Sunday, December 31, 2006

Keeping A Promise

I've been gone for awhile in case some of you haven't noticed. I've had a lot going on and it's hard to get into the blogging mood sometimes. On top of that I've been feeling censored. I have become friendly with a lot of ya'll and I catch myself avoiding some post for fear of insulting or up setting some of ya'll. I can't work this way. So fuck it. From now on I'm just going to say what I say. If feelings get hurt, I can't help it. Feel free to voice your displeasure with me in the comments section. Please do me a favor. If you're going to bad mouth me that's OK, but leave your blog address so I can stop by and see how perfect people blog. I promise I will not retaliate, it's just that I would like to see who's throwing rocks at my glass house.

Mike mentioned something in a comment on my last post about a middle-aged white slave ring and the fact that Jack and I were both missing. Seems to me that Mike has a lot of info. Info that only someone involved in the slavery of white middle-aged men, would have.

And since ya'll are a bunch of curious fuckers, I'll tell you what happened.

Me and Jack were coming out of a bar late one night, one minute everything was normal (Jack was leaning on me crying and telling me how much he loved me) the next minute I felt a sharp pain on the back of my head. I saw Jack drop to the ground and I started to turn and I heard someone say "Hit him again." BOOM another hit to the head. Then another and another and another. Eventually I passed out.

I woke up tied to a chair with a ball gag in my mouth. Jack was trussed up in a similar fashion next to me. Looking around I could see some weird mother fucker in a leather outfit with matching mask chained to the ceiling behind me. Jack woke up about that time and started trying to free himself. After he got tired of that he looked a t me with a tear in his eye and started to speak around the ball gag. He did good to, so I'm not sure it was the first time he talked while wearing one of those.

Jack: "Ash"
Trash: "Eah ack."
Jack: "Oois ee onin."
Trash: "Aneein."
Jack: "Ii oo et ree oo ont ell ee orl."
Trash: "aa oo rayy."
Jack: "Usss oooo iii."
Trash: "OA OA OA."

Now for the illiterate out there I will translate. You have to understand, somethings I did not understand myself. I will make those parts bold.

Jack: "Trash"
Trash: "Yeah Jack."
Jack: "Promise me something."
Trash: "Anything."
Jack: "If you get free oo ont tell the world."
Trash: "Are you crazy?."
Jack: "Just do it."
Trash: "OK OK OK."

I know it seems crazy but that was our last conversation. The next thing I know two redneck fuckers came barreling though the door. They called each other Life and Death. They said we were in a Life and Death situation and laughed like inbreeds. One of them said something about corn hole and the skinny one. They snagged up Jack and took him in the next room. I could see them bend him over and one of the rednecks dropped his pants, the other redneck closed the door. I panicked. I managed to get free from the chair and the leather clad freak started to jump around so I hit him in the head with the chair.

I found the stairs leading out of the basement of hell and when I got to the top I realized that we were being held captive under a pawn shop. I saw a baseball bat and grabbed it. Then I saw a chainsaw and dropped the bat. The chainsaw started on the first pull. Then I saw a samurai sword. I dropped the chainsaw and grabbed the sword. The next thing I saw was an exit sign over a door. I dropped the sword and ran out the door. I ran and ran and ran some more.

When I finally got home I loaded my gun and backed my ass into a corner. I didn't move for days. I didn't sleep for days. All I could think about was the promise I made to Jack. TELL THE WORLD. So that's what I'm doing. I haven't heard from Jack, so as far as I know he's still being corn-holed by Life.

Oh and Happy New Year. I hope your new one was better than my old one.

Side note: It's official; Texas Stadium, home of The Cowboys will now be known as Brokeback Stadium, because the Cowboys play football like a bunch of queers. I'd quit them if I could.

Monday, October 30, 2006

Annie's Road

Halloween. There's a word you don't read very often, especially around here. The bible thumpers control everything so we have fall festivals. I don't like fall festivals. I like Halloween.

Are you ready for another spooky story from Uncle Trashman? OK, grab your favorite safety blanket and get ready.

I have been involved in two murder investigations. I've driven 150+ miles per hour. I've been with the same woman for 13 years. I have two children. I have fought the devil (literally). I have walked the basements and corridors of empty nut houses (alone). I've swam the waters of Camp Crystal Lake at night (if you saw the piece of ass waiting for me on the float, you would understand). I've seen the dead walk. I've almost shot myself. I've fought a bear. I've risked life and limb on more than one occasion . I even got a little sumpin sumpin on top of a grave once. But I believe the most scared I've ever been is on Annie's Road.

Late one night I left the house to fetch some diapers or some such shit from the nearest grocery store. The quickest way there was down what's known as Annie's road. It's a dark road that runs between a river and a graveyard most of the way until you make a hard right then you have the river on your left and a hill that goes straight up on your right. This particular night there was a lot of fog on the river, the mist crossed the road into the graveyard. Now I've never bought into spook stories and I had been up and down this road a million times, so I was scootin right along cutting through the fog at a reasonable speed (I was flying). I came around the sharp right and smack dab in the middle of the road was a chick in a white dress. She had her back to me and was standing there not moving. The dress was blowing around but the fog was still which meant, no wind. It was weird. I had heard the stories of Annie before, I had even lived straight across the river from that exact spot, but Like I said I didn't buy into all that ghost shit. But flying down the road, headed right at this crazy bitch standing on the center stripe, all the stories suddenly came back to me. It was Annie and I was fucking positive of that.

I never took my foot of the gas, in fact I believe I stuck my foot in the carburetor. I passed her and never looked back. I never even checked my mirrors cause I knew if I did I would see this.
Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting
I didn't think My feeble little mind could take that sort of image. Plus I was pretty sure she was sitting in my backseat anyway. I got to the store and bought whatever it was I was supposed to buy, and headed home, the LONG way. When I got home Jen looked at me and said "What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost." I answered "I'm pretty sure I just did." Sorry no funny punch line. No fancy ending. Just a story. A story that made me rethink a lot of my beliefs. Don't forget to click the links.

Next time I'll write about what's wrong with women.

Monday, October 16, 2006


First they took away "Without A Trace" then next on the list was "Dexter". Now they have taken away "Monday Night Football". I know you're sitting there thinking that I've lost my mind, that those shows are still on TV. Well it's not my mind that I've lost, it's my patience with the "white guilt ridden, liberal, panty waisted, pussified, cocksuckers" that run Hollywood and the media.

The powers that be have deemed it necessary to ruin three of my favorite shows. For some reason they are trying to force us to learn spanish. A few months ago "Without A Trace" had a scene where the Puerto Rican guy walked past the Puerto Rican girl and they had an entire conversation in spanish. No subtitles, no explanation, no nothing. So it went on my list of never watch again. Then "Dexter" went and did the same thing. Tonight on "Monday Night Football" they ran a commercial in spanish, at least they had subtitles. They still went on my list of never watch again.

Last time I checked football was an American sport. In America we speak American, so it's only natural that the commercials are in American. Plus I think in America we pretty much have a lock on the serial killers , so "Dexter" should be in American also. Every word of it. Last but not least "Without A Trace" is about the FB-fucking-I, which I KNOW is an American institution. So why would it be in spanish?

The bean eaters have their own channels. If they want to watch these shows they can either learn American or if they can write, they can send a letter to their local spanish stations requesting the programs in spanish. I shouldn't be forced to hear that shit in my own house, it's bad enough I can't go through a drive-thru with out needing a translator.

Speaking of translators, if you need one get the fuck out of America. You want to work here, you want to live here, then you need to learn the fucking language. If you've been here for six months and you still can't speak American, it's time to get the fuck out.

The mexicans are pissed because they don't want a fence (which isn't going to be built but that's a different story for a different day), they say we should figure out how to live together. How's this for a fucking idea. Get car insurance. Don't steal license plates. Use a real social security number. Don't party all night in your fucking front yard. Don't throw your beer cans in your neighbors fucking front yard. Turn your fucking oompah music down, we don't want to hear it. Have some fucking respect. Control your kids. Learn to speak American. Fill out the proper paper work to stay. Stop killing innocent people. Stop bringing dope into this country. Stop cramming 51 mother fuckers into one apartment. How about you start there and then we'll see if we'll let you stay.

Trashman. OUT.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

People Are Strange

Angi tagged me, I guess cause she likes to torture me. Then she went and complained about the number of these things floating around out there in Blogville. Typical chick.

I have to list 5 weird things about me or my pets then I'm supposed to pass the torture on to 5 people but I'm going to kill this one right here. I wouldn't want to upset Angi by sending more of these things out.

One reasons I'm doing this is because I need to post, this will be short, and I don't have the energy to rant or dig up my past.

On to the agony. This will be all about me. There's nothing weird about my pets.

1. My sunny disposition is a facade. I'm really very angry.
2. The voices of Fran Drescher, Rosie Perez and Megan Mullally really turn me on.
3. When I'm in a high place looking over the edge I have to really fight the urge to jump. It's not a suicide thing, it's an "I bet I could fly thing".
4. I like to shop.
5. I'm fascinated with death. In fact I really want to see what's on the other side.

