Sunday, December 23, 2007

Fuckin Reruns

Due to the writers strike and the fact that I'm just not feeling all that fucking festive, you will have to deal with a 3 year old story. I originally posted this December 29th 2004. It was funny then and it's still funny now. I wish y'all a MERRY CHRISTMAS but not a happy holidays because that's how I roll. It's Christmas or nothing at all. I guess if you're Jewish I could wish you a happy Hanukkah but to all you muslim fuckers out there. Go fuck a camel.

To Grandmothers House We Went

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep on keeping on. Merry Christmas Fuckers.

This is a must see NSFW

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Dr. Farb or Dr. Scrivello. You Decide

I had a cavity filled about 10 days ago. It was a pretty big cavity but the dentist said he was happy with the filling and everything should be OK. The filling lessened the pain so I figured the cost of $300.00 was worth it. Every day the pain got better. Until Sunday. Sunday I lived on Anbesol and Vicodin. Monday was worse. Last night I took 5 Vicodins before the pain would let up. I was fuuuuuucked up. Sometimes Vicodin can be fun. Today I was back at the dentist. He said the nerve was dying. I had 2 choices. Root canal ($950.00) or extraction ($222.00). I am now missing another tooth. My problem with this is he just worked on the same tooth 10 days ago. So far it has cost me $522.00. That and today I was in his office for 39 minutes, in the chair for 20 minutes and he only worked on me for 10 minutes. I figure he made $341.54 per hour if you go with my total time in his office. If you figure the time he actually spent working on me then he made a whopping $666.00 an hour. How fitting is it that's the number of the beast? That's just for today's visit, I didn't include the filling. If I would have, I would probably have had a heart attack. Plus the fact that he has 8 rooms that are full all the time. I can't figure that high.

When I asked about the pricing of my 2 options, the office girl wanted to know if I had insurance or not. It seems there are 2 different prices. The one for people with insurance is higher. So the good doctor is ripping off the insurance companies by charging them higher prices. The insurance companies in turn pass the savings to their customers with higher premiums. Another thing. Dental insurance is not insurance it's a plan. Insurance is when you pay premiums to someone, then when a problem arises they foot the bill, minus the deductible of course. A dental plan means you pay premiums, then when a problem arises they negotiate a lower price for you to pay the dentist, after you pay the deductible of course.

When I asked what could be done about the vacant spot in my mouth, the first thing they mentioned was implants. Guess what those cost. $4500.00 per tooth. Fuck me running with a spoon. There is no way in hell they can justify these prices. I asked the imbecile at the front desk how come there's a company that advertises on a bill board on the way to Austin that they can do a full set of store bought teeth for just over $300.00. Her answer was "I don't know how anybody could do it that cheap." Well I do. They're not trying to fuck anybody.

My problem is we give prisoners free dental. We give illegal aliens (wet backs) free dental. We give welfare recipients free dental. We give all sorts of people free dental, and I can't get a tooth pulled at a reasonable price. I don't want free dental. I just want a fair price. I know he has to pay his student loans but I didn't ask to put his kids through college. He just moved into a new private building and he has a least 11 flat screen HD TVs that I have counted. I think for what I'm paying him I should get to take one of them home with me. At the very least he could have had the hygienist blow me while he was fucking me in the ass.

Keep on taking vicodin.

Sunday, December 09, 2007

See Trash Run. See Trash Jump.

You know how sometimes in life you do or learn things that you think you'll never need to know in the future but then a situation comes along where the information or ability you learned was the best thing you could know. This is about one of those times.

In the 8th Grade I was on the track team. I know you're asking yourself how it's possible for a short fat guy to be on the track team. Well I wasn't always fat or short (Jen has beaten me down) and since I played football I was in pretty good shape. Not only that, but track is really known as track and field. So there are activities other than running such as shot-put and discus, which are the two things I excelled at. Not only can I pick up heavy shit, I can throw it too.

One of the many things I really hate is running. So when my coach told me I was required to run 2 miles before practice every day I tried to reason with him. I pointed out the fact that my 2 events did not require any running to compete. He just couldn't get it through his thick skull. So I had to resort to talking to my uncle (the principal). He pulled rank on the coach and I no longer had to run. The coach responded by making all the throwers, back ups for the running events. So now I had to run again. I went back to my uncle. Once again I no longer had to run. I would still be a back up but since I would never be used there was no sense in me running. I was an asshole all the way back in 8th grade.

