arms around my neck.

Kelli: "What's wrong Daddy?"
Trashman: "We can play later. Right now I need you to listen to me."
Kelli: "OK. What do you need me to do?"

I ran the whole story by her. The whole time she was looking at me with those crazy green eyes. It was hard to keep my mind on the matters at hand. After I finished the story we stood up and went in the house. She sat me at the kitchen table and picked up the phone. She called her Uncle Paulie (for lack of a better name). This part was relayed to me by her.

Kelli: "Uncle Paulie, I need you to do something."
UP: "What do you need?"
Kelli: "My boy friend is in some trouble and I need you to make it go away."
UP: "Is that the same guy from Vegas?"
Kelli: "He didn't mean any disrespect."
UP: "I asked IS that the same guy from Vegas?"
Kelli: "Yes sir."
UP: "I like him. He's got balls."
Kelli: "So, you'll do this for me?"
UP: "What's the nature of his problem?"

Kelli ran the story by her Uncle. She told him everything, including the fact Jen and the boys might be in danger.

UP: "So, your boyfriend is married and you're the goomar?"
Kelli: "It's not like that. They're split up and they're not ever getting back together."
UP: "You sure? I don't want you getting hurt."
Kelli: "What's going to hurt me is if I lose him to those killers."
UP: "OK. I'll take care of it. I need their names and where I can find them."
Kelli: "Thug 1 and Thug 2. They run drugs in P-Town."
UP: "Ask you're boyfriend if he wants a job."
Kelli: "He can't work for you."
UP: "Why not?"
Kelli: "He gets himself in enough trouble."

Saturday, October 16, 2004

Life On The Line Part 9

I was in the front yard playing with my kids when JJ showed up. I normally didn't let anyone talk business to me when I was visiting my kids but JJ seemed real nervous.

JJ: "Did you hear?"
Trashman: "Hear what?"
JJ: "The Thugs got arrested last week."
Trashman: "So. They'll never get bail."
JJ: "They already paid it."
Trashman: "How the hell did that happen. There's no bail on a murder charge."
JJ: "Their bail was a million each. They paid it no problem."
Trashman: "OK. That's no fucking surprise."
JJ: "One other thing."
Trashman: "What?"
JJ: "JB told them you went to the cops."
Trashman: "Let me get my kids inside."

I went and got Jen to take the kids inside. It was time to go because we were due to start arguing again. I didn't want the kids to see or hear anymore than they had to. JJ and I got into his car and went for a little ride.

Trashman: "Did you hear anything else?"
JJ: "Yeah. The Thugs want you dead."
Trashman: "OK. Here's what we do. Find The Machine and tell him to hang around close to Jen and the boys, if he sees anyone new in the neighborhood he needs to get in touch with either me or you. Make sure he understands, nothing and I mean nothing happens to them. This is my problem not theirs."
JJ: "Not a problem. What do you want me to do?"
Trashman: "You need to be available to me 24/7. At the same time you need to find out how much they know about me. If it comes down to it, I can take Thug 1, but I need you to keep Thug 2 off of me. He's dangerous."
JJ: "I can take care of both of them."
Trashman: "I know, but Thug 2 is a handful. I would rather you didn't try them both at the same time."
JJ: "You know Dad, you never let me have any fun."
Trashman: "This ain't fun time JJ. These idiots want me dead and we have to make sure Jen and the boys are safe."
JJ: "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to be funny."
Trashman: "It's cool. I know what your doing. Go get The Machine, I'm going to get the super to let him use the apartment across from Jen, so he can keep an eye on her."
JJ: "Will the douche bag do that for you? All he ever does is give me a hard time."
Trashman: "Well you trashed your apartment, and you cause problems, and he gets his coke from me."
JJ (laughing): "Sometimes it pays to know people."

I had JJ drop me off at the super's office. I watched him drive off towards The Machine's house. JJ was as loyal a friend as I have ever had. He would do anything I needed him to and never expect anything in return. Thug 2 was dangerous but JJ was far more dangerous. Thug 2 did things for his benefit only. JJ did it out of love. His Dad had moved him into the apartment when he was 16 and only came back to pay the rent or drop of groceries. For the next two years I was the closest thing he had to a father. He was completely out of control and well on his way to jail. I turned him around (sort of) and got him to use his brains. He is a smart kid, he just never learned to stop and think before he acted. That's all different now. He was well trained in some kind of martial arts. I'm not sure which one, but it's one of those maim and destroy kinds. His teacher told me JJ was a natural born killer. He learned in two days what it took most people six months to learn. I wasn't worried about me.