Stay tuned for a new rant coming soon.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006


Through out our lives we are all given choices to make. I chose to stop playing football after 8th grade because I didn't want to play in a corrupt system that would let me get away with the shit I did. Texas football used to be a major deal even in grade school and junior high. Since I no longer played football I had to work for my grades, by that time I had become lazy and had really shitty study habits. I was also used to getting away with things so I tried to keep getting away with them. Therefore I was given the choice of being expelled for the remainder of my senior year or quitting. It was the first time I ever quit anything and that was just because I was leaving on my terms (or so I believed).

Now Trash Jr has to make some of the same choices. He plays football, at least until Friday when he gets his report card. He is failing History. At the beginning of the year I met with all of his teachers and told them this would happen. I told them we could stop it from happening if they would call me when they first saw any problems. My phone never rang. When I asked the teacher why she didn't call, all she said was "In retrospect I see that I should have done that." Fine she has hindsight, but that still didn't answer my question. After asking her why, four different times, I got retrospect four times. Which still doesn't answer my question. I hung up on her so I wouldn't threaten her life or start cussing or some such juvenile white trash thing.

I've tried my best to make sure he doesn't follow in my footsteps. He's smart but I don't think he can walk in my shoes and remain a free man, and I see a lot of me in him. This is not a good thing.

Like I said, choices. I chose to lie, cheat, steal, deal, hustle, con, pimp, rip off and swindle my way through life. I don't want him making those same choices. I want him to be better than me, much like I'm better than my dad. I want him to break free of the white trash shackles. I want to be the last member of my family that embraces my heritage. Once you head down that road it's damn near impossible to find an exit. I found an exit.

I turned my life around. I have car insurance. I attempt to pay my bills. I get up everyday and go to work usually for at least 12 hours a day. I don't have to sweat when I see the cops (but I still do). I work my ass off, hopefully so my children won't have to. Once again these are my choices. But sometimes you have to wonder if you're making the right choices.

Being the phil-os-o-fiser that I am, I've always said that I have no regrets in life, because every choice I've made is the right one. I know they're the right choices because God wouldn't let me make the wrong one (I know it may surprise a lot of you to hear that I'm a god fearing man. Well I was raised in a Southern Baptist Church, nuff said).

I'm starting to rethink my whole philosophy. I'm starting to think maybe I'm just an experiment to God. I'm thinking maybe he gets a good laugh out of me. In fact I think he's sitting on his puffy little cloud right now wondering what he can do to me next.

I've had to move twice since June, my business is going under (quickly), my son decided he wants to be like me, on top of that I'm short, fat, bald and I have a little dick. Not to mention the fact that I’m diabetic which makes me piss like a race horse. My vision is going bad probably due to the diabetes and Macular Degeneration which I inherited from my mother. And I don’t think I’ll ever get that book deal.

I think it's time to make some new choices. Choices that could affect the rest of my life (which is really a stupid statement because all of our choices affect the rest of our lives). Let's just say the title of my blog could become a self fulfilling prophecy.

I know you've all heard the saying "Crime doesn't pay." Well here's a new saying for you "Bullshit. Crime does pay and I think it's time to get paid."

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Nuttin' To Say

I know I've been gone for awhile. Right now my whole world is upside down, but I'm not going to get into that. Instead I'm going to dig down deep inside and try to entertain y'all.

These are 20 things the Trashman will never say.

1. I don't care how fat you get, I love you for you.
2. Welfare? I think it's a great idea.
3. But I don't want a blow job.
4. Michael Moore is a genius.
5. Undocumented workers.
6. George Bush did not lose his mind.
7. We should let everyone come to America. After all aren't we all brothers?
8. Do you have stripper boots in a mans size 11 wide?
9. I'm going to the Dixie Chicks concert.
10. What happened on One Life To Live today?
11. Not tonight I have a headache.
12. Do these pants make my ass look big.
13. Katrina Victims.
14. I don't need a lawyer. You got me, I did it.
15. I'll have the vegetarian platter.
16. Do you have any Jazz music?
17. That guy is hot.
18. That's OK. When I said medium rare I meant burnt to a crisp.
19. Are you up for a game of Dungeons and Dragons?
20. Honey, strap this on, bend me over and make me squeal.

Now I'm going to put three of y'all on the spot. I want to know 10 things you'll never say. Jack, Jethro, and Kim.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Very Bad Things

Today is the anniversary of this blog. This year will be two years since Jack first introduced me to y'all. It's also my 42nd birthday. So I thought this year I would give y'all a gift. I'm going to step away from the political paranoia and conspiracy post and tell you a little story. A story that had it gone the wrong way I probably would be carving my blog on a prison wall. So get yourself a slice of cake, have some punch and enjoy.

All over northern Jersey there are little motor lodges. They are what you would expect them to be in the larger city's but in the smaller towns they can be quite nice. We used to use the ones in the smaller towns for the incall service. Most of these little motels are owned by people of the Hindu persuasion (is that PC for dot heads?). I had a deal with one of the proprietors of a motor lodge in a little town loaded with corporate headquarters of a lot of BIG companies. I would give Mr. Patel a percentage of what the girls would bring in and every once and awhile he would get a little action for himself (when Mrs. Patel was out of town).

This spot was a gold mine. The executives liked to run out at lunch and get a little, so I kept girls at most of the motels in the area.

I had picked up a new girl in Newark earlier in the day. She wasn't anything special. Really quiet and kind of mousy, plain face, plain brown hair, ordinary body but willing to trade ass for money. On the way to the motel I found out she didn't bring ID, that meant I was going to have to check her in, so we started off bad. I took her to the only place I could put her without having to answer a bunch of questions. We went to see Mr. Patel.

Mr. Patel: "Hello, Mr. Trashman. How are you my friend."
Trashman: "Yo. I got a new girl I need to set up here."
Mr. Patel: "Bring her in so she can check in."
Trashman: "She doesn't have any ID."
Mr. Patel: "OK we check her in as Miss. Smith."
Trashman: "I'll sign for her."
Mr. Patel: "Maybe I'll visit her today."
Trashman: "Don't waste your time. Something weird about her."
Mr Patel: "OK my friend. You know what is best. Room 116. This way I can keep eye on her for you."
Trashman: "Cool."

Now I knew why he wanted to keep an eye on her, it was so I couldn't cheat him on his percentage. I set her up in the room and explained how things worked. As customers called they were given descriptions (not always accurate) of the girls working in the area that they were interested in. From these descriptions they would pick a girl, then they were given the name of the motel. When they arrived at the motel they were to call back from a certain pay phone (for caller ID reasons) if the girl was not busy at the time they were given a room number. As soon as the girl had the money she called in and the timer was set for one hour. After the customer left the girl would call back and the next guy would be sent in. It went around and around like this all day. Sometimes. Sometimes there were problems. Problems like she ran with the money or said the guy didn't show up and ripped us off, or sometimes she quit answering the door. This time she quit answering.

Just as soon as I got word from WBG that the stupid bitch stopped answering the door I rushed over to the motel. She had already done about eight calls and I wasn't about to lose that much money. I looked around for the police before I approached the door (you can't be too careful). The coast seemed clear so I walked up and beat on the door. Nothing. I kicked the shit out of the door. Still nothing. I walked over to the office and was greeted by Mr. Patel.

Mr. Patel: " My friend you are back early."
Trashman: "I thought you were going to keep an eye on her."
Mr. Patel: "Is there a problem?"
Trashman: "She's missed a couple of calls and she's not answering the door. Give me a key."

I walked over, stuck the key in the door and tried to turn it. Nothing, it wouldn't turn, I went back to the office.

Trashman: "Wrong key. It won't turn."
Mr. Patel: "She must have the key in the door on the inside. It stops the outside from being unlocked. I have a special key for that. Come, my friend I will let you in."

We walked back over to the room an Patel used his "special" key. It worked. Now there was a new problem, the fucking chain was on the door.

Mr. Patel: "I'll get a tool and take the chain off. Wait here my friend."

He comes back with a screw driver and snakes his skinny little arm through the door and removes the screws and the chain drops. He turns and looks at me, grinning like an idiot and throws the door open. All I see is a naked blue whore with a needle sticking out of her arm sprawled out on the bed. He must have seen something on my face because he turns and looks in the room.

Trashman: "Shut the fuck up. Go back to the office and forget you ever saw any of this. Don't call anybody. I'll take care of this. Forget it. Just forget it all."
Mr. Patel: "But she is...."
Trashman: "She's not even here. Miss Smith doesn't exist. Get rid of the paperwork. Go. NOW."

Patel ran back to the office never looking back. I looked around to make sure no one heard his screaming, stepped into the room and closed the door. All I could do was stare at the dead naked bitch and think "What the fuck am I gonna do now?" I called WBG with my cell phone. I wasn't about to touch anything in the room. Except I tried to feel for a pulse. The bitch was already cold.

Trashman: "We've got a problem."
WBG: "Did she skip?"
Trashman: "No. She's here."
WBG: "What's the problem?"
Trashman: "She's dead."
WBG: "HAHAHAHAHA yeah right. Quit fucking around."
Trashman: "I ain't kidding man. She's fucking 86. Looks like she OD'd"
WBG: "Oh fuck."

At this point I started going though her bags looking for my money. I was ripping open drawers, closets, lifting the mattress as best as I could with one hand.

WBG: "Find the fucking money."
Trashman: "I'm looking for the fucking money."
WBG: "What are you gonna do with the carcass?"
Trashman: "Get a hold of JJ and tell him where I'm at."
WBG: "What are you doing with the bitch?"
Trashman: "Fuck you man, you don't need to know shit. Call JJ."
WBG: "Fuck you too man. Find the fucking money."
Trashman: "I just did."
WBG: "How much? All of it?"
Trashman: "$2500 that's $900 more than she should have. Bitch was holding out."