We had a track meet one Saturday and I had already competed and taken first place for the shot-put and discus, so I was just hanging out watching some of the other events. So I'm sitting on the infield in the grass, leaning back enjoying a beautiful spring day minding my own business, when the coach steps in front of me.

Coach: "Trash."
Trash: "What coach?"
Coach: "You're up."
Trash: "Up for what?"
Coach: "High hurdles. Tim pulled a muscle."
Trash: "High hurdles? I've never jumped anything in my life."
Coach: "You will now, or make an ass of yourself."
Trash: "You would throw the event just to make me look bad?"
Coach: "Yep."
Trash: "OK. What do I do?"
Coach: "You run and when you get to the hurdle you jump over it."
Trash: "Just run and jump?"
Coach: "That's right."
Trash: "OK."

I was really pissed that this guy was trying to humiliate me. So I lined up at the starting line and when the gun went off so did I. I won the event and the coach hated me even more but I never had to run the hurdles again. Luckily the pole vaulters never got hurt. We were a small west Texas "B" school, so my abilities with the shot-put and discus never mattered, plus I moved to central Texas the next year and my football and track days were over. I started my training to become the thug y'all know and love (especially you, Zelda).

Fast forward 2 years. I'm hanging out with some of my miscreant friends and it's late at night. We were hanging out on somebody's porch, I don't think any of them lived there. So we were trespassing in the middle of the night and flinging rocks at cars as they drove by (see, I wasn't always a nice guy). Suddenly someone screams "Run it's the cops". Well we all did what comes natural at that point. We ran. Down the block, make a right, half way down and start jumping fences. I was in the lead the whole way. It's always been my belief that I don't have to be faster than the danger, I just have to be faster than whoever is with me. They have to be faster than the danger.

So I'm flying down the street and I make a left and hurdle the first fence. I know I was a surprised as y'all are. I figured what the hell, I did it once let's see if I can keep doing it. Now I'm hurdling fence after fence and my friends are slowing down to grab the fences and the cops are slowing down to drag their asses over the fences. I'm so far ahead of everybody it's ridiculous. I know this because I'm running and looking back and looking forward for the next fence. As soon as my feet touch the ground my head swivels to make sure I'm still getting away. I finally hit a yard with high weeds but it didn't slow me down any. My head turns to see if I'm still being chased. I see flashlights bobbing all over the place and I hear the police yelling "Stop". Yeah right. I turn my head to judge the next jump and WHAM. My head snaps back, my feet go up in the air, my body goes horizontal and I get dropped like a bad transmission.

I'm laying in the weeds trying to figure out what the hell just happened and I have a mouth full of blood. I was about to try to get up when all my friends ran past me with the cops hot on their heels. They all got caught in the next yard. I continued to lay still in the weeds with blood running out of my face and down my neck. My mouth hurt like hell, but I wasn't going to move or make a sound. They led my buddies out of the back yard through the side gate to the front of the house. Where they were all promptly escorted back to their parents. I didn't have any fear of them ratting on me, because that shit didn't fly back then.

I laid there a little while longer to make sure everybody was gone and stood up, at which point I hit my head on the clothes line that had taken me down in the first place. My mouth was cut up, my teeth hurt and I was covered in dry blood. My body ached all over from the beating I took when I slammed into the ground. All I had to do was make it home without being spotted by the police. I figured if I was caught I would say I was jumped by a bunch of thugs that were sitting on some dudes porch. My friends all got community service and I got the inside of my mouth turned into hamburger meat. To this day I wonder who got the better deal. I just know my fence jumping days are over. From now on I'm going to stand still and try to get tazered. That's where the real money is.

Keep on keeping on.

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

You Must Be Talk'n To Me.

First off this guy gets it. I suggest you read this first then go through the archives. I like his style. I think coming from me that means a lot. All you dudes should defiantly read it. Probably wouldn't hurt for you broads to read it as well.

Speaking of broads. When are y'all gonna learn? By a show of hands, how many of y'all want equal rights? That's a lot. Now by a show of hands, how many of y'all actually raised your hands. That's still a lot. Now that we've deduced that y'all ain't all that bright, let me say this. Equal rights is a step backwards. I know I've said this before but evidently you can't commit anything to memory. So maybe you need learn'n the hard way. I know a bunch of you are asking yourselves "Self. What the fuck is he talking about?" Well what I'm talking about is women that think they can step up in a mans face and talk shit. This happened to me yesterday.

