Sunday, May 29, 2005

All Day And A Night

I know a lot of you think that the name of my blog has something to do with my criminal ways, in actuality it doesn't. It has to do with the life sentence I'm serving right now. You know the one with Jen and the boys. Don't get me wrong, I love my family and always will. It's just that I've always compared a "committed" relationship to a prison sentence. As of today I have served exactly 12 years.

I worked with Jen for about six months before she quit, then I didn't see her for about a year. There was a lot of flirting going on at the office but nothing ever came of it. One day I got a call from an old roommate that was having a Memorial Day barbecue, she wanted to know if I was going to be there. It seems there were a couple of girls that were hoping to get a piece of the Trashman. I assured her I would be there but I really didn't plan on going. Two days before the get together she called to make double sure I was going to be there, once again I lied and said yes. Then she said Jen was going to be there. That's when I decided I would go.

The night of the party Jen finally worked up enough nerve to ask me out. We've been together every since. Except for that brief time I lost my mind and went into the "entertainment business".

So tomorrow I start year 13 of my sentence. The way I figure it I have about 10 years of hard labor left, then T3 moves out (even if he doesn't want to). I'm hoping to have made a few million off of book deals and my presidential campaign by then. I want to buy an RV and travel this great country of ours, and then when I'm done traveling Texas I might visit some other states.

Twelve years served and 10 to go. Freedom is so close. I'm a short timer. I going to put another mark on the wall and go out into the yard. I just hope I don't get shanked.

Friday, May 27, 2005

The Final Truth

Jack walked back to our table, but he kinda limped, twisted, skipped. I guess it was that whole "tucked" thing he had going on. We stayed at the "church" for a while, nobody really said anything, except every now and then Jack would wink at Jay and then lean in his direction and bark like a dog. This usually made Jay cry again.

I believe you should treat the crazy people a little better, but I couldn't stay at that she-male review any longer no matter how much Jack begged, so we headed of to a little bar because Jack wanted to dance. I figured this would be a good time to give Jay a "man lesson", he needed to learn how to lead when dancing instead of following.

I don't know how Jack finds the places he hangs out at when he's in my part of Texas, but we wound up at some little redneck joint called "Giddy-Ups". The place was full of guys in strange manners of dress and undress. There were dudes in chaps (no pants just chaps) and all sorts of leather wear. When we first walked in the place went silent until all at once the entire crowd shouted "Hi Jack". Jack let out a loud "WOOOOOHOOOO" and ran at some Elvis looking dude and jumped into his arms, they spent the next couple of hours tripping the light fantastic. I was really surprised at how well Jack could two step. I found the girliest looking guy in the place and told Jay to dance with him, it cost me $50.00 for the guy to let Jay lead. I spent the next few hours until closing time keeping the wolves at bay. Those dudes seem to like a real man.

At closing time, Jack finally introduced us to Jays replacement. He was some English Elvis impersonator (biggest sideburns I've ever seen). Jack asked if Jay and I would ride in the back of the drug hoopty so he and Basil could be alone. No problem. All the way back to my house I explained some of the finer points of manhood to Jay. I even gave him the name of a website to help him out. I think I really helped Jay, he seems to be butching up a little. I wish I could help Jack, but the doctors say there's no hope.

When we got back to my house the sun was coming up, Jack and Basil kicked Rambo out of his dog house and crawled inside. I heard some really disgusting sounds coming from it for the rest of the day. I gave Jay a ride to the bus station and bought his broke ass a ticket back to Houston, I told him if he needed anymore advice just e-mail me, boy was that a mistake. Now I spend half my day answering his "what would a real man do" questions. Who knows maybe someday he'll become a man and find a real Jasmine, instead of having to make her up.

Jack and Basil finally left two days later. I burned Rambos house.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005


After discussing things with my therapist and lawyer, I was given the go ahead with the true story of Jays visit.