Meanwhile a miracle was taking place behind me. The dead was rising.

Dead Whore: "What's going on man?"
Trashman: "WHAT THE FUCK?"
WBG: "What's happening? "
Dead Whore: "What are you doing with my money?"
WBG: "Who the fuck are you talking to?"
Trashman: "I'm talking to this fucking zombie."
WBG: "Huh?"
Trashman: "The bitch came back to life."
WBG: "Get her the fuck out of there."
Trashman: "You want to handle this shit?"
WBG: "Fuck no."
Trashman: "Then stop telling me what to fucking do."
Dead Whore: "I want my money, man."
Trashman: "Pull the fucking needle out of your arm."
WBG: "When you're done come back to the office."
Trashman: "Blow me."
Dead Whore: "I don't blow anybody."
Trashman: "Not you, skank."
WBG: "HAHAHAHA later."

I put the bitch in the car and headed for Newark, at the first stop light she had already nodded off and when I hit the brakes she fell into the floor board. I did what any decent person would of done and left her there. When I pulled up in front of her house I threw the car in park and got out. I walked around, opened her door and grabbed her under the arms. As I was pulling her out she came to again.

Dead Whore: "Where's my money, man?"
Trashman: "You were a dead junkie whore, now you're a broke junkie whore, you give me any shit and you're going to be a dead junkie whore, again."
Dead Whore: "You ain't right, man."
Trashman: "Fuck you."

I hope you enjoyed the cake and punch.

Special thank you to micki for the new gravatar. SHE remembered my birthday.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

You Talkin' To Me ?

The Trashman has always wanted to speak in the third person, but the Trashman thinks this would hurt the Trashman's business. Think about it, if the Trashman were to walk around saying things like "The Trashman thinks you should paint the walls white." or "The Trashman thinks you should use oak cabinets." then the Trashman's customers would look at the Trashman and say "Are you a fucking idiot?" So the Trashman can't do that, but there is an alternative. Since y'all already know the Trashman is a fucking idiot, then the Trashman can type in the third person. Today the Trashman is going to fill you in on a few things and the Trashman is also going to address some of the comments from the Trashman's last post. But first the Trashman is going to stop typing in the third person because the Trashman is even starting to annoy the Trashman.

First, last Thursday I received a call from a low ranking government employee. The call went like this.

LRGE: "Stop with the conspiracy posts or we're going to pull up in front of your house in a black van and make you disappear."
Trashman: "I figured I would be spending some time in Guantanamo Bay."
LRGE: "Gitmo is easy. We've got something a lot worse for home-grown fuckers like you."
Trashman: "OK."
LRGE: "I'll be back in touch."
Trashman: "OK."

I haven't heard from him since. I won't lie to you, when I first received the threat I thought maybe I would stop. Then I figured fuck-em. I AIN'T SKEERED.

, I'm counting on you to have my back.

Now on to the comments.
Jack said: Dude...whatever you're smoking, just stop it. You're sounding more and more like some kinda militia nutjob with every post.

There's no conspiracy. The government isn't pitting the races against each other (rap music does that.) Nobody is listening to your phone calls or checking out your bank accounts. Read past the alarmist headlines, bro.

Seriously...Prozac. Check it out. Much love, even though you're crazy as hell.

Jack, I'm smoking Marlboros. I am a nut job. See the beginning of this post, it proves there are conspiracies. Prozac is for light weights. I get high on my own brain waves.

Shoe said: no doubt, what jack said, you're obviously on crack

Shoe the only crack I'm on is... well that's x-rated.

Zelda said: All governments try to hide their corruption, and I'm not excusing it in the U.S. But to say we're the worst is laughable especially coming from a Presidential candidate in a state that borders a completely out of control country - one whose political policy involves mooching off of us to the best of their ability.

Politically speaking, folks don't like a tear down candidate. You have to find the good and build upon that instead of declaring it all bad and destroying it.

Zelda, I have to tear down. I'm counting on the idiot vote. I know my regular readers don't believe I'm really running for president. So I'm counting on all the nut jobs to write in the Trashman on their ballots. I know I won't win, but if there's enough write in votes it will make the news, then I go global. There is a method to my lunacy.

Brighton said: Thank you for the Happy Birthday wish : )
And as usual, you know you have my vote.
Can the Dixie Chicks play though?

Brighton, you're welcome, thank you and the only thing the dixie chicks can play with is my nut sack (after a really hot day at work).

The rest of y'all (magz, Inanna, ) want to know how I plan to change things. Welfare reform (no more welfare) Tax reform (flat sales tax rate, no more income tax). Immigration reform (close our borders). Education reform (college for those that can't afford it). Plus I plan on getting the best advisors money can buy, these advisors will be hand picked by my readers (see I trust y'all to be intelligent).

Other news: I'm thinking about becoming a life coach. As far as I can tell the only thing you need is life experience and business cards. I think I would be pretty good at telling others how to live their lives and charging an obscene amount of money for it. If anyone is interested I would be willing to practice on you for free. Let me know.

Until the next time. Keep on keeping on.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

We The People

Two hundred and thirty years ago our fore fathers signed the Declaration of Independence. They were fed up with the tyranny and oppression of British rule. I'm pretty sure that they had no idea that they were setting the wheels in motion for the new government to be as tyrannical and oppressive if not more so. When John Hancock and those other guys signed the document they were trying to free the people of this great nation. Now, once again we are being ruled by an out of control governing body.

This is still the greatest nation in the world and I wouldn't want to live anywhere else. Yet it's time for some corrections to be made. Our government is one of the most corrupt in the world. The fiasco after Katrina proves this. There's not a single office of the government that is not muddied with dirty politics. Every time you turn on the news, there's another politician taking bribes. The government is not there for the people, it's there to control the people. Now before you right wingers get out of control, this has nothing to do with GW. This is ALL government. Republican or Democrat, it doesn't matter, it's all about control.

The powers that be control every move we make. They keep us against each other, rich against poor, black against white, haves against have nots. By doing this we don't pay attention to what they are doing. And what they are doing is ruing this country. GW tried to give away our ports to the enemy. Rep. William J. Jefferson sold his power to the highest bidder. Tom Delay has been indicted on charges ranging from money laundering to soliciting and receiving illegal corporate contributions.

Franklin Roosevelt started the downfall of our country with his "social" programs. More like socialism programs. He made it OK to be a bum. He made it OK to live off the hard working tax payers. He made it OK to expect the government to take care of you. He started it all by making the people dependent instead of independent.

Every president after Roosevelt has only made things worse. Nixon and his "revenue sharing". Kennedy and his entire family (he killed Marilyn Monroe). Reagan and his voodoo economics. Carter was and is just a joke. Clinton is a pervert (I can almost respect that) but not the lying and cheating or the killing of Vince Foster. Every one of them crooked, also I think there used to be some clown named Ford. Let's not forget the Bush's, two of the most corrupt.

GW has OK'ed the listening in on our conversations and watching our bank accounts. Some people say they're not worried because they have done nothing wrong. That's the attitude they want you to have. It makes taking away other rights a lot easier. I refuse to stand for it. The preamble of our Constitution reads as follows.

"We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed, by their Creator, with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.

That to secure these Rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just Powers from the Consent of the Governed, that whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these Ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its Foundation on such Principles, and organizing its Powers in such Form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

Prudence indeed, will dictate, that Governments long established, should not be changed for light and transient Causes; and accordingly all Experience hath shewn, that Mankind are more disposed to suffer, while Evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the Forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long Train of Abuses and Usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object, evinces a Design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their Right, it is their Duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future Security."

Pay close attention to the part I made bold. What this means is once a government gets out of control with abuse of power (much like ours is) it's time to revamp and create a new government. It means it's time for the people to step up and take back our independence. It's time for us to stop the abuse of power. It's time for us to declare our independence from tyranny and oppression. It's time for us to stop rolling over. It's time for us to stop taking it in the ass. You may think your celebrating Independence Day but you really celebrate Independence Days Past.

Stand with me against this corrupt system. Stand with me for what is right. Stand with me for what our fore fathers fought and died for. Stand with me for America.

Trashman, Mom and Apple Pie. Could you get more American? Vote for me, anything else would be unpatriotic.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Dirty Laundry

Since today is fathers day I thought I would tell a little bit about dear old dad. I think a lot of our behavior is decided by genetics as well as upbringing. So this may give you a little insight into my mind. I'm not like my dad yet I'm exactly like him. I know that's a contradiction but I'm a walking contradiction anyway.

This story covers about 11 years. In 1972 I met my dad for the first time, I was eight years old. He moved in almost instantly. The next four years were filled with emotional and mental abuse for my mother as well as me and my brother. Dad constantly cheated on my mom, mostly with his best friends wife. In 1976, dad whipped mom's ass one too many times, he had stupidly taught her how to use a gun. For this part of the story I'm going to refer to dad as OT (Original Trash). After he finished whipping her ass he went across the street and was drinking beer with his friend Jimmy.