I'm going to touch on two subjects. Parking lot etiquette and loud mouth bitches. First the parking lot. When you are driving between two rows of cars that are parked at two different angles, you are not and I mean NOT allowed to turn across traffic to park in the opposite direction of which you were going. Secondly when you get cut of by a guy that looks like a cross between King Kong and a redneck from hell, it's best that you keep your mouth shut. Unless God is watching out for you. And in this case He was.

Now the loud mouth bitches. I went to HEB yesterday. Trash Jr was with me. As I was trolling around looking for a spot I saw some reverse lights come on and I backed up to let the guy out. There was a frumpy housewife headed in the other direction that actually almost hit the guy backing out because she was trying to cut me off. Now she was headed in the wrong direction turning across traffic trying to park in the opposite direction of which she was headed. I repeated that in case some of you weren't paying attention in the last paragraph.

I admit as I pulled into the spot I probably shouldn't have been pointing at her and laughing. But that's neither here nor there. Here's where it gets good.

TrashJr: "Dad. She's still there."
Trash: "So."
TrashJr: "She's rolling down her window."
Trash: "So."
TrashJr: "She's going to say something."
Trash: "So."
TrashJr: "Don't hit her."
Trash: "I'm not going to hit her. What kind of animal do you think I am?"
TrashJr: "It's just that I know how you are."
Trash: "Get out and don't worry about it."

At this point I got out of the truck and was faced with one of those I've-caught-a-man-and-beat-him-down-and-made-him-pray-for-death-so-now-I-can-let-myself-go-to-shit nasty looking bitches.

Bitch: "Who do you think you are cutting me off? I was waiting forever for that spot."
Trash: "It's not your spot."
Bitch: "I was waiting before you got here."
Trash: "I don't care."
Bitch: "That's my spot."
Trash (gesturing wildly): "No. You're going that way. So those are your spots. I'm going this way, so these are my spots. You don't turn across traffic. So go down there and park."
Bitch: "You should go down there and park. You certainly could use the exercise."
Trash: "Well a little exercise wouldn't hurt you either you fat bitch."
Bitch: "Well I'm going to get it now."
Trash (gesturing wildly again): "That's right. Because you'll be parking way down there."
Bitch: "You're an ass."
Trash: "You don't know the half of it. Why don't you shave that moustache while you're down there?"
Bitch: "You should put a leash on your child."
Trash: "You should put a muzzle on your fat fucking trap."

At this point she drove to the other end of the parking lot. I had TrashJr stay with the truck because she was obviously a psycho. While I was inside, the cart girl told TrashJr that was the greatest thing she had ever seen. I think she just wanted him.

The thing is the only reason she said anything is because I was a white guy with my kid. She didn't think I would get all ignorant on her ass (she didn't know who she was dealing with). Had I been black or mexican she never would have said a thing. But no, here's a white guy so I'll shoot off my big fucking mouth cause he won't do anything. I got news for you lady. I should have punched you in the fucking face. So God was watching out for her. Don't get me wrong. I don't condone hitting women. She just needed it REAL bad. She mentioned my weight which I don't really have a problem with. In fact you can call me fat all day and it won't bother me one fucking bit. But when you intentionally refer to it as a personal attack and try to make me look bad in front of my kid. Then you need your ass handed to you.

Yeah I'm sure she wanted equal rights. The same treatment any man would have gotten for such a faux pas. Luckily for her I'm a chauvinist.

Keep on keeping on (in the right direction).

Friday, November 30, 2007

NaBloPoMo Number 30: The Offensive Post

OK. So I didn't spend all day writing this post like I said I was going to do. What I did was take the kids to school and then come back home and sleep most of the day. Then I got up and went to see T3 receive an award at school. They do it every month to reward the kids that do their best to live up to the schools liberal lets all hug and get along policies. This is his second time this year to win the award. T3 has my incredible good looks and astounding intelligence and his mommas good heart. He's also very sensitive, so emotional in fact sometimes I think he might be one of them queers, not that that's a bad thing. Trash Jr has my incredible good looks, uncommon strength, smart mouth, bad attitude and much like me the ladies take a shine to him. Nope he ain't one of them queers. Anyway enough of that, this post ain't about me and my boys. This post is all about offending people. If you take offense to anything I say in this post, then you're who I was aiming at.

Yesterday I went to the Summer Palace Chinese Buffet for lunch. They have a sign outside that announces the fact that they now offer defensive driving and you get a free meal with it. What the fuck do Chinese people know about driving? They're all wearing blinders in the fucking car. They don't see you. There's nothing defensive about their driving. In fact it's pretty offensive. "Come eat here. No MSG. Fix DUI. Summer Palace. You run over it we cook it."