Jack jumped on Jay, snarling at me like a rabid dog. He ran his tongue up the side of Jays face without taking his eyes off of me, the whole time he was humping Jays leg, screaming "Daddy loves you, daddy loves you." Jay was bawling like a school girl, swearing to God he would never wear mascara again, just make the bad man stop. About that time, Jen came around the corner of the house with a water hose and sprayed Jack down, he ran up on my porch and curled up in the corner, whimpering like a scolded pup. I knew what I had to do.

Trashman: "Jack, did you skip your meds again?"
Jack: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I thought I was better."
Trashman: "You know your only better when you take your pills."
Jack: "I know. I'll take them now."
Trashman: "Jay, get up of my lawn and stop crying. You're starting to attract attention."
Jay: "OK. Do I have to call you daddy too?"

Let me tell you, they're both a little twisted. I suggested a trip to the tent revival. I knew the only way to keep Jacks attention off of Jay was to redirect it and Jay could use a little butching up. We all climbed into Jacks drug hoopty with Jay in the middle (I don't ride bitch and Jack wanted to rest his hand on Jays thigh). For some reason Jack drove right past the tent revival and pulled into another "church".

Trashman: "What is this place?"
Jack: "New church. I thought we would try something new in honor of my new best girl. Plus there's a redhead here I nailed last year. She's got a dudes name but man is she hot."
Trashman: "Jack. Jay is a guy. Regardless of how much make up he wears, he's still a guy."
Jack: "You see a guy. I see the next Mrs. Jack."

There was that horrendous laugh again, which of course started Jay crying. We walked into the club and we sat down and ordered beers except for Jay, he ordered a Cosmopolitan (whatever that is). Jack stood up and excused himself, he said something about "going to tuck it in". I looked at Jay. Yep, he was scared.

Trashman: "Don't worry, he'll forget about you soon enough."
Jay: "But what if he doesn't? He can use his connections to find me."
Trashman: "He's not really a cop. His doctor just suggested we go along with his fantasy, it makes him less dangerous."
Jay: "He's not a cop? Then what does he do?"
Trashman: "He's a cab driver. The fumes from a leaky exhaust burned up part of his frontal lobe, years ago."
Jay: "Well since we're telling the truth, I'm not really a financial whiz, unless you count trading in aluminum cans as part of banking."

This didn't surprise me. Jay was kind of ratty looking in clothes that were a few years old, but he did a great job with the makeup.

Trashman: "So why do you wear all the makeup?"
Jay: "When I was a little boy, I was kind of a sissy. I guess I still am. Anyway the boys wouldn't let me play so I played dress up with the girls. I even had long hair for years. I just got used to it."
Trashman: "Maybe Jack would leave you alone if you didn't look so much like a girl."
Jay: "Can you show me how to look and act like a real man?"
Trashman: "I guess, but not right now, here comes Jack.

Monday, May 23, 2005

Jays Weekend In HELL (The Truth)

I was sitting with my boys this Saturday morning, listening to them take turns reading from the Bible. Jen was knitting or crocheting or cooking or doing some womanly thing, when the phone rang. It was Jack. He told me he was coming to visit, it seems it was time for another trip to the tent revival. He informed me he was bringing his new "girlfriend" (as long as he left that cock-eared dog at home I was cool with him bringing a woman). When I managed to get him to shut up so I could hang up the phone, I turned to my beautiful family and said "RED ALERT".

Jen went into high security mode and started hiding all her under garments (Jack likes to wear them when he comes to visit). Suddenly my boys started crying, when I asked them what was wrong, they told me "Uncle Jack tickles us too much and when he stares at us it makes us feel all dirty." This was news to me, no wonder he always wants to baby-sit. I sent the boys to stay with a friend and helped Jen finish hiding her unmentionables. After which I ran to the store and stocked up on bleach and alcohol (the rubbing kind) because I knew the house would need a thorough cleansing after Jack and whatever skank he showed up with, left.