Mom eventually managed to drag her ass off the floor. She got dads .22 pistol from their bedroom and headed across the street with me and my brother close behind. We knew this was going to be good. Mom walked up the front steps and right in the door, dad has his back to her and Jimmy's eyes were the biggest I had ever seen on a human. Jimmy screamed "LOOK OUT OT, SHE'S GOT A GUN." My dad jumped up from his chair and spun around. Faster than you could blink my mom shot him in the head. From about eight feet away she placed a bullet squarely in the middle of his forehead, he dropped like somebody that was just shot in the head. Unfortunately I come from a very hard headed bunch of people. My dad popped up from the floor like a psychotic Jack-In-The-Box, he had blooded running down his face and now he was really pissed. He grabbed the gun out of her hand and beat her with it until he got bored, meanwhile Jimmy got a fresh beer and went to check on something in the back yard.

Six months later they got into it again, this time mom used a new approach. She got the biggest butcher knife in the house and sat down on the couch across from him. Mom said "If you move, I'm going to kill you. If you don't move, I'm going to wait for you to go to sleep and THEN I'm going to kill you." Mom fell asleep first. Dad stepped into my room and told us that we knew where to find him if we ever needed him and he was gone from our lives.

Mom packed us up and we moved from North Texas to West Texas. She kept tabs on him for the next couple of years (she never stopped loving him). We found out he killed his best friend and married the widow. The widow died from cancer and dad wound up inheriting two bars. After that he disappeared.

Fast forward to 1983-84 (somewhere in there). I was working at The Armadillo Run, the phone rang and when I answered it the guy on the other end was asking to talk to me.

Trash: "Armadillo Run."
OT: "Can I speak to Trash?"
Trash: "This is him."
OT: "Hey son. It's me. OT"
Trash: "This some kind of joke?"
OT: "No. Your brother G found me and told me where to find you."
Trash: "What do you want?"
OT: "I want you to come to Oklahoma and work at one of my bars. I'll send you the money to get here."
Trash: "Send it."

I went to see my mom that night to tell her I was going to see dad. It wasn't pretty.

Mom: "You're doing what?"
Trash: "I'm going to see OT."
Mom: "You're no son of mine."
Trash: "It's something I have to do."
Mom: "Why?"
Trash: "Unanswered questions."
Mom: "I'll answer them."
Trash: "You can't answer these. They have to be asked a certain way."
Mom: "If you go after him, he'll kill you."
Trash: "He's older and slower."
Mom: "That doesn't make him any less deadlier."
Trash: "I can take him."
Mom: "Don't turn your back on him."
Trash: "Mom, I think I know what I'm doing."
Mom: "Well if you have to go then you have to go. I may never see you again."
Trash: "I'll be back someday."

As I walked out her door she said something the people in my family doesn't say very often. She said "I love you". I should have known then that I was in trouble.

When I arrived in Oklahoma I went straight to his house. I knocked on the door and OT answered. He hadn't changed much. Just a little older. He was 63 and still looked hard as rock. But he was older and I was 19. I was younger and faster and I had skills (or so I thought). I had had my share of fights and then some. Deep down I think I was preparing for this moment. The moment where I could make this son of a bitch pay and he was going to pay. I was going to take every beating my mom or my brother or I had ever received from this asshole out of his hide. I guess he could tell my intentions by the look on my face or maybe it was just the animal instinct he had inherited from the junk yard dog that had mothered him.

OT: "Well I guess you want to kick my ass?"
Trash: "Yep."
OT: "So I sent you the money so you could come up here and kick my ass?"
Trash: "Yep."
OT: "You know you're not the first one to try it, right?"
Trash: "Yep."
OT: "You sure you want to do this?"
Trash: "Yep."
OT: "I can't talk you out of it?"
Trash: "Nope."
OT: "I wish we didn't have to do this."
Trash: "Why, you scared old man?" (wrong thing to say)
OT: "Get in the yard so we don't break nuthin."

Remember mom told me not to turn my back on him. Well I forgot. I turned and walked down the steps into the yard, when I turned back around he hit me in the face with a 2X4. OT proceeded to beat me with the hunk of lumber, not hard enough to kill me or do any major damage but hard enough to hurt for a long time. When it came to handing out beatings the old man knew what he was doing. After he was done he stood there looking down at the pile of me in the yard.

OT: "You had enough?"
Trash: "Yep."
OT: "Then get up."
Trash: "You're getting soft."
OT: "What makes you think so?"
Trash: "You didn't kill me."
OT: "You can't kill your own kids. It just ain't right."
Trash: "But you can kill your best friend?"
OT: "Sometimes when another man has what you want, you just have to take from him."
Trash: "So it's true?"
OT: "Not a word of it."
Trash: "How come you ran away from her?"
OT: "She was going to kill me."
Trash: "All you had to do was stop beating her."
OT: "Yeah I know. You know of all the women I've had, your momma was the only one I ever loved."
Trash: "Bullshit. You've never loved anyone."
OT: "Yeah. You're probably right."

I was in Oklahoma for six months. OT never gave me the job he promised me. I saw him maybe once or twice a month. He tried to sell me a piece of shit pick-up for way too much money. You can't kill your own kids but you can cheat them out of money. I started selling him weed for his arthritis and he married for about the 15th time. She was 36 and attractive. He kicked her ass on a regular basis. When I left town I stopped by to say good bye. He was out of town. She was recovering from a beating. I got her stoned and we had barn yard sex. Maybe I'm a lover and not a fighter.

Monday, May 22, 2006


Every time I get ready to amaze you with another one of my stories, somebody does something really ignorant. This time it was The Dixie Chicks. If you remember three years ago Natalie Maines told a concert crowd in London, "We're ashamed the President of the United States is from Texas." Then when the backlash slapped the whores in the face they apologized. Some say they never really apologized but this was posted on their web site, 3/14/2003 - (Maines) "As a concerned American citizen, I apologize to President Bush because my remark was disrespectful. I feel that whoever holds that office should be treated with the utmost respect. We are currently in Europe and witnessing a huge anti-American sentiment as a result of the perceived rush to war. While war may remain a viable option, as a mother, I just want to see every possible alternative exhausted before children and American soldiers' lives are lost. I love my country. I am a proud American."

Now the bitch has the audacity to say "I don't feel that way anymore, I don't feel he (Bush) is owed any respect whatsoever." Give me a fucking break. Talk about doing anything to stay in the headlines.

Her friend and fellow Dixie Whore, Martie Maguire said "I'd rather have a small following of really cool people who get it, who will grow with us as we grow and are fans for life, than people that have us in their five-disc changer with Reba McEntire and Toby Keith," Maguire said. "We don't want those kinds of fans. They limit what you can do."

All this time I thought I was cool and "got it" just to find out since I don't listen to the Dixie Sluts, I'm not and I don't. If listening to them is what it takes to be cool, then I want no part of it.

What I see here is the women trying to be popular by going along with the crowd. First they bad mouth Bush in front of foreigners for approval, then they come back here and found out they're not real popular, so they apologize and now it's OK to hate Bush, so they take back the apology. As far as I'm concerned they became traitors to our country the minute they bad mouthed the President of the U.S. outside our borders and they should have never been allowed to come back.

I know you're thinking "Wait Trash, you bad mouthed the President too." Yes I did. I do think he's gone crazy with power and I think he's ruining the Republican Party. The difference is I still support him on the war thing and I talked shit about him inside our borders and I didn't do it so people would like me. I said what I said because I believe it. Plus I'm running for President, so I'm supposed to talk "Trash".

I know my not buying their albums didn't hurt them. They're still rich, that's why they say the things they say. I never been a fan anyway. When I first heard "Earl Had To Die." the only thing I thought was, if some guy sang a song about some girl having to die, women would be screaming for blood. I don't do double standards. What's good for the goose is good for the gander and all that shit, you know?

Ten years from now we'll see them on VH1's "Really Stupid Things Celebrity's Did" show and their albums will be in truck stop discount racks. Natalie will be fatter then ever, Martie will be hooked on pain killers, Emily will be in a nut house and George W. Bush will be filthy fucking rich from all that gas money.

Note: It takes approximately $3,000,000.00 to run for President. I have two years to raise the money. See those bullets to the right? They go to my PayPal account, I suggest y'all start donating.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Hello Operator? The White House Please.

What the fuck is this country coming to? I used to support GW. I even supported Clinton when he was in office. I haven't always agreed with either of them. Hell I never agreed with Clinton at all (except when he said a blow job wasn't sex) but I still supported him be cause he was the president of the greatest nation in the world. The good ol' USA. I now withdraw all support from Georgie. He has lost his fucking mind. I was all for the war, still am. I'm no longer for Dubya. In case you're missing my point, it's time to fire Bush and give somebody else a chance.

This latest atrocity of cataloging all domestic phone calls is pure insanity. The man is drunk with power. He says "all anti-terrorism efforts are within the law". I call bull shit on this one. It was bad enough that he allowed the agencies only known by initials to eavesdrop on calls made to the middle east. But this one is real fucking dangerous. I'm going to give you a little scenario. You do know what a scenario is, don't you? OK. Just making sure.