We got The Machine set up in the apartment across from Jen. He had his instructions, and I didn't worry for one second that he wouldn't follow them. Like JJ he didn't have a father and I had kept my eye on him as he was growing up. When it came to me he suffered from severe hero worship. He knew what I did for a living and he wanted to be a part of it so bad he could taste it. I kept him out of it basically because he just didn't have what it took to make good decisions. If things got a little hairy he wouldn't think his way out, he would use his strength. He didn't have the brains and skill that JJ had. There was a reason we called him The Machine. He was Six feet Four inches and 325 pounds of raw, unstoppable power, that was incapable of thinking. Since I had The Machine watching Jen and the boys, I didn't have to worry about them either.

Friday, October 15, 2004

Life On The Line Part 8

The next day The Saint went downtown and talked to the cops. He managed to convince them he was never WBG's partner. They tried to convince him the meeting between WBG and The Thugs happened a week before Easter, but he stuck to his guns. So we both managed to come out of the mess unscathed. Everything quietened down for a few weeks, that is until JB showed up at my office.

Trashman: "Get the fuck out of here."
JB: "I need a job man."
Trashman: "Didn't I just tell you to get the fuck out of here."
JB: "Really dude I need a job."
Trashman: "If I have to throw you out I will, and I won't use the fucking door."
JB: "OK OK I'm going, but let me ask you a question first."
Trashman: "I ain't in the mood for your shit."
JB: "I just want to know if I'm going to be hit."
Trashman; "As long as you're out of here in five seconds I won't hit you."
JB: "No. I want to know if I'm going to be killed like PRK was."
Trashman: "What the fuck are you talking about? You know as well as I do that had nothing to do with WBG and you know I had nothing to do with it. Wait a minute are you wearing a wire?"
JB: "I'm going. I'm going."
Trashman: "You little rat fuck."
JB: "I'm sorry man."
Trashman: "Get the fuck out and just in case they can't hear me right now tell those fucking asshole detectives to fucking call me."
JB: "I...I...I don't know what you're talking about."
Trashman: "FUCK YOU. GET OUT."

JB ran out like his ass was on fire. The first thing I did was call The Saint and tell him what the cops just tried to pull and he needed to watch his step. The next day I received a call from Detective 1.

Detective 1: "JB was by here and said you threatened him."
Trashman: "Fuck you. You heard it all on the wire. I told him to leave my property, he was trespassing."
Detective 1: "Wire? What wire? I don't know what you're talking about."
Trashman: "Eat shit. You're still trying to connect me to the murder. You've got a hard on for me. In fact I think you're in love with me. Come on Detective 1 you know you wanna stick it in my ass."
Detective 1: "You know using that language over the phone is a crime."
Trashman: "Whatever. I will tell you this. From now on I only deal with Detective 2. I'm done dealing with you. I'm starting to think you're dirtier than I am."
Detective 1: "Let me tell you something you fuck. You're the criminal, not me. I call the shots, not you."
Trashman: "You know using that sort of language over the phone is a crime."
Detective 1: "Fuck you. You piece of..."
Trashman: "Goodbye detective."

I hung up the phone. Enough was enough. I closed down my little operation. There was no way I was going to jail for promoting prostitution after I had just dodged the bullet in the murder investigation. I figured I could live off the winnings I would get from playing cards with the rich boys that hung around The Saints shop. I had enough money I wouldn't have to worry for a while.

Everything smoothed out again for a few weeks. I was just starting to relax. Then JJ (my two legged pit bull) came to see me. He had one of those looks on his face. The kind that says I should be really worried.

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

Life On The Line Part 7

I laid the story out from the beginning. The whole time The Saint sat there staring at me like I grew another head. When I was done he laid his head on the desk, he stayed that way for awhile. He eventually looked up at me. I don't believe I've ever see anyone turn that pale. He knew as well as I did he could never survive in jail.