A few hours later I was sitting on my porch watching over my neighborhood and solving the neighbors problems (cause I know everything), when Jacks drug hoopty came rolling into my driveway. I could only see him in the car so I walked out to ask the whereabouts of his new Ho. I stepped up to the drivers side window and saw a mass of dark hair buried face down in his lap, Jack was grinning like an idiot. He grabbed "her" by the back of the head and sat her up, she was unconscious and had a big gob of drool running down her chin. She was the ugliest woman I've ever seen. In fact I said to Jack;

Trashman: "That's the ugliest woman I've ever seen."
Jack: "No way man, she's purty."
Trashman: "Dude, there's a big gob of drool on your crotch."
Jack: "That's OK, I'm used to stains on my crotch."
Trashman: "She's kind of flat chested."
Jack: "A little sucking will puff those right up."

Jack burst into laughter. He really cracks himself up sometimes.

Trashman: "What took you so long?"
Jack: "She excited me so much that I had to pull the old "green tea" trick so I could keep pulling over to touch myself. At least until the Roofies kicked in."
Trashman: "You know someday you're going to have to stop touching yourself."
Jack: "Why? Nobody touches Jack, like Jack touches Jack."

Once again the laughter. His laugh and his sense of humor goes along ways to explain his celibacy. Not to mention his afore mentioned love of women's undergarments.

At this point I leaned over into the car to get a better look at "Sleeping Ugly". It took a few minutes but I finally figured out who I was looking at. I knew there would be trouble.

Trashman: "Uh, Jack. You have a little problem here."
Jack: "Oh shit. Is she waking up?"
Trashman: "It's worse than that. SHE is not a she. She is Jay."
Jack: "No way dude. That's not Jay. I'm going to marry her."
Trashman: "Dude. You can't marry "her" that sort of thing is illegal in Texas."
Jack: "You're just jealous. Just like that time in Juarez."
Trashman: "Well, just like that time in Juarez. I'm not jealous and that ain't a woman."

This is when Jay regained consciousness, he started screaming like a twelve year old girl at an Aaron Carter concert. The door on Jacks drug hoopty flew open, then it fell off into my yard, Jay came crawling out of the car screaming my name. He had a pen and paper in his hand and was begging for my autograph. I took the paper and was going to sign my name when I saw the writing. The paper had the words HELP ME written on it. I looked at Jay, he seemed frightened. I looked at Jack and he went ape shit.

Jay(crying): "Please make him stop. Help me. Please help me."

When I stop and think about what happened next it makes my skin crawl. I should really discuss this with my therapist and lawyer before I proceed.

Monday, May 16, 2005


Well I promised more opinion pieces, so here goes. This is really more of a rant than an opinion. First a little background. Recently I was diagnosed with diabetes. I have it so bad they couldn't even get a reading. Since then I have been through a barrage of test, up to and including 2 EKG's (I look like I have mange due to them shaving patches on my chest). Of course they think they saw some old "damage" to my heart, so I was sent to a specialist. I also have to see another specialist for my eyes, since diabetics go blind sometimes. On top of that I had to collect my urine for 24 hours (kept in the fridge), so they could check and see if I had any liver damage. I did have some fun with that one. I had an extra urine bottle, that I poured beer in. This weekend the boys had a bunch of friends over that were warned not to drink from the big orange bottle because it was full of piss. You should have seen their faces when I poured a glass full, announcing that "I want to know what it tastes like." I drank it and they freaked. Seven pre-teen boys that will do anything to gross each other out, and I had them dry-heaving. I am the king.

Back to my original post. I have to take three kinds of pills for the diabetes. Cost: $70.00 a month. This is only because I am insured, otherwise it would be much more. I have to see my doctor at least twice a month. Cost: $20.00 each visit. Once again thank God for insurance. The heart specialist is $40.00 each visit. The next one is in June. I go for a stress test. There might be some "old damage", if there is, it's nothing to worry about, it's minor and they can always give me more pills.
First. If it's minor and nothing to worry about, why am I taking a fucking test?
Second. More pills? I don't fucking think so.
Third. A stress test? I don't need it, the fucking doctors are stressing me out, therefore I passed.
Fourth. My blood pressure is GREAT and my cholesterol is low, the doctor said my heart is really healthy for a fat smoker, in fact he said most athletes don't have a heart as strong as mine (this is of course because I don't use it much). We should be done with him, right?
Fifth. Since my heart is so fucking strong, once again, why the test?