Six people involved. These six people will be known as A, B, C, D, E and old friend. Pay attention. A calls B for a recipe. Guys known by initials catalog call. B calls C to find when little league game is. Guys known by initials catalog call. C calls D to talk dirty (D is a freak that way). Guys known by initials catalog call. D calls cousin E and just bullshits for a couple of hours. Guys known by initials catalog call. Now E calls old friend in Israel. Guys known by initials tape call. Old friend has ties to some middle eastern para-military organization. The Israelis bust old friend for knowing the para-military dudes. Israelis tell initial guys about it. Initial guys check for phone calls coming from the states. Oh look at this, E made a call to old friend. Who else is connected to E? Run a search through the data base. Well I'll be damned E is connected to A, B, C, and D. Now A, B, C, D and E are "possibly" terrorist sympathizers. They will be watched every minute of every day, just because they made a fucking phone call.

Do you see what I'm getting at? Were you also so aware that since digital cable and Tivo were invented that when you're watching TV, it's also watching you? It all seems a little Orwellian to me. Bet y'all didn't know I was a smart mother fucker, did you? Back to GW.

All the smart republicans are starting to distance themselves from him and there seems to be a lot of them (more than there are smart democrats anyway). I've never been a one party kind of guy. Hell I say the more party's the better. But if I had to describe myself by one of the big two, I would have to say I'm republican (I'm really more of a free radical. In other words I'm unstable and react quickly). HA, more intellectual humor. Sometimes I crack me up. Anyway I always figured the democrats were more socialist than anything else. They want to take all the money from the rich, let me rephrase that. They want to take all the money from the other rich guys and give it to the lazy. Not the poor, but the lazy. The ones on welfare and other socialist programs. Now before you bombard me with your liberal comments let me just say sometimes people need a hand and I'm cool with that. I'm talking about second, third and fourth generation etc .etc. etc. welfare cases here. So keep your liberalisms to yourself. You know what, fuck it. Hit me with your best shot. I'm right and you're wrong, I already won the argument, so what you say doesn't matter. It's been so long since I blogged I forgot how to stick to one subject. Once again back to Bush.

Between taping phone calls and cataloging phone calls GW has managed to get everybody's thoughts off the most troubling thing in America today. The gas prices. The oil companies are getting fatter and fatter (getting fatter is something I know a lot about) and at the same time GW's wallet is getting fatter. He can't be re-elected so he might as well leave office filthy fucking rich. And he's going to. He could have put a stop to the oil companies collusion and price gouging a long time ago. No, he chose to let them rape the American people on a daily basis and every time the gas companies fuck us in the ass, GW gets a little richer. We're all gas whores and Georgie is pimping us out.

Wait. It gets worse. Now GW has us in a war. He's taping and cataloging phone calls. He's pimping us out to the gas companies. And he's not doing a damn thing about the illegal aliens (funny how that all just went away isn't it?). Plus he has cut spending on important things like the war on drugs (even though we all know it's the guys known only by initials that bring in the really big loads). And because off all this he has practically given the keys of the white house to Hillary Clinton. That's right, the ball crushing, clit licking, bad haircut, can't keep her husband happy in the bedroom bitch, Hillary Rodham Clinton is likely going to be our next president. Except in Texas (I plan on running things here). I can't seem to get my name out nationwide, so I'll just run for president of Texas.

Bottom line? America is going to hell. Sorry Phelps it has nothing to do with gays. It has to do with George W. Bush selling us out.

If you need me I'll be packing for my government sanctioned vacation. I hear Guantanamo Bay is nice this time of year.

One last piece of intellectual humor.
Rene' Descartes stumbles into a bar and demands a drink. The bartender says "Don't you think you've had enough?" Descartes stumbles back two steps and says loudly "I think not." and disappears. Sometimes I really crack me up.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Happy Easter

Shhhhhhhhh. I'm hunting a big fucking wabbit.

Monday, March 27, 2006

11 Million

I wrote this last night. I was suffering from complete exhaustion and a very high degree of anger. I'm not happy with the way it turned out, but I ain't changing it either.

George Bush is pushing for new legislation. Legislation would make it a felony to be in the U.S. illegally. There would, also, be new penalties on employers who hire people here in the United States illegally. And fences would be built along one-third of the U.S. Mexico border. What the hell is he thinking. He must be out of his mind. It should be a felony to hire illegals and the fence should cover the entire border. Oh and mine fields too.

The catholic church has put in their two cents also. They have suggested that all good catholics should break the law if need be, to help protect "undocumented workers" also known as "wetbacks" in Texas and "scratchbacks" in California.

The Mexican government prints comic books telling THEIR citizens how to sneak into OUR country undetected and how to behave when they get here so they won't get caught and sent back. They also have a movement in Mexico that wants to take back Texas, New Mexico, California, Nevada, Utah, Arizona and Oregon. Y'all may think I'm joking but this already happening.

Our government puts illegals through college, gives them healthcare and helps them through numerous other social programs. But you and me have to pay through the nose for everything.

It's time to put a stop to these bean eaters (not a racist remark, click here for proof). They sneak into this country and get credit and jobs with stolen social security numbers. They drive without insurance and with stolen tags. When they have an accident they either run away or give false information. Either way you're paying for your own car repairs. They take jobs our own citizens could be doing. I don't know about you but I'm tired of repeating my orders at drive-thru windows four or five times.

They only hurt the economy with their leaching off the system and driving up insurance costs. There are 11 million illegals in this country. That's a lot of tax dollars being spent on education, welfare and healthcare for people that shouldn't be getting it. Lets say only half of these illegals are getting government aid. That half is using at least four different identities. That's 22 million checks. Now lets say those checks average $500.00 a month (in reality I'm sure it's much more). So 22 million times $500.00 a month for 12 months is $132000000000 a year. That's over a billion dollars a year for people that don't pay taxes or benefit us in any way. I don't know about you put I could find much better uses for that money. Such as funding Drug Task Forces. Medical care for OUR own children. More (better, honest) police. Better education for OUR children. Lots of uses other than funding the take over of our country from our neighbors to the south.

Now I'm all for people coming here and making a better life for themselves. As long as they follow the same rules I do. Pay taxes. Buy car insurance. Pay for auto registration. Turn down the fucking stolen (Germans invented the polka) music. Don't party in the front yard. Don't raise livestock in your house or the city limits. Keep the number of people living in your house at a respectable level. And LEARN FUCKING AMERICAN. I don't have any problem telling mother fuckers to speak the correct language around me.

Another thing, keep your drug wars on your side of the border. I don't care how many mexicans you kill, just don't come over here and start shooting people. I have just barely touched on this subject. There's a lot more that I want to say. However I have to end this here. I have work in the morning and I want to get to Home Depot before all the good mexicans are taken.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Toe Tags

As the title suggest I am sticking with the death theme. I'm sure a lot of you thought I was dead since I haven't blogged in 2 weeks. Truth is I've been working myself to death.

Some of you are aware that I am now contracting. Take my advice and stay out of this game. It ain't fun. I've been working for a real cheap oriental lady that owns a string of laundromats and I started a bathroom remodel yesterday. In between all that, another contractor called me to finish a house he's been working on. He just got out of the hospital and no work has been done for the last three weeks. He was in a bad situation because the house had to be ready for the 15th. We agreed on a price, he said he would pay on Friday and I began working. I busted my ass for 7 days, 12 and 14 hour days. I even rescheduled some of my other work (which caused me to lose a remodel) but his work was completed on time.

He didn't show up on Friday. However another sub-contractor did. He's been chasing the contractor for a month trying to get paid. I also found out he owes the painter and the plumber. I just worked a week for free. This is not unusual in construction. Sad, but not unusual.

I've done a lot of low down, rotten, dirty things in my life. I've sold, run and bought women and drugs (ATTENTION FEDS: the statute of limitations is up on all my crimes). I've even robbed a few people and stolen from big corporations. I have never taken food out of anybodys children's mouths. Anybody I ever stole from could afford it and it didn't hurt the little guy. I know somebody is going to say "Stealing from a company only raises the prices so in effect you did hurt the little guy blah blah blah." To these people I say "EAT ME."

I've made a lot of deals with people and I've always kept my end. Never have I looked a mother fucker in the eye and given my word with the intention of ripping him off (I'd rather stab him in the back). If I say I'm going to do something, I do it. Sometimes it make take a little longer than I anticipated, but I get it done.

Some people need to be fitted for a toe tag and this guy is one of them.

On a lighter note. I always thought I was a funny mother fucker. I was wrong (I can admit it). After reading a lot of Charlie Callahans stuff, I now realize I ain't shit. I bow to the king.

Monday, February 27, 2006

Putting The Fun In Funeral

Sometimes I'm a little slow when it comes to blogging. I usually have two or three ideas practically written in my head, but I can't do anything about it until I have a title. This should have been posted Friday night, but you had to wait because I can't finish until I know where to start. That out of the way, we can begin.

I had promised my mom awhile back that I would visit one week day sometime so I could go and help her pay for her funeral. Some of you may think that's a little morbid, but dear old mom and I pretty much have the same views on death. Ain't no use in crying over the dead. They're dead, your not, so keep on living. That and everybody dies sooner or later. Don't misunderstand me, I'll miss the old gal when she's gone but it's coming someday and I'm alright with her paying for it so I don't have to. Plus it leaves more room on her credit cards for me to play with after she's gone. Put you orders in now if you see something on Home Shopping Network that you've just got to have.

I got up early Friday and drove to The Patch with T3. We arrived around noon just to find out that the funeral home had a service at 1:00 so they couldn't take care of us until 4:00. We sat around mom's house for awhile waiting and chatting. T3 eventually got hungry so I paid him $5.00 to go inside and tell his grandmother "I'm hungry old woman." It was worth every penny. After lunch I went to the local video store and ordered a movie she's been wanting and we drove around until it was time to hit the parlor. I haven't had that much fun in a long time. The parlor, not the drive.