The Saint: "What do I do?"
Trashman: "Go in and offer testimony. They're trying to say you are WBG's partner."
The Saint: "I'm not his fucking partner. You were."
Trashman: "I know that, but they want to believe otherwise. I think you should go to them before they come looking for you."
The Saint: "How do I tell them I found out? You weren't supposed to tell anyone."
Trashman: "Tell them JB told you. I think they're mad at him for not telling the truth about the ass kicking anyway. This will piss them off at him even more."
The Saint: "What do I do about WBG?"
Trashman: "Distance yourself from him. If he owes you, collect and if you owe him, pay up. But whatever you do stay the fuck away from him."
The Saint: "I have another problem."
Trashman: "We can't afford another problem."
The Saint: "WBG is into the CP Boys for about 50 grand. He told them he wasn't paying them and that they were a Mickey Mouse operation."
Trashman: "Let me guess. You vouched for him?"
The Saint: "I'm going to have to tell them that he is being investigated so that they will stay away from him, and you now what that means."
Trashman: "You assume his debt."
The Saint: "What the fuck am I going to do? I don't have 50 grand."
Trashman: "We'll cross that bridge later, just be sure you tell them."
The Saint: "Ohhh. I am so fucked."
Trashman: "We'll get the money even if we have to go to Vegas to do it. Just buy some time."
The Saint: "I don't know how much I can buy."
Trashman: "The CP Boys know your good for it. They'll give us what we need. If I have to I'll bust WBG's legs for them, it would be worth the time after this crap. Plus I might be safer in jail after Thug 1 finds out I talked to the cops.
The Saint: "Oh shit, I forgot I owe him a grand."
Trashman: "Wwwhhhhyyyy?"
The Saint: "We were shooting craps."
Trashman: "Pay him and keep him away from here."
The Saint: "OK. OK. Uh how do I keep him away?"
Trashman: "Tell him you quit gambling or something. I don't know. Tell him you just got a big contract and you're going to be too busy to gamble. Just keep him away."
The Saint: "You know he's going to find out."
Trashman: "Yeah but we don't have to rush it. In the meantime I'll send JJ (my two legged pit-bull) by here and you can put him to work. He'll keep you safe."
The Saint: "I could use the help. Will he work for $9.00 an hour?"
Trashman: "Put him on the books and I'll make the rest up to him. He can still do collections at night."
The Saint: "Who do I talk to down at the cop shop?"
Trashman: "Ask for Detective 2. He seems like a straight shooter. Just answer the questions, don't offer any information."
The Saint: "Are we going to be OK?"
Trashman: "We'll be fine. I have a lot of thinking to do, so I'm going to go. Walk outside with me."

On the way to my truck I stopped and looked at the 15 story building again.

Trashman: "Who all has offices in that building?"
The Saint: "Most of it is the bank and a bunch of lawyers. I think up near the top they have some F.B.I. offices. Why?"
Trashman (smiling): "Wait until you see the pictures."

Life On The Line Part 6

Let the fight begin.

DA: "Are you sure the meeting didn't take place a week earlier?"
Trashman: "I'm positive."
Detective 1: "It needs to happen a week earlier."
Trashman: "What do you mean it needs to happen? It already happened."
Detective 2: "What he means is are you really sure it, didn't happen a week earlier?"
The pressure to please was starting to mount.
Trashman: "I guess it could have happened sooner?"
DA: "Good, put it in his statement it happened a week before Easter."
Trashman: "WAIT. It happened two days before Easter. I'm not signing anything that says different."
DA: "We have very reliable witnesses that saw the thugs kill PRK. It must be because WBG hired them to do it."
Trashman: "I don't care if The Pope himself saw it. They didn't do it because WBG paid them to. I would love to tell you he did, but he didn't."
Detective 1: "Then why did they do it?"
Trashman: "Once again you're asking the wrong mother fucker. Maybe it was a dope deal. I used to get my coke from Thug 1."
DA: "You know, we're going to have to rethink our deal?"
Trashman: "You rethink anything you want. I have signed papers and your not going to get me to lie about the date."
Detective 1: "Our other witness says it happened a week before Easter."
Trashman: "JB is an idiot. He'll tell you anything you want to hear, especially if he thinks you're going to put him in jail."
Detective 1: "What makes you think it's JB?"
Trashman: "Well let's see. You're trying to build a case against The Thugs, WBG, and possibly The Saint. You gave up on the case against me because you thought my testimony would help. Oh yeah and the fact JB was the only other person around."
Detective 2: "You sure you don't want a job?"
Trashman: "Nah. I don't like cops. Listen guys, I'm sure The Thugs killed PRK. I'm sure it happened when you said it did. I'm also sure WBG didn't pay them to do it. I know for a fact The Saint had nothing to do with any of this. I'm sure when you finally arrest The Thugs and it all goes to trial their lawyer is going to point out the fact they couldn't have killed him because they didn't know he was dead. Why would they accept money to beat his ass if they knew he was dead. You see gentlemen Thug 1 is smart. Scary smart and he got paid $1000.00 dollars from WBG to fuck up a guy that was already dead. He built himself one hell of an alibi."