Let's recap. So far my regular doctor is costing me at least $110.00 a month. The heart specialist is going to hit me for at least $80.00. God knows what the eye doctor is going to fuck me out of.

My urine test numbers came back today and they are great, so I don't have to store piss in the fridge for another year. My heart is strong, test or no test. I take more pills than most geriatrics. But I don't know if I'm going blind or not (my vision is 20/20).

I can tell you now, it's not the diabetes that's going to kill me or the ticker going bad either. It's these fucking quack doctors passing me around like a $2.00 whore on Saturday night. That's what's going to kill me. Everyone of them has a hand in my fucking pockets, yet none of them will at least give me a fucking hand job. They all want to fuck me, but no kiss. Now I know why insurance costs are so fucking high. Between the doctors and the pharmaceutical companies, the average American gets raped every day and the insurance companies have to pick up a lot of the tab, which of course they pass on to the insured. So between the three evil entity's (doctors, pharmacies and insurance) they have devised a way to get every penny they can and then some, from us. It's a god damned conspiracy, all three of them are in it for the money and don't give me that shit about doctors wanting to do it to help their fellow man. BULLSHIT, if you were, then you would be in a foreign country working for rent on a little grass hut, or at least in Alabama working for chickens.

As your next president, I can promise you one thing. I WILL put a stop to the daily rape and torture of the American public, that comes from the evil three. I don't know how yet (I'm leaning towards a form of socialized medicine). I don't want to hear your arguments against it either. Everyday we give free healthcare to illegal aliens. That's right, I said illegal aliens not "undocumented aliens", they're here illegally. Fuck that "undocumented bullshit". Why can't we take care of our citizens, both native and naturalized. Some of us were born here and others went through the proper channels to become citizens, but God forbid we take care of our own. No, all you have to do is come into this country illegally in the middle of the night or even in broad daylight and you get free fucking healthcare. FUCK that noise. But that's a different post for a different day. Bottom line is I'm sick of it and I ain't going to take it anymore.

I always said "If you don't know you have it, then it can't kill you." The proof in this statement is, I was fine until Jen insisted I go for a check-up. I blame her for the check-up and I blame Coca-Cola for the diabetes (secret formula has addictive properties). I blame the doctors for all the bullshit I'm going through now. I blame our government for the cost of healthcare being out of control. I blame Bluebell for making their ice cream taste so good. Me? I take no blame, I'm just an innocent pawn in the giant chess game known as life.

By the way, anyone know any good wood carvers? I heard sometimes diabetics lose legs because they won't heal properly. I've got a little scratch on my left leg and I thought a nice pirates peg with a skull carved at the top would be pretty cool.

Friday, May 13, 2005


OK. To all of you complaining about my love for my mother (I think she deserves a whole week, not just a day), I am going to post early, due to the pressure you have put on me. All kidding aside, I have taken this week to reflect on my blog and the direction it has taken.

I originally started this blog because Jack insisted (blame him, not me). I've lead a pretty interesting life and have shared some of my stories with Jack, he thought I should share them with the rest of the world. Since I've began this blog, I've gotten to "know" some of y'all pretty well. I have had numerous phone conversations with several of you and have exchanged e-mail with I don't know how many. I consider a lot of y'all friends, even though I've never met any of you. Not for lack of wanting to mind you, it's just life seems to get in the way of things, sometimes.

The problem is my blog has gone in a different direction than I wanted it to. In the beginning, I threatened to share my many opinions with you. I've only shared a few. It seems I have let myself become concerned with other peoples feelings and the fear of losing my readership. Some might call that growing and maturing, but since I suffer from arrested development (I'm still mentally 16) I know that can't be right. I know it's pure greed and conceit. I want to keep all my readers, every last one of them, because when y'all read my drivel, I KNOW I'm great. I'm a FUCKING ROCKSTAR. I feel, however that I am losing my Rockstar good looks and fading into a washed-up-has-been, because I have censored myself. My blog has gone from tales of my glorious past to stories of my mundane present. I've switched from pimping to parenting. That sucks.