Funeral Lady: "Can I help you?"
Mom: "I have an appointment."
FL: "You're the pre-need?"
Mom: "I don't know. What's a pre-need?"
FL: "We have two kinds of customers. Pre-need and need now."
Mom: "Well since I'm not dead, I guess I'm a pre-need."

Mom cracking jokes a the funeral home. That's my cue.

Trash: "Explain pre-need."
FL: "Pre-need means purchasing the funeral in advance."
Trash: "Why need? Why not pre-pay? She doesn't really NEED a funeral. I could always just buy a shovel and dig a hole in the woods."
FL: "Well that would be illegal."
Trash: "Only if I got caught."

Funeral lady looked at my mom.

FL: "Burial or cremation?"
Mom: "Cremation."
FL: "Will you need an urn or box?"
Mom: "Neither."
FL: "By law the ashes must be kept in an urn or box unless you're going to scattered."
Mom: "I'll be scattered."
Trash: "where do you want me to dump you?"
Mom: "I was thinking a nice garden somewhere. What do you think?"
Trash: "I think along the road on the way back to Austin. The less time I spend doing this the more time I can devote to spending your money."

I looked at the Funeral Lady.

Trash: "So do you just hand her over in a take out box or a paper bag or something?"
FL: "No. The ashes are in a plastic bag inside a plastic box."
Trash: "Is there ever any pieces of bone left?"
FL: "It could happen. Why?"
Trash: "I was planning on making a necklace to remember her by."
FL: "Ma'am. Did you want a service?"
Mom: "No. There's no sense in wasting money?"
FL: "What if your family wants something to remember you by?"
Trash: "I'll video tape me dumping her ashes along the road, singing Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead."
Mom: "You better not sing that."
FL: "That was cruel."
Mom: "I don't care about the song. He just can't sing worth a damn."
Trash: "Could we get a cheaper rate if I drove her to the crematorium my self? I could just prop her up in the passenger seat."
FL: "That's not possible the body must be transported in a cremation casket."
Trash: "OK. I have a truck, I could just slide it in the back."
FL: "Sir there is no way for you to transport the body."
Trash: "What if somebody else is getting cremated on the same day. Can we dump them in together and split the bill?"
FL: "SIR. The cost is the cost. It is not possible to lower it and it's illegal to cremate two body's together."
Trash: "Only if you get caught."
FL: "Ma'am, are you sure you want him to handle your affairs?"
Mom: "He's the best one for this job."
Trash: "Y'all don't burn the cremation caskets, do you?"
FL: "No."
Trash: "Would you be willing to sell one?"
FL: "Why?"
Trash: "I want to turn it into a coffee table and keep her ashes in it."
FL: "Why would you do that?"
Trash: "So I could throw myself across it from time to time screaming WHY, MOMMA, WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DIE."
FL: "I can't sell you one."
Trash: "OK. How about a used hearse?"
Mom: "You are definitely crazy."
Trash: "Well I did come by it honest."
FL: "Ma'am, can you please get him out of here?"
Mom: "Yes I can. I feel like having some ice cream anyway."
Trash: "Every funeral should be followed by a chocolate sundae."
Mom: "I guess if I ever die I'm going to miss you."
Trash: "Yeah me too. By the way where do you keep your checkbook and credit cards?"

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

The Critic

Something happened this weekend that I thought would make a good post. The more I thought about it, the madder I got, so I figured I would just skip it. Then this morning I heard something on the radio very similar to my experience, that infuriated me. So I'm now going to share it with you.

From time to time Jen and I like to pack up the boys and make a little mini road trip for a day, just to see shit we ain't seen and do shit we ain't done. Last Saturday was one of those days. We decided to make a trip to a sort of neighboring town for the trade days (flea market) they have once a month. On the way we stopped in a little town called Johnson City for breakfast. We went to a restaurant called The Hill Country Cupboard. This restaurant has been here for 27 years that I know of. Normally I wouldn't name names, but in the instance the guilty should bear their sins. DON'T ever eat here.

We walked in and the place was empty, yet it took about five minutes to get seated. We sat in the smoking section (since I'm trying to kill myself) which was really the bar section. Not a problem. We'll call the lady that sat us Waitress 1. We gave Waitress 1 our drink order (2 coffees and 2 OJ's). Waitress 2 delivered our drinks minus the cream. We asked for cream and she returned with a 1oz to go container with skim milk. After another 20 minutes Waitress 3 took our food order and poured more coffee. Once again minus the pseudo cream. We asked for more cream. She never came back. Eventually Waitress 2 brought our food and more coffee plus pseudo cream. I had ordered eggs over medium and biscuits and gravy (don't give me any shit, in Texas biscuits and gravy are a way of life and I don't ever get any). I dumped my eggs on the biscuits and gravy as Waitress 2 was leaving. I was looking at my plate and something didn't seem right. I stuck my finger in the gravy and it was cold. This is where I did something that is so unlike me even I was a bit surprised. Normally I'm a quiet kind of guy, I'm not the kind of guy that likes to draw attention to myself.

I pushed my chair back and stood up. I'm pretty sure I looked disgusted.
Trash: "Goddammit."
Jen: "What's wrong?"
Trash: "I'm tired of getting lousy service and worse food."

I walked of to the mens room to wash my hands and hopefully cool off or let Jen handle this, because I didn't need to wind up in a small town Texas jail. After I came back to the table nothing had changed except the kids said their food was cold too. I stormed around the corner and ran into Waitress 4 (are you keeping count?).

Waitress 4: "Is there a problem?"
Trash: "You bet your ass there is. I've had ice water that was warmer than that gravy."
Waitress 4: "We'll take care of that sir."
Trash: "Yes you will."

Waitress 4 took our food and I never saw her again. Waitress 2 brought our food back, gave us more coffee and pseudo cream. The second time around the food was pretty good, but the service was still lousy.

Now my rant. Every time I go out to eat I get the worse food the cook ever made. Something always goes wrong. It never fails. If by some miracle everything is good, the next time I go back it will be the most horrible dining experience of my life. Is it me? I don't know. Maybe because I'm a rather large guy, they I assume I'll eat anything. I wont. I have temperature issues where food is involved and I'm a very picky eater. I might look like I'll eat anything you put in front of me. It's not true. I'm big boned and I have slow metabolism.

I see it like this. I'm giving you money for service and a product. That service and product should be to my liking. I don't expect the waitress to read my mind or be there the minute my coffee cup is emptied, but I do expect her to check on me from time to time. I also expect the cook to ensure the food is prepared correctly and at the right temperature. I don't think I'm being unreasonable. I know being in food service is a thankless job, well I show my thanks in the tip. I don't figure 15%. I lived in Jersey long enough to know how to tip. I've had meals where the tip was bigger than the bill because I got great service. Then I've had meals like last Saturday. I hope she doesn't spend that dollar all in one place.

Now before y'all go crazy in the comments telling me what happens to food when it gets sent back, let me tell you I'm well aware of the stories. In fact this morning on the radio they had waiters, waitresses and cooks calling in confessing to their crimes. That's what pissed me off. I know Bubba the cook may have had Paco the dishwasher spit in the gravy, but this was a small town restaurant so I think it's less likely, plus I inspected the food. Normally I only send food back through the manager, with a warning. I like to think managers are above that sort of thing since they are semi-professional people.

I've decide from now on I'm going to name names, give addresses or whatever I have to do to bring attention to these people. I'm not taking it anymore (not that I ever did). When I pay you for a service, I expect good service, When I pay you for food, I expect good food (McDonald's is excused from that last statement, they couldn't serve good food it their lives depended on it). If I'm handing you money for anything you can bet your sweet ass I'm going to get my moneys worth, or your job. It's your choice.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Discrimination: Keeping The Cracker Down.

My people, I have discovered a conspiracy. A conspiracy of the worst kind. This one is designed with our children in mind. It's not being perpetrated by the government, but by big business. A business aimed at our beloved little ones. A business that's trying to show our babies that white is not good but all other colors are, by packaging a delicious treat with a rainbow full of colors representing every race but the white one.

That's right, I'm talking about those fucking M&M's. I opened a package and all I saw, was Mars Corp trying to keep whitey down. It doesn't stop at M&M's either, there's also Skittles and Starburst, but I'm focusing on the chocolatey demon treats.

Let's examine a bag. Run down to your corner store a steal a bag (don't buy one, you'll be feeding the corporate machine) I'll wait.

Good you're back. Tear it open. Gaze upon the evil.

What have we here?

First the black/dark brown M&M representing the blacks, african Americans, afro-Americans, people of color and hispanics, latin Americans, latino Americas, and illegal aliens.

Second the yellow M&M representing the orientals, asians, asian Americans, Chinese, Japanese, Taiwanese, Koreans, Vietnamese and Jethro.

Third the red M&M representing the Indians, native Americans, redskins, hethens, and scalp takers.

Fourth the orange M&M representing all the people of mixed ancestry, because lets face it, their color is a little bit off anyway.

Fifth the green M&M. Even the fucking Martians got a M&M

Lets not forget the blue M&M for the people of the lost city of Atlantis.

