Friday, June 24, 2005

Broke Ass

I don't really know where to begin, so I'll start in the middle. My ass is broke; physically, financially, and emotionally broke and I've got the crack to prove it. My ass is split right down the middle. I'm so broke I can't afford to pay attention. I'm so broke I can't afford to change my mind. I'm so broke I might have to give up this free blog. I feel too shitty to work, thanks to the medications I'm taking. That covers the financial part.

I'm broke physically also. My knees hurt. I have tennis elbow. My back and neck are strained. Plus numerous other aches and pains due to working out in the pool two hours a day. I'm trying to lose weight and get my blood sugar down so I can get off the meds.

I'm broke emotionally because of the physical and money worries. All day long I wonder how I'm going to pay the bills. It's taking a toll on me.

But not to worry. I think I have devised a way out of the money problems, which in case will cure the emotional problems. The physical problems will work themselves out eventually.

Here's my plan. You're going to buy earrings from me. Not just ordinary earrings. Magic earrings. What makes these magic earrings you say. I say if you buy my magic earrings my money problems will disappear. Sounds like magic to me.

These are unique, special, magic earrings. Unique in the fact they are hand made by me and I've never seen anything else like them. Special in the fact that Jack supplied the materials (so I know you ladies will defiantly want these). Magic in the fact..... well we already covered that.

Here's what they look like.

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Fired by Jack himself. Only $10.00 a pair with free shipping. What? You want more. I will also include a certificate of authenticity (A note saying Jack shot them and I made them). Now you may be thinking "Why do I care if Trashman can't pay his bills?" To this I say, if you don't do it for me and the kids, then do it for Rambo. You remember Rambo, don't you?

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Well if I don't sell these earrings then I have to sell Rambo to Maybelline for animal cosmetic testing. Save him from this fate.

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He'll forever be in your debt.

If this doesn't work, then I'm going to do a win a date with Jack raffle (save up your money ladies, I think Jay is going to try and win that one). Also don't tell Jack, he doesn't know yet.

This is a serious post, so if you want the earrings just e-mail me at I'll be adding a PayPal button to my blog later tonight, just as soon as I figure out how that works. I will also discount multiple sets.

Dont forget July 17th is Trash Day. Be sure to mark it on your calendars. Cards and gifts are expected and will be accepted.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Comic Relief

Jack called me Sunday afternoon to remind me that I wasn't supposed to write things like my last post, he informed me that I was supposed to be comic relief for all you depressed people out there. He's right, so here goes nothing.

Sunday night Jen and I were watching television when a commercial for "The Dead Zone" came on.

Jen: "What's The Dead Zone?"
Trashman: "It's a place in my pants."
Jen: "I don't get it."
Trashman: "Neither do I, that's why there's a place in my pants called The Dead Zone."

Something else happened Sunday night. Something monumental, something really big, a mile post in the lives of my boys, a very proud moment for me.

I heard laughter coming from their bedroom, which was unusual since they are usually fighting. I decided to investigate. What I found was amazing. My boys were getting $100.00 lap dances. That's right my boys have gotten their first lap dances. I'm so proud.

Don't get me wrong, they didn't manage to sneak strippers into the house (not even I have figured out how to do that). They were playing Grand Theft Auto San Andreas. It seems that you can enter a strip cub, much like in Grand Theft Auto Vice City. The difference is, in San Andreas you can actually get a lap dance. My boys found The VIP Room and instead of being on the streets killing and robbing, they were getting lap dances. Maybe they're not the violent little monsters I thought they were.

While I was explaining that it was not really appropriate for them to be playing a game that shows cartoon characters dancing for cartoon money, so she can support her cartoon baby or her cartoon drug habit or her no account cartoon boyfriend, not to mention that is was degrading to female cartoon characters everywhere, plus the fact that they weren't really old enough to be doing this sort of thing, my oldest looked up at me:

Trash Jr: "So, you want a lap dance dad?"
Trashman: "Give me the controller and move over."

My boys gave me several thousands of dollars worth of lap dances for fathers day. I'm partial to the blond in the school girl outfit.

NOTE: July 17th is Trash Day. Be sure to mark it on your calendars. Cards and gifts are expected and will be accepted.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Dear Dad

It's been almost 12 years since you died. I remember getting the phone call. I took 30 minutes off of work to mourn your passing. I remember feeling sad, not for you being gone but for never getting to tell you a few things. So I'll say them now.

Thank you for teaching me how important your children are. Oops. You didn't teach me that, you never missed a chance to tell me what a no good, useless, son-of-a-bitch I was.

Thank you for teaching me violence was never the answer. Damn. That wasn't you either. You made me fight my twin brother while you held a 2X4, threatening to beat us if we stopped. You were serious.

Thank you for teaching me how important friends are. Wrong again. You cheated your friends out of their paychecks every Friday, in a crooked Craps game.

Thank you for teaching me to never hit a woman. Once again, not you. You beat my mother on a regular basis.

Thank you for teaching me not to cheat. Fuck, wrong again. You cheated on my mom with your best friends wife.

Thank you for teaching me not to steal. Nope. I remember you getting arrested on a regular basis for car theft, somehow the charges never stuck.

Thank you for teaching me that alcohol was never the way to go. Am I ever going to get this right? You drank from sun-up to sun-down.

Thank you for teaching me that hard work was the way to get the things that you want. Uh-oh. You killed your best friend so you could have his wife and both of his bars.

Thank you for teaching me to stand up for what I believe is right. That wasn't you. You beat and kicked me until I was damn near crippled because I wouldn't tell my mom I was lying about the red head that came to visit while she was at work.

Thank you for being a loving and supportive parent. Definitely not you. If you weren't talking to me like I was a piece of shit or beating me, then you acted like I didn't exist.

Thank you for teaching me to take responsibility for my actions. Wait, that wasn't you. You ran out on every woman and child you ever had.

They say that a man that hits women are cowards, I don't think this is true. You hit every woman you were ever with, but you weren't afraid of a damn thing. I think you were just mean. You had no problem hitting man, woman, or child.

You fathered 11 children that I'm aware of, I'm sure there were many more. That's 11 lives you had a negative impact on. Eleven fully fucked up individuals, I hope your proud of yourself. I know you gave us a lot to be proud of. Out of the 11 kids I know of, you fucked up my twin brother the most. All he ever wanted was your love and you hated him for it, and it showed.

You didn't love any of us but at least, I had your respect, even if it meant getting beat until I was almost dead. I was 10 years old and you beat and kicked me until you were too tired to move, but I stuck to the truth. You still didn't love me, but I made you respect me.

I look back at this list and I realize you may have taught me some things after all. Regardless of what you may or may not have taught me, you're still my father.

So for me, Gary, Bill, James, Marshall, Steve, Diane, Norma, Sharon, Patricia, and your son I never met. Happy Fathers Day. I hope you're burning in hell.

Saturday, June 04, 2005

Saint Jen

Tonight, Jen made fettucini with meat sauce for dinner. Just as she was about to put the noodles in the water she looked at me and asked:

Jen: "You want the noodles broke in half or not?"
Trashman: "I don't care, just fix my damn dinner."
Jen: "On, Queer Eye On The Straight Guy, they say to not break the noodles."
Trashman: "Then don't break them, those homos know what they're doing."

After she served dinner, she went about the task of trying to teach my oldest to not eat like an animal. Just as soon as she turned her back he grabbed his fork like a shovel and curled his left arm around his plate, then proceeded to shovel noodles into his mouth. She turned around, saw him and screamed:

Jen: "What the hell are you doing?"
Trash Jr: "This is how they do it in prison, I'm just getting ready."