My stories used to involve gangsters, thugs, and cops. Oh my. Now my stories are about my mom who has cancer (she does, she doesn't, she does, she doesn't), could somebody please make up their fucking mind. Guess what, lots of people have cancer. What makes my moms story any different from anybody else's? I'll tell you what. Nothing. Not. A. Damn. Thing. I've told you the story about Trash Jr's miracle birth. That was closely followed by the seemingly never ending saga of Jen's miscarriage. I told you about Trash Jr. getting assaulted with a spray bottle while at school. I could go on and on, but I won't. Inanna's dad is likely in worse shape than my mom and Savanna has it worse than any of us. This are people that really need your hopes and prayers. Not me, I just need your laughter and praise. I'm not trying to trivialize other peoples hardships. I just don't think I need to add mine to the pile.

This is the way I see it. We're all broke. We all have illness in our families. Everybody but me is depressed. If it weren't for bad luck none of us would have any luck at all, etc. etc. etc. I want to take my blog back to it's original destination. I want to tell you about my wild times not my mild times. That's why I'm making some changes around here.

In the future I'm going to try and stick to the fun stuff, the gritty beginnings of the Rockstar you have to grown to love. The Trashman. That's right, I'm going on a world wide comeback tour. I won't be doing any of your old favorites, but I will be doing new and original stuff. Stuff guaranteed to piss you off and make you laugh. If you like it, great; if you don't, great. I don't care (just between you and me, I really do care but don't tell anybody else).

The problem is, my stories are limited to a few hundred. So when I run out of them, I'll either have to retire or start making shit up. Retiring is out of the question, because I need the attention, so I guess I'll just have to make shit up. Don't worry, you'll never know when I start lying. That's one of the things I inherited from my dad.

From time to time I might sneak in a story about the family, but I won't get to carried away. Nope from now on it's going to be fun, fun, fun and danger, lots of danger, oh and sex, drugs, and rock & roll.

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Jack, are you cop enough to come and get this one? I didn't think so. If you do come after me, Rambo will be waiting for you.

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Saturday, May 07, 2005

Mudder's Day

My mom raised four boys. She had help fucking up the first two. My dad was only around for four years, from the time I was eight to the time I was twelve. So she managed to keep one of us from getting fucked up (me). So I guess one out of four ain't bad. I wanted to write a poem for her but my creative juices ain't flowing right now. This little bio will have to do.

Mom was born 78 years ago in Texas. She grew up one of six children. My grandpa and grandma picked cotton, so the more kids they had, the more cotton the family could pick, the more money they could make, the more grandpa could drink. She left home at 16 with a seventh grade education, she came back a month later. She eventually married and had my brothers, by then she was a southern socialite. She owned both of the grocery stores in town. She lost it all in the divorce.

She was raising my brother and me by herself. My real dad showed up when I was eight and split again when I was twelve (she shot him in the head, he figured the gettin' was good). Now she was raising two teenage boys by herself. She moved us to a different part of Texas, so we could have a fresh start in life. Most of those four years she was with my dad are a blur. I guess people do really try to forget the bad times. Don't get me wrong, I could write a book about the hell he put us through, but sometimes things come back that are even worse than the things I remember. Through it all my mom managed to show us as much love and caring as she could muster. Which was no easy task since she grew up in a loveless family. To grandpa and grandma she was just another cotton picker.

No matter what the situation was, my mom made sure we had the basics plus a little more. She worked two full time jobs and raised us. Sure there were times when I cooked my own meals and did my own laundry (everyday), but she made sure I knew right from wrong and that I knew what respect was. She made sure I went to school and got my education, at least until my senior year when I was given the choice of being kicked out or quitting. I was a little rebellious. Through all the hell I put her through she stuck by me no matter what.