See what I'm getting at? Everybody got a fucking M&M except the white man, honkey, cracker, and redneck. It doesn't matter what flavor of M&M you bought, they're all the same. They're all keeping the white man down. Where's Jesse Jackson now? Where's Reverend Al Sharpton? Where's Louis Farrakhan? Where are all the people screaming for equality? For it's true we are not equal and we never will be as long as there's not a white M&M.

Ray Nagin says he wants a chocolate city. I say he doesn't need to look any farther than a bag of M&M's.

Monday, February 13, 2006

Ode To Jen

Once again it's that time of year.
I write a poem, hope I don't sound queer.

This I write for you; my wife.
I am the love of your life.

You have curly hair and eyes of green.
You're real damned pretty and kind of mean.

Lips that were made to pucker.
First time I saw you I thought " I want to fuck her."

You cook my breakfast, lunch and dinner.
You're smart enough to know you caught a winner.

You make up beds and pick up toys.
You take good care of my boys.

You feed the snake and wash the mutt.
I really like to look at your butt.

You love me though I'm paranoid.
You know I'm here to fill the void.

Life without me woudn't be the same.
In fact it would be boring and lame.

I like it cold and you love the heat.
You don't mind when I make fun of your feet.

We've been together through thin and thick.
You make sure I don't get too sick.

You wash the clothes and clean the house.
You even give the snake a mouse.

All these things make you perfect to me.
I'll be back, I gotta pee.

Sorry about that, didn't mean to make you wait.
I think you picked a hell of a mate.

I hope you don't find my poem stupid.
If I ever catch him, I'm going to kill Cupid.

So there you have it. Happy Valentines Day.
I managed to write this and not sound gay.

We love you.
Trash, Trash Jr, T3, Rambo, Plisken and the strippers crabs.

Sunday, January 29, 2006

Two Tons Of Fun

I know you've missed me. Even I missed me. I've been sick, but now I'm back to fascinate you with the tales of my bravery, stupidity and dare-devil tactics.

Step in to the way back machine. Sit down, shut-up and hang on real tight. We're going on a ride. I call this ride the fat girl follies.

I'm a fairly large guy myself, so don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with being over weight. There's just something wrong with humping a fat chick. I don't mean fat when I say fat. I mean 5'3" and weighing in around 450. I mentioned this ride once before. Now for the gory details.

It was a Saturday night (it could have been any night because I was at the bar almost every night) at The Armadillo Run. I was drunk, really really drunk (that's my story and I'm sticking to it) and the ladies were lined up to ask me to dance with them (I AM one of the best). Suddenly my view of the rest of the bar was blocked my a pretty face (you thought I was gonna say fat chick) attached to a fat chick. The girl was pretty, in fact her sister was a model for Vogue magazine. I had known her for quite some time. I had even cut a rug with her a few times. Well, she was on the hunt this night, and I was they prey. She monopolized me on the dance floor and bought me a bunch of booze, so come closing time I was even drunker than really really drunk.

I forgot to give her a name. Let's call her Tessie. Tessie somehow manages to get me into the parking lot and I somehow manage to get her into my car. This was no easy feat. It should have been, but it wasn't. I drove a 1973 Cadillac Coup de Ville, one of the biggest cars ever built. I couldn't get her into the back seat. The front seat wouldn't lean far enough forward. We were drunk, she was horny and I was enterprising. I leaned the front seas back as far as they would go, now they were shaped like a giant "V", I laid her down in the "V" and somehow managed to remove the biggest pair of underwear I ever seen in my life. I climbed into the car and pulled the door shut behind me. Back in those days I was fairly fit and could bend in a few different directions.

Now I have my left knee on the steering wheel, my right foot is pressed against the arm rest on the door and I have her right leg (which is about the size of a side of beef) thrown over my left shoulder. I have on hand on the head rest and the other in the air (I planned on staying on for the full 8 seconds) and I am attempting to do as much damage as I can with my pathetic little dick. I still wonder to this day if I ever really got it in. Whether I did or not, she fed my ego.

So all is said and done and we're attempting to get redressed, Tessie forgot to put her drawers back on (I'm not the only one that was drunk) so I stretched them over the back of the front seat with the head rest poking through the leg holes (instant seat cover). I had to drive her home so off we went. I know friends don't let friends drive drunk, but my friends abandoned me when they saw me banging Tessie. I wasn't real worried because it was a small town, late at night and not enough cops to patrol the back streets. Somehow I managed to get pulled over.

The cop walked up to my car and shined his light right in my face. He knew me and I knew him. In fact we partied together from time to time.

Cop: "You been drinking tonight Trash?"
Trashman: "I had two beers."
Cop (leaning in the car): "What about you miss?"

This is where he gets a good look at her and then sees her underwear stretched across the front seat.

Cop: "What the fuck is that, Trash?"
Trashman: "Oh those? Her underwear."
Cop (visibly shaken): "I'm going to follow you. Take her home, then go home yourself. If you don't do exactly as I say, I will arrest you for DWI."
Trashman: "OK."

I took Tessie to her house and by the time we got there I was starting to sober up. She was snuggled up to me. As we pulled into her drive way she looks into my eyes.

Tessie: "Let's go inside and do it again."
Trashman: "I wish I could, but I have the get home or I'm going to be arrested."
Tessie "Oh yeah. Maybe we can get together later this week."
Trashman: "Uh yeah maybe."

I let her out of the car and headed home. I couldn't wait to get there. I needed a shower. When I got home I got out of my car and walked back to the cop car.

Trashman: "Thanks man. I owe you one."
Cop: "You don't owe me anything. I just wished I could have got to you sooner."
Trashman: "Don't tell nobody."
Cop: "Fuck that. I'm telling everybody."
Trashman: "Yeah I guess. I know I would."
Cop: "Don't forget to take those nasty drawers off you car seat. That car doesn't deserve that."
Trashman: "Good night."
Cop: "Too late for it to be a good night. You already fucked a fat chick. HAHAHA"

Note: If I offended anyone, GET OVER IT. You're just going to be at the top of the list for offended folks this week. I'm just getting started.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

Swing Low Sweet Chariot

I am writing this from my death bed. I have moments of clarity. I'm not sure if this is one of them.

Remember when I sad the big gas companies were going to kill me with a disease genetically altered to attack my DNA? Well it's happening. My boys are being slightly affected because; well because they're damn near clones. I'm dying a slow painful death. Jen is healthy.

I need some stuffy head, scratchy throat, almost puking, gave birth to a 10lb baby turd, eyes are failing, can't hear to well, think I'm seeing shit, skin is hot, bones are cold, ache all over, no appetite, hungry as hell, get me something to drink, I'm coming home Jesus, I want my mommy cause I'm a big whiney baby medicine.

The following are my side of the conversations today. I'm not sure what Jen said cause I wasn't paying attention. I think I was whining.
"JEN, I ache all over. My bones are cold."
"No I don't wanna take a hot shower. I'm burning up."
"No food. The smell is making me nauseous."
"Where's my soup?"
"Do we have crackers?"
"Well go to the store. I'm gonna take a hot shower. I'm freezing."
"Are you still here? WHHHHHHHHY?"
"I was talking to my granny in the shower."
"I know she's been dead for 15 years."
"She WAS there."
"Would you give me some orange juice?"
"This is not what I asked for I wanted Pineapple Orange. I may have said Orange but you know I don't like straight Orange."
"Fuck it, can I have some Sprite instead?"
"I don't caaarrrrreee what the doctor said. I want Sprite."
"Why did you give me Sprite? The doctor says no soda, besides I'm freezing. Can I have hot tea?"
"Where's my soup?"
"I don't want it now, you took to long. I'm nauseous."
"Tuck the blanket around my feet. I'm cold."
"Are you trying to kill me?"
"Then why did you turn the blanket up to high?"
"It is turned on. Oh look, there's my dog from when I was a kid."
"Well he must be a zombie dog, cause he's sitting in the corner fucking waving at me."
"Call Dr. Kevorkian. Make me an appointment."
"But I aaaaammmmm dying."
"You don't love me."
"I thought you were making me soup."
"I want at least one last meal."
"I take care of you when you're sick."
"Get a hammer and kill me now."
"You're in cahoots with the gas companies."
"Jack will investigate."
"You're going to prison."
"What if Jack works for the gas companies?"
"You're all out to get me."
"Bring me my laptop. I'm leaving a record of your abuse."

There you have it. That's what I remember. The Grim Reaper is knocking at the door and I'm thinking about letting him in. If somehow my Super Idiot powers manage to ward of the sickness, I'll be back. But then again I'm looking out the window and it looks like the Reaper brought hookers. Could be party time.

Friday, January 13, 2006

Reinforced Soap Box

I didn't start this. Jack did. All with the word Columbine. It's something I've wanted to write about for a long time but it was old news. Now Jack made it new again.

First off let me say I couldn't agree with Jack more. The fuckers needed to be put down, much like you would do to an egg sucking dog on a chicken farm. Thin the herd, if you will. Some people just need killing. Line 'em up and shoot 'em down. If y'all haven't figured it out yet I'm a firm believer in the death penalty. In fact I believe, not only should we execute murders but anybody else I feel like killing on any particular day. But that's not what this post is about. Nope. It's about the children.