I pushed my chair back and stood up.
DA: "Where are you going?"
Trashman: "I'm done here."
DA: "We might have some more questions."
Trashman: "You know where to find me."
DA: "Don't talk to anybody about this investigation."
Trashman: "My lips are sealed."
Detective 1: " Hey one more thing...."
Trashman: "Yeah, I know don't leave town."

The first place I went was to The Saints shop. It was next door to the sausage factory. When I got out of my truck I looked across the highway at the 15 story building. I couldn't help but wonder what offices were in there. I walked into the shop and The Saint was sitting at his desk smiling at me. I sat down across from him not too happy.

The Saint: "Where the hell have you been? I haven't seen you in a week."
Trashman: "We've got trouble."

Tuesday, October 12, 2004

Life On The Line Part 5

I sat back and surveyed my work. I was satisfied that I could make these Neanderthals understand.

Trashman: "First things, second. I don't work for WBG. I did at one time but then I became his partner. The Saint was never his partner just a part time employee and friend of sorts."
DA: "Then why did he pay for everything on his credit cards?"
Trashman: "That's how he paid us when he lost money to us, usually at black jack. I'm still surprised you were able to get his credit card information. You must have been trying to build a Rico case against us."
Detective 1: "Like you would know anything about a Rico case."
Trashman: "I know you weren't able to build one, that's why you brought me in as a witness on a murder case."
Detective 2: "You want a job when we're through with this crap?"
Trashman (laughing): "Nope. I'm going back into the escort business."
DA: "Can we get back to the case?"
Trashman: "I wasn't muscle for them. I did run off some collectors but that's the extent of it. I wish I had it to do all over again. WBG would be in a wheelchair."
DA: "Why did you separate from him?"
Trashman: "He doesn't know how to treat the girls. They may be pros but they're not slaves. He tried to force them to work and when I stood up for them it wasn't pretty. So we went different directions."
DA: "Weren't you worried about repercussions?"
Trashman: "No, but he was. He went so far as to try and hire some kind of security."
DA: "Is that when he hired the thugs?"
Trashman: "They had already done some work for him. When we went our separate ways, they were in the business competing with him."
DA: "How many agencies are there?"
Trashman: "About 20 just in this area."
Detective 1: "We want to know who is running them."
Trashman: "Ask somebody else."
DA: "Tell us what you know about the thugs."
Trashman: "Thug 1 is smart. Scary smart. Thug 2 is his cousin. He's not so smart but he's dangerous, and I mean really fucking dangerous."
DA: "Do they accept a lot of contracts?"
Trashman: "I don't know if they ever accepted any contract. They didn't get a contract for PRK from WBG."
DA: "Then why did they kill him?"
Trashman: "You're asking the wrong mother fucker. They came to WBG and told him JB was trying to find someone to fuck him up and PRK accepted the contract."
Detective 2: "So WBG took out a contract in retaliation?"
Trashman: "WBG only paid the thugs to beat on PRK a little just like they did to JB."
DA: "Why don't you tell us what happened in the boxing club?"
Trashman: "This has nothing to do with WBG being married to JB's ex. Except maybe in the fact JB wanted her back. The thugs came to WBG and told him JB wanted him dead. WBG paid the thugs to rough up JB a little where we could watch. They did a pretty good number on him, in fact he pissed himself. After they were done WBG gave then another grand to find PRK and do the same thing to him."
DA: "Was The Saint there?"
Trashman: "No, he missed it all because he had to go get a haircut because he was going to his mothers for Easter."
Detective 1: "That gave him a whole week."
Trashman: "No, it gave him a whole day. This happened on Friday and Easter was on Sunday."
Detective 2: "You sure this didn't happen a week before Easter?"
Trashman: "Positive. Why?"
DA: "PRK was shot Saturday a week before Easter."

Finally the last piece of the puzzle. Now I knew what was going on. I was free and clear. I was going to walk out of there with a clear conscience. Just a little more to tell the clowns and I would be on my way. The only thing I would have to worry about was The Thugs.