Mom taught me independence, she made sure that I had the confidence to make it in this world. She taught me to do the right thing. She taught me to stand up for what you believe in, no matter how unpopular your beliefs. She taught me to stick to your guns and your story. She always said "Don't admit nothing, cause I ain't bailing your ass out of jail." She always patched my wounds, no questions asked, even when she should have been asking if anybody was killed. She taught me not to drink warm water and baking soda the very first time you get drunk. She taught me the very first time you get drunk, that it's possible for you mom to crack you in the face with a rodeo belt buckle hard enough to leave an imprint, but you still won't feel it until the next day. She taught me how to two-step. She taught me how to hunt and fish. She taught me how to skin a rabbit and clean a fish. She taught me a lot of things that should have been taught by my father. She gave me, my chauvinistic ways. This list could go on and on. My mom is an amazing woman.

The most important thing my mom taught me is, "a mothers love is unconditional".

Even though she'll never read this. I just want to say "Mom I love you. Happy Mothers Day."

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Thursday, May 05, 2005

Cosmo Ain't Got Shit On Me

In my WWTD post, Cooter and Tammy had some questions about men, romance and that sort of thing. Well I've decided I'm going to let you ladies out there in on a few things. I'm going to tell you what men really do and don't want from a woman. Forget all the chick flicks, they were written by women or men that wished they were women. The movies give you false ideas about men, they make you think that's how relationships are supposed to work. If y'all were in charge of the world, I imagine that's how things would go, but you're not. So, I'm going to tell you how it really is. If you listen to me, you might actually come close to one of those "perfect" movie romances.

First let us discuss "Mr. Perfect". He doesn't exist. Well as far as your concerned he doesn't, he may be perfect in his own eyes, but he's not perfect in yours. Don't let him know that. Always and I mean always, look at him like he is. You may even eventually start to believe it yourself.

Second. Believe it or not, we do like an independent woman. We just don't want to hear about it. We want to feel needed. We need to feel needed. We want to be the guy you turn to when you need something moved, carried, opened or killed. When we're around be semi-helpless.

Third. It's OK to ask us out. We're in the 21st century for God's sake. We can accept some liberation. We're less likely to turn you down than you are to turn us down. It makes us feel desirable.

Fourth. Don't nag. Sometimes we are going to leave you at home, when we go out with the guys. Get used to it. If you complain, it's just going to make everything tense when we get home at 2:00am. You need the beauty sleep, we'll talk about it in the morning. Hopefully, by then you'll have forgotten the whole thing.

Fifth. Actually this should have been first. Sex. We will die without it. It's true. A man that has frequent orgasms is less likely to develop prostate cancer. So if you really did love us, you would save our lives by giving up a little more poonanny. I think five times a week is a good round number. Also feel free to be sexually aggressive. I don't mean whips and chains either, just make the first move once and a while. It makes us feel desirable.

Sixth. Don't nag. There's that damned deja vu all over again. When you start in on us, our senses automatically shut down, yet we can repeat your last 20 words, verbatim. While repeating your last 20 words we will figure out what you were talking about and have an answer for you.

Seventh. Jealousy. A little is OK, a lot is not. If you see us staring at some sexpot on TV, don't get your panties in a bunch. We'll never meet her and if we do, we don't stand a chance. Jen is the only one that needs to worry. I can have any woman I want.

Eighth. Take care of yourself. No matter how fat and out of shape we get, you need to look good. Now I know the years puts a few pounds on everybody and I'm not talking about weight. I'm talking about make-up, hair, fashionable clothes and what ever else it is you ladies require. When we go out, other girls need to look at you, then us, and question what the hell is so special about us, that you still take the time to make yourself up.

Ninth. Attention. We need lots of it, when we want it and none when we don't. It's up to you to know when.

Tenth. The male ego. Treat it like a dick, stroke it once and a while. It's a big circle, the better you make us feel, the better we'll make you feel.

Eleventh. Hints. We don't do hints. If you want something from us "Spit it out woman."