I'll start with why this hits close to home. Trash Jr has SAC (special assignment center) all next week. Due to the fact that he decided to handle things himself. Seems some cock faced little fuck has been tormenting him all year. Making fun of his weight. Trash Jr is a big kid, at the age of 11 he is already 5'5". He's bigger than all the other kids in his age group. He was genetically designed to play pro football. Well all year CFLF has been making comments about Trash Jrs weight. TJ had enough and shut him up. CFLF went to the coach and cried that TJ was "bullying" him. Next thing I know I'm getting a call from the assistant principal. She informed me of TJs punishment but she wont tell me what's going on with CFLF. Something about privacy and other bullshit. Well if this CFLF is fucking with my kid how is it not my business?

Back to Columbine. The group of kids that shot the place up were not normal kids. Normal kids don't go around killing classmates. I'm not making excuses for them, but lets put on our little thinking hats for a minute here and see the big picture. These kids did what they did because they were fucked with on a daily basis. They were picked on, pushed around, called names, ridiculed, made fun of and just generally tormented. Until they snapped. And then all they were called was killers. I know there are those out there that say it all begins at home. Bullshit. What if your kids don't tell you it's going on?

I teach my kids right from wrong, I'm not saying I'm the perfect parent (shut up Jack). But I do know right from wrong and so do my kids. And the Columbine kids probably did too. But there is only so much that some people can take. They don't all have my Super Powers. Remember the big"I" on my chest?

Kids torment each other, it's just what they do. When I was a kid the tormenting lead to fights. The tormented usually beat the shit out of the tormenter. No more tormenting. Oh and no one brought a gun to school, because they couldn't take it anymore. But in this day and age when the liberals are in control of our schools, we have what's known as "Let's talk about it and have a group hug. Now cock faced little fuck don't say mean things to Trash Jr. anymore. Now don't we all feel better?" This doesn't work. TJ went through this in the third grade. He went to the teacher just like they brain washed him to do. The faculty spoke with the other child. The torment continued until I pulled my kids out of the school and put them in a private school. All TJ learned was you do what they say and you still get shit on.

Now he's in the sixth grade. He has endured this for 6 months. Not anymore. He never told Jen and I that he was having any problems. He came home every day his same normal maladjusted self. I'll be at the school Tuesady raising hell. Supporting my boy. Because he did what was right. Luckily he didn't wait until he wanted to kill the little cock licker.

You see this shit in the news all the time. Columbine, that other school, kids planning mass murder, fat depressed kid blowing his own fat fucking head off because he couldn't take it anymore. I'm not defending their actions but I understand their actions. So does my son. Talking about it doesn't do much. You become labeled a snitch, a rat, a pussy. The tormenting gets worse. Next thing you know some kid shows up at school with an AK-47 and levels the playing field. Then he gets shot either by the cops or he turns the gun on his self. Either way it's another dead kid. I blame the liberals because all they wanted to do was "talk" about it. Some things require less talk more action. Today TJ acted and I don't fucking blame him. If it would've been me the cock faced little fuck would have left on a stretcher. He should consider himself lucky.

I say charge the school administrators (what's left of them) with murder the next time some kid flakes out and kills his classmates. Because they just talked about it, he had to take action.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Here I Am To Save The Day

Sometimes I think about the days before Jen and the hell raisers. Don't get me wrong I wouldn't trade them for nothing (a million dollars and a boat however would seal the deal). Jen probably saved me from myself but there are still times that I miss my freedom. The freedom of just going. The freedom of doing stupid shit without having to consider the effects of my bad behavior on others. The freedom of not having to worry about tomorrow. If I weren't so sure that I was still in my first childhood, I would swear I was entering my second.

Jen is doing her best to keep me alive. I'm not making it easy for her. I tend to push her to the point where she wants to kill me. She's been doing a lot of research on my diabetes, cooking all the right foods and such. But in my true fashion I am bound and dertermined to kill myself. It's like being back in Florida.

I lived in Florida for a while many years ago. While I was there I bought some scuba equipment. The guy I bought it from wouldn't tell me how to assemble the stuff because I wasn't certified. I took the shit home and figured it out. I could inhale and exhale through the shit. Good enough for me. I went scuba diving. I'm lucky I survived. When I went to get the tanks refilled (they wouldn't do it because I wasn't certified) The guy told me about all the things that could happen to me. I sold him the equipment, cheap.

The next stupid thing I did was, swim with the manatees. I was headed for the beach and saw a bunch of hippie types grooving on the experience of watching the manatees head inland. I had heard that you could swim with them as long as you didn't approach them. Just get in the water and let them come to you. What I didn't understand was why all the nature loving hippies were just standing there. Why weren't they in the water? I dove in. I'll admit it was thrilling. The manatees wasted no time coming to check me out, and the hippies seemed pretty excited about it to, as much yelling as they were doing. I'm lucky I survived. When I got back to shore I was informed by one of the locals that I was swimming in the Anclote River not a salt water canal. In other words, full of gators. Seems a few years before some hippie jumped in with the manatees and the gators used his bones to pick their teeth. Guess it's a good think they don't have a taste for assholes.

Now for the SUPER STUPID. Before I tell this story I just want to say don't try this at home, I managed to survive because I am a professional idiot.

One day my partner in crime (Chuck) and I decided to take the boat out to Anclote Island. This was way before all the repair work that has been done to the light house and island itself. The island is only 3 miles out so it's not really any great feat to get out there. Sometimes coming back can be a real bitch depending on how dark it is and the tide. We always used the lights from a nearby nuclear power plant to find our way home at night.

This time out was a beautiful day. It was me, Chuck, his wife and kids. We spent the day swimming around and fishing. It was getting to be late afternoon and we figured we better pack up and head home. Just as we got everything loaded and headed for the main land the wind picked up. It was slow going because this wind was coming from the north east and holding us back. We could see a storm coming from inland headed right at us. It was nasty. The first thing that disappeared was the power plant and then the marker buoys. Chuck asked my opinion, and I screamed head for the island. I figured it's been there a long time, it has an old light house, if we had to we could hole up there and hopefully not drown.

We never made the light house. The storm caught us just before we made it back to the island and the tiny ship was tossed. Repeatedly. The boat was lifted by the waves and then they would just disappear, at which point the boat would slam against the gulf floor. Chucks wife was crying, his kids were screaming and he was freaking the fuck out trying to secure the cover on the boat so his wife wouldn't mess up her hair. We were about 20 yards from the island, I knew if we made it to actual land we stood a chance. If we didn't, the boat was going to get smashed against the gulf floor and we would all probably drown. So I put on my cape and became Super Idiot.

I grabbed the rinky dink little anchor and the next time the waves dropped us I jumped out of the boat and ran for the island. I could see the waves coming at me through peripheral vision (it's a gift) and I dove onto the ground, stuck the anchor in and held my breath. Now I'm under water, but not for long. The waves just disappeared again. I jump up and run some more, dive, stab, inhale, hold onto my nuts and the anchor, hold my breath and wait. Waves come in, waves go out. Repeat and rinse. After four or five times I was finally on what should have been dry land, but it's raining like a bitch. Now every time the waves lift the boat, I pull it closer (19ft boat, small by boat standards), and reset the anchor. Everythings going to be alright now. I'm on land, just a little (lot) bit of wind and rain to deal with. The boat is still being smashed against the ground but they're close enough to land and they're all hanging on. Super Idiot is going to save the day. Then I see the wave of all waves. It must have been 100 ft (exaggeration) tall. I'm not sure how big it was, but it was fucking huge. It picked up the boat and threw it at me, I turned, ducked and grabbed the anchor. The water enveloped me and twisted me around pushing me inland, then it did what all waves do. It headed back out to sea. I was twisted again and pulled me towards the gulf. Davy Jones had me by the ankles and was pulling as hard as he could but I wasn't letting go. I won.

Just like that the storm was over. Rain was gone. Wind was gone. Waves were gone. So was the boat. The water was clear again and you could see blue paint on the gulf floor where the boat had slammed down. I stood there looking out at sea and I couldn't see the boat. Then I heard Chuck behind me.

Chuck: "Hey asshole. How are we going to get this boat back in the water?"

I turned around and there stood Chuck, his wife and kids and the fucking boat. They were about 20 feet inland. It wasn't even on the beach. Seems the last wave had carried the boat right over me and set it down. I guess Mother Nature decided if she couldn't drown me and I wanted that boat on land, then it was going to be on land.

After about three hours of pushing, pulling, crying, and pleading, we finally go the boat back in the water. It was a lot heavier on land than it was in the water. Funny how that works. We finally get back to the marina and head home. We were walking to the house and Chucks wife and kids are complaining non-stop.

Trashman: "I don't know what y'all are bitching about. I had to pull that piece of shit in two different directions."
Chucks Wife: "If it weren't for you we wouldn't have had to pull it at all."
Trashman: "If it weren't for me, the coast guard would probably be fishing your dead bodys out of the water."
Chucks Wife: "Oh aren't you the hero."
Trashman: "Get it right. I'm a fucking SUPER Hero."
Chuck: "Look in the water, it's a sub. No it's a torpedo. Could it be a fish? No. It's Super Idiot."
Trashman: "Fuck you Chuck. Next time drown."
Chuck: "I heard about a boat wreck about five miles out. You wanna go snorkeling tomorrow?"
Trashman: "You know Super Idiots Motto."
Chuck: "What's that?"
Trashman: "If it's dangerous and stupid, count me in."