Have you read about the British teacher in the Sudan. Seems a bunch of the towel heads want her shot because she let her class name a teddy bear Muhammad. It's an insult to their prophet or say they claim. Here's a better insult. There are no pictures of Muhammad so I'm betting he looks like the puckered asshole of a camel. Ooooooooo I just insulted Muhammad. I'm thinking some fucking ragheads wanna kill me now. If you're muslim and wish to kill me just email. We can set up a time to meet on Congress Avenue in Austin, Texas. Bring a gun. I'll make you famous.

Who's next? Oh yeah, the French. They stink. Need I say more. Let me put it in their terms. Le Fran├žais pue.

I want to talk about the Writers Guild of America. You know, the fuckers causing all the reruns. Get back to work. You get paid to write. When you write for a show and you turn the script over to the people that own the show, then your writing becomes their property They can do with it as they please. You got paid. It's not yours anymore. Just like if I build a house. Once I'm paid it's somebody else's house. I can't go back later and demand more money because they decided to rent it out. I don't want to hear about intelligent property either. Have you seen the shit coming out of Hollywood? I don't believe intelligent is the correct descriptive word.

Rodney King. Are you fucking kidding me? This fucking idiot gets his ass kicked by LAPD on video camera (which is like winning the bump and bruise lottery). He gets a $3,800,000.00 settlement and still manages to cause more trouble. You know what they say. You can take the thug out of the hood but you can't take the hood out of the thug. I'm not sure if this part was offensive to anyone but I hope so. Don't give me any shit about social status causing the way you act. With 3.8 million the fucker was in a whole new socioeconomic dimension. He acts the way he does becuase he is who he is.

Did anybody read this story. Some mexican trying to sneak into the U.S. ran across a boy that was involved in a car accident with his momma. She died. The fact that the ILLEGAL alien found the boy probably saved his live. The guy did the right thing and made a fire, found some food for the boy and sat with him all night. They were discovered by hunters the next day and rescued. The boy went to a hospital and the ILLEGAL alien was detained and promptly shipped back to Mexico. What he did was a good thing, but I'm glad they shipped his ass back. One thing has nothing to do with the other.

I don't think I've pissed off enough people yet. Oh here's a good one. Women. You're all fucking crazy. There's not a sane one among you. Bunch of fucking nut jobs. But there's still plenty of you that I would do dirty things to.

Liberals. Grow the fuck up. We're not all going to get along. The world is not a happy place and never will be. And you ain't getting my gun.

Welfare abusers. Grow the fuck up. The liberals don't have a clue. They're wrong for making you lazy and shiftless. Get a fucking job.

I know a good one. The police. You suck. You're only function is to generate revenue for the city or county you work for. Don't feed me that shit about making a difference. You don't solve crimes. you just convince criminals to rat themselves out. Serve and protect. My ass.

Firemen. You are not heroes. It is your job to run into burning buildings. Just like it's my job to build buildings. By those standards every time I go to work, I'm a fucking hero.

Black people. Quit whining about slavery. That was then this is now. Thanks to affirmative action you have it better than I do.

Yankees. The war was not about slavery, and when we took a break you marched through the South. Stealing, raping, killing, burning and destroying everything you could. That makes you better? Notice I said we took a break. I ain't heard no fat lady singing.

Fat people. Lay off the fucking carbs and quit wearing tight clothes. I include myself in this one, except I'm not offended.

The religious right. Go the fuck away. Nobody wants you telling them how to live. You're all wrong. Every religion out there is wrong about God. Except mine.

The homeless. Go rent a fucking place to live. And you fucking idiots that give these losers money. STOP. Every time you give a bum money you help keep him a bum. Don't give him money, then he has to work to buy his fucking crack and beer.

Now I've touched on race, religion, some jobs, some jobless, the northerners and a specific gender. I don't know that I've offended enough people or anyone at all. I hope I did.