Twelfth. Dinner. It needs to be warm and on the table when we come through the door. If for some reason it's not, our attention can be diverted by a little "afternoon delight".

Thirteenth. You will never be as good a cook as our moms. Except my mom, everybody is a better cook than my mom.

Fourteenth. Don't be a bitch. Don't say you're proud to be a bitch. Forget the word bitch. Men don't like bitches.

Fifteenth. The penis. It's as fragile as our egos. Most of us saw our dads willys when we were very young. It looked huge compared to ours. That is stuck in our minds. It's never big enough. So lie to us once and a while. I suggest: "OH my God, you'll kill me with that thing. I never knew they could be so big."

Sixteenth. Don't insult us in front of our friends. If you do the relationship is going to eventually end.

Seventeenth. The remote control. It's ours.

Eighteenth. Don't ask us to watch some panty waisted show with you. We don't expect you to watch the lumberjack competition with us.

Nineteenth. We don't want to hear about your ex. We don't even want to know you have an ex. We like to believe we were the first.

Twentieth. Tell us when the oil light come on in the car. Don't wait a week and tell us when the engine starts making a very loud knocking noise.

Twenty-first. Treat us like kings and we'll treat you like goddesses.

I'm not saying you ladies should let a man get away with a bunch of shit. If he starts in with the shit, dump him. If he's an asshole, dump him. All I'm saying is if you'll make us feel special, we in turn, will treat you right.

Oh and give those nice guys a chance. I used to be one of them.

Monday, May 02, 2005


First let me say to the whiners. I never said when I would answer, I only said I would answer. Which I am doing now. Some of these answers will be serious and some will be funny. They will all however, be what I would do. Please don't take offense and in some cases you may not want to follow my advice. I am only telling you what I would do, not what you should do.

Let's get started.

Jack wanted to know why I'm so sexy. It's a combination of factors, genetics and he's a flaming mo.

Jeanette wanted to know what I would do about a stalker. Nothing. When you try to stop them, they cook your rabbit.

Inanna wanted to know how I go about making tough decisions that would affect many people. I weigh out the consequences to every scenario then I pick the one that would benefit ME the most.

Nightmare wants to know where his socks are. Look on your feet or in the second drawer from the top.

Cooter wants too know why no one ever asks her out. It's because you intimidate men. Ask them out instead, it is the 21st century after all.

Tammy wants to know what men like as far as romance. What the fuck is romance? We just want to be attacked when we walk through the door.

Brighton needs to get revenge on Mrs. Cuntface. Buy an untraceable trac phone. Then call every plumber, general contractor, electrician, etc. in the phone book. Schedule them all for repair bids at the same time. When they all show up call the police to report a riot across the street. Also call the local TV station and tell them at that exact hour there will be a huge drug bust.

Micki. Honesty is the best policy. I wouldn't hold anything back from any of them.

Aurelia has some issues. Ditch the car in a bad part of town call it in stolen the day before your parents return. Deny everything and don't change your story no matter what.

tCj needs help with her boyfriend. I would replace him, guys are a dime a dozen. You're too young to limit yourself. Live life, it's too short for all that drama.

Jethro wants to know how to make G.W. care about our borders. Wait three years and I'll seal them up.

Franks & Beans wants to tell his man friend to back off without losing that loving feeling. F&B just confess your love for Jack and get it over with.

No Man Love is delusional. Seek professional help.

April wants a hypothetical way to earn lots of money fast. Prostitution.

Veronica wants to know if she should remain anonymous. I believe in telling it all like it is. My real name is Trashman.

Kate the Peon is unsure about some guy. You can't win if you don't roll the dice. Sometimes you crap out and sometimes you roll a seven. But there is always another game around the corner.

Nerwen has problems with her boyfriends ex. Take her to lunch and explain in no uncertain terms it would be very unhealthy for her to ever speak to him again.

RedFred wants to know what I would do if I caught my 17 year old daughters boyfriend sneaking through the window in the middle of the night. I would slam the window on the little fuckers head. Repeatedly.