Keep on keeping on.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

NaBloPoMo Number 29: The Only One More Fucking Post Post

I managed to see tonight's game. My business partner has a satellite system so he has the NFL network. Cowboys won. That's good and bad, they also covered the point spread. I bet on the Packers and took the points. By betting against Dallas I guaranteed their victory. Plus I didn't figure they could cover the points. Three things cost Green Bay the game. Favre got hurt, a bad pass interference call and the fact that Al Harris couldn't keep his hands off of other peoples face mask. I wanted Dallas to win, but I wanted to keep my money to. I guess I could keep my money, I just have to tell Trash Jr good luck on collecting. Would that be teaching him wrong? I could always tell him I'm teaching him a lesson by not paying him. Betting is wrong and illegal therefore I'm not going to pay you. That would be some funny shit. I know this post leaves a lot to be desired, but it's a post dammit. So pour yourself a big glass of shut the fuck up and deal with it. I'm taking tomorrow off to write you a special post for my very last NaBloPoMo post that and it's been cold enough out at the lake it's going to take 2 days for the drywall mud to dry. So I gots nothing else to do. Until tomorrow.

Keep on keeping on.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Pure Greed

I only have one thing to say. Fuck the NFL. That's right , fuck'em with a big fuckin pole. Tomorrow night the great and mighty Cowboys will be playing the lowly Packers in what will probably be one of the best games in years. Both teams have a 10 and 1 record. The experts say the winner of tomorrows game will more than likely be the team that faces the sissy ass cheating Patriots in the Super Bowl.

I wont get to watch the game. In fact most of the country wont get to see it. The only people that will get to see it live in Dallas, Green Bay or own a satellite system. Seems that the NFL shows 8 games a year on the NFL Network. Eventually all games will be on the NFL Network. Simple solution just get the NFL Network through your cable provider you say? Not so simple I say. Cable companies don't carry the NFL Network. Why you ask? Because the NFL Network refuses to be lumped in with the other sports channels. They want their own tier on the cable line up. Why is that, oh great one? You ponder. Because they believe that people will order the sports tier just because the NFL Network is on it, therefore they will have to split the subscription money with the baseball channel and the basketball channel and the hockey channel and any other sports channel on the tier. They believe since people are ordering the sports tier just for the NFL Network then they should get all the money for it.

Don't get me wrong I'm a firm believer in the free enterprise system but I'm also a big believer in not raping the American public (that's why you read this blog for free). There was a time when you could watch pro football for free. But I guess there was a time when guys played for the love of the game. Now it's all about getting paid. The NFL could survive just fine with the way things are going now. Sure the players want more money but the teams could get together and refuse to pay any one player more than a set amount. Eventually the guys that could have played pro would get tired of riding the back of a trash truck and make a reasonable deal. I don't know if that would fix the current situation but it would give the NFL one less excuse for sticking it to us. So maybe if we all banded together and refused to buy the NFL tier from the cable companies (that's if those two ever agree to a deal) then the NFL would have to back down.

I know it's all a pipe dream. Sooner or later the NFL and the cable giants will come to an agreement on our daily rape and molestation. We'll all buy the tier and eventually get used to paying extra for football and tell our grandchildren about how football used to be a game you could watch for free but big business ruined it for everyone and that's why robots play it. We'll tell them about umpires and yellow flags and the coaches challenge and play revues and all the things that make you sit on the edge of your seat and the adrenaline waiting for the ref to make his decision. We'll tell them about loving some players and hating others and rooting for your favorite team. We'll tell them about the greed of the NFL and how it ruined the game and how another piece of America was killed off by big business. Then we'll tune in for a Sunday afternoon of robo-ball.

So fuck the NFL.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

NaBloPoMo Number 27: The More About Me Post

I got this meme thing in an email, from an admirer of mine. So I guess that means it could be from anybody, because lets face it, you're all admirerers of me. I promised to post it for the NaBloPoMo thingy. I kept my promise. Without further ado. More about me.

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? The local garbage collector.
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? The day I was born.
3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? I like everything about me.
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? Two of my own plus two teenage girls locked in the basement.
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? Do priests like little boys?
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes I wear them as earrings.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Do they make a bungee cord for rhinos?
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Rice Krispies (they talk to me).
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? My shoes don't have strings, the jail kept them.
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Physically or odoriferously?
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? Bluebell Banana Pudding.
14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Whether they're carrying a gun or not.
15. RED OR PINK? Pink. Pussy pink to be precise.
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? Your mama.
20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? Your mama and she liked it.
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? Your mama's squeals of delight.
23. FAVORITE SMELLS? Anise Anise.
25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? Probably. I know I would do dirty things to her.
26. FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH? Are you ready for some football?
27. HAIR COLOUR? Bald.
28. EYE COLOUR? You haven't been paying attention.
29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS/GLASSES? Only when I'm in disguise.
30. FAVORITE FOOD? Chicken Paprikash.
31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Aren't they the same?
32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Real Swingers Stories 2: Phuckin In Phoenix. I like watching me.
34. SUMMER OR WINTER? Are you talking about the twin strippers?
35. HUGS OR KISSES? Hug my dick and kiss my balls.
36. FAVORITE DESSERT? Peach Cobbler A'La Mode with ice cream on top.
39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? How To Arrest Proof Yourself.
40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? I was not aware my mouse got a period.
41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV. LAST NIGHT? Jen. She was standing on it when she danced for me.
42. FAVORITE SOUND? The sound of lips wrapped around my lightning bolt.
43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? I'm a Stoner all the way.
44. WHAT IS THE FURTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME? About 12 inches. Home is where the hard-on is.
45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? Yep. I can lick a woman's belly button. From the inside.
46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? The greatest country in the world. TEXAS.

Keep on keeping on.

Monday, November 26, 2007

NaBloPoMo Number 26: The WooHoo Post

I had another long hard day at work. I came home covered in drywall mud and exhausted. Jen was in a great mood, so I showered and took advantage of her mood and her. Now Trashman happy man. Don't tell her I told you. I rocked her world. I buttered her muffin. I plowed her field. I checked her oil. I flipped her pancakes. I curled her toes (in the wrong direction). I stuffed her turkey. I fried her eggs. I ran her train off the tracks. I dropped a rod and blew her engine. I stormed her beaches. I popped her top. There's nothing like barnyard sex. I cowboy'd up and stayed on for the full 8 seconds.

Keep on keeping on.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

NaBloPoMo Number 25: The Almost There Post

I got out of bed today at 10:30am. Convinced Jen to make me an omelet. After that I settled in to watch some football. The day progressed like this. Football, nap, football, nap, football, nap, lunch, nap, surf internet, football, nap, put together my new toolbox (just need tools to put in it), nap, dinner, football, surf internet, nap, football, nap, football. Now I'm talking to y'all. I've just had four days off work and now I'll have to work extra hours all week to try to get back on schedule (which will never happen, but I really don't give a fuck). Ah the joys of self-employment.

I no longer have the flu like symptoms. I guess it was all that napping. I do however have one hell of a toothache. My lower left canine has to go. Ah the joys of past cocaine and meth use. Anybody know how to carve dentures or do a self filling on a cavity. Dentist wants too much to fill it, hell he wants too much to pull it. But pulling is cheaper than filling. Plus I figure the more teeth I lose the trashier I look, or I can always pass myself off as an ex hockey player.

Keep on keeping on.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

NaBloPoMo Number 24: Short Post Saturday

Woke up with chills and achy all over. Cold outside and raining. Refused to go to work. Built fire and laid on couch. Did nothing all day. I mean NOTHING. If you want more from me. Blow me.

Keep on keeping on.

Friday, November 23, 2007

Black Friday

I crawled my ass out of bed at 5am this morning to hit one of the sales. I didn't think I needed to get up that early because it wasn't one of your regular electronics sales. Boy was I wrong. I got to Home Depot just as they opened the doors. It was already a mad house. I was there for the Ryobi four piece cordless tool set. I had already staked out the spot earlier this week. The set was going to be on sale for $59.99, that's $100.00 off the regular price. The set comes with a flashlight, drill, circular saw, and reciprocating saw, plus two batteries and a charger. All I really wanted was the batteries and charger. I have all the other tools except the reciprocating saw, that was the bonus. I kinda wanted that also. Two batteries and a charger are normally $60.00 by themselves. So it was quite the bargain.

I got my basket and headed for the tool department. On the way I took out two do-it-yourselfers, one pregnant lady and a decorator. I kinda felt bad about the pregnant lady but the other three got no business in there. Do-it-yourselfers just fuck up shit and decorators don't know what they're doing, they just go in and charge home owners for ideas that usually can't be done. They really make my life hard, so any time I can run over run with a shopping cart you can bet the bitch is going down. You can spot them by the hair-bun, glasses on the top of the head, yellow notebook in the crook of the arm, chewing on a pencil, yakking on the cell phone, while holding color samples and looking at $400.00 bathroom faucets. $400.00 for a fucking faucet, fucking stupid bitches. Anybody that charges a home owner for telling them they need to spend $400.00 for a faucet needs to be put down. Slowly and painfully.

So I get to the tool department and spot my tool set. Priced $159.99. What the fuck? Next to it was a different set for $59.99. It included the flashlight, drill, circular saw and a cordless radio. I figured fine, fuck-em I just wanted the batteries and charger anyway. I throw the set into my cart and look at the picture. Something was wrong. Only one of the tools had a battery plugged into it, I looked around and all the other sets showed two tools with batteries. So I read the box. Mother fucker if this set didn't have but one fucking battery. Bait and fucking switch. I put it back on the shelf and headed for the door. I had just played shopping cart demolition derby for nothing. On my way out, at least three employees asked if I had found everything alright. I told them I had found the dirty business practices right where I expected to and I'm going to Lowe's to get treated right. I did however stop at the exit and admire a rolling red tool box for $59.99, I convinced myself I didn't need it.

At Lowe's (where I swore I was not going to shop anymore because they don't sell Christmas trees, they sell family trees) I bought a ladder. Hey, they had a great price and I had broken the one I stole. I came home and relaxed for the rest of the day. That's my Black Friday story.

I went back to Home Depot tonight and bought the last red tool box. I tried to get a deal on the floor model also. The manager offered me 10% off. I told him it wasn't worth $6.00 to load it and he could stick it up his ass and I would be back next week and pull it out for 30%. He said I would never get it for that price. Guess I'll have to go back next week and make a deal with his boss.

Keep on keeping on.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

First Annual Shit I'm Thankful For Post

I tried all night to come up with things I'm thankful for. Man is that rough. Tossed and turned all night. I wanted to make this a humorous post, but I wasn't sure I good pull it off, so I decided to try the serious route. But before we get to that I wanted to talk about me a little more.

Around here Thanksgiving Day is referred to as Man Day. See I cook and clean and do laundry (as mentioned in the last post) all year long. After all I am the perfect man. But on Thanksgiving Day, I don't do shit. I get up when I want, lay on the couch and watch football all day and eat when it's ready, then I watch more football and eat again when I'm ready. See. Man Day. I'm the man and it's my day. So far today, I've gotten up, fed the kids, been to the store twice, put the turkey on and done three loads of laundry. I'm even missing the game to bring you this post. What the fuck happened to Man Day? Enough about me. Now my list of shit I'm thankful for, which is actually more about me.

Shit I'm Thankful For
1. The statute of limitations.
2. Finding a woman that could handle my massive manhood.
3. Porn.
4. Internet porn.
5. The Confederate flag (that one's for Nightmare).
6. Football on Man Day.
7. Fabric softener (what, I have sensitive skin).
8. Automatic dishwashers (I've got too much to do already).
9. My sense of humor (I am a funny mother fucker)
10. My blue eyes (you ladies can't deny, you know you got wet looking at them).
11. Coupons.
12. Short shorts are back.
13. Indoor plumbing.
14. Cinnabon Mocha Latte in a can (no more malls).
15. Fire starter logs (without them there would be no fire).
16. War driving (look it up).
17. This blog (without it I probably wouldn't be famous).
18. My life experiences (so y'all know what not to do).
19. The Dallas Fucking Cowboys.
20. Bluebell ice cream.
21. Y'all.

That's the top of my list, come back next year for more. Some things I'm truly thankful for are:
1. Jen
2. My boys
3. The U.S. Armed Forces
4. Porn

Keep on keeping on and HAPPY THANKSGIVING.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

NaBloPoMo Number 21: The Mommy Blog

This whole NaBloPoMo thing has me all fucked up. I want to tell more stories of my past but at the same time I don't want to blow my load all in one month. I'm afraid my blog is just going to turn into another mommy blog or in my case mother blog.You know the ones that say: "I went to the store today and pushed the cart around with junior in it, he tried to grab a can of beans, isn't he so cute?" BLAAAAAACCCHHHHH. Plus I would like for more people to read the good stuff. My ego needs stroking, amongst other parts of me. Speaking of stroking, I got something I gotta do. I'll be right back.

OK I'm back, that didn't take long. One thing that has me really confused is no one is taking me up (ha ha I said up) on my offer for Trash Juice. What's wrong with you ladies out there. This is the good stuff at discount prices. Tell you what if you order by Black Friday I'll give you the guaranteed pregnancy at the one shot price. If you want old fashioned baby making you'll still have to make a deal with Jen.

Tomorrow I will do my First Annual Shit I'm Thankful For Post. I'm not sure how it's gonna turn out yet, but it should be interesting. So you fuckers need to take some time away from the family and check my post and be sure you fucking comment. If the family ask you what you're doing, just tell them you're having some quality Trash time. If they push the issue, hit them in the head with a drumstick or ham bone. I don't care which, just hit them, they shouldn't be coming between us.

Another thing. I've been checking my tracker. I'm getting a lot more visitors than commenter's. Don't be shy people. Comment two or three times. I live off that shit. I'll try to comment on y'all more often. You know me, I'm a giving kind of guy. Speaking of giving. I have a dilemma.

What do you get a woman for Christmas, that already has the best gift in the world? I mean Jen is married to me, what more could she ask for? I don't drink (anymore). I don't do drugs (anymore). I'm not out whoring around (anymore). I go to work and come home and cook and clean and do laundry and pay the bills and do the shopping (I'm a better shopper). I'm a great fucking guy, other than the fact that I'm a loud, overbearing, obnoxious, opinionated, control freak sort of asshole, I am the perfect man. Fuck it. I AM THE PERFECT MAN. There I said it. Anyway the perfect man needs some ideas what to get the woman married to the perfect man. Got any?

Keep on keeping on.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

That's My Boy

My oldest boy (Trash Jr) is 13 years old. So you know what that means. He knows everything. Don't believe me, just ask him. He'll also argue about anything. If you say it's day, he'll swear it's night. There has not been a week since the 4th grade that I have not received an email or note or phone call from a teacher or assistant principal and sometimes principal about his behavior. And not really behavior, it's his mouth. He can't shut it. He seems to think that he's a funny mother fucker, just like his dear old dad. So do most of the kids in his class. I've told him a million times that there's only room enough in this house for one funny man and he ain't it. After tonight I am seriously considering passing the torch and retiring from the funny business. Tonight he said some funny shit, problem is, he almost gave his mom a heart attack.

I was in the garage yelling into the kitchen when this took place. Advice time. If you're in the process of sitting down when you hear the funniest shit you've heard in a long time, it is best to go ahead and fall. You'll do less bodily harm than you would trying to save yourself.

Trash:"Hey Jen. There's a new Paris Hilton sex tape out."
Trash Jr: "What did he say?"
Jen: "He said Paris Hilton made a new movie."
Trash: "Yeah. A movie where she's doing the nasty."
Jen: "That's enough."
Trash Jr: "A new sex movie?"
Trash: "Yep."
Jen: "I don't want to talk about this."
Trash Jr: "I only have one thing to say."
Jen: "What?"
Trash Jr: "I hope it's better than the last one."

Monday, November 19, 2007


Can you believe it? I've got nothing to say. Me of all people. I love the sound of my own voice. I like to watch myself type. Yet. I'm silent. Actually I've got plenty to talk about, just not the energy to do it. Plus all the post that I have in mind are long winded in true Trashman form. I don't smoke in the house, so normally I don't smoke when I'm on the computer. I set up a small desk in the garage, so now with this NaBloPoMo thing going on I manage to get a lot more smoking done.

I've got some new readers and some of the old ones are starting to return. This comeback tour might not be such a bad thing after all. I'll try to do better tomorrow.

Keep on keeping on and remember, I'm watching you.

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

Beat Down

Hanging drywall sucks. A lot. Twenty-two more post to go. More later tonight.

Keep on keeping on.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Sunday Morning Sermons Should Be This Short

It's Sunday morning and I have a couple of minutes to spare, plus I owe a post. So I'm killing two birds with one rock. Now I have to go to work. So I'll post again when I get home and I'll be all caught up. Read some of the old stuff until then.

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Off With My Head

Nightmare has an interesting post up about the Confederate flag. While I regularly read him and usually agree with him. This is the second time I don't. Go read his post. In it he describes people that fly the rebel flag as uneducated, ignorant, racist, traitors. My problem is not with that, see as an American citizen he is entitled to his opinion. My problem is with the word treason. He says it is treason to fly the rebel flag. I say that's incorrect. It's freedom of speech. He refers to people that fly the rebel flag as "those fucking slack assed southern cocksuckers". HMMMM I don't remember sucking any cock, nope no nasty taste in my mouth. I don't fly the flag per say but I do own several different items with the flag represented on them.

My question is why can't I have some Southern Pride. Is it not OK for people of color to have Black Pride? Or Hispanics and their Latin Pride? I'm from the South and I'm proud of it. I would pick living in the South over living in the North any day. Does that make me racist? I think not. I've already admitted to being a bigot (definition: a person obstinately or intolerantly devoted to his or her own opinions and prejudices). Doesn't have a thing to do with skin color.

First things first. The Civil War was more about states rights. Yeah I know the right to own slaves was their biggest gripe, but mostly they didn't want the federal government dictating to them how to handle their business. Much like most people of this day and age. Secondly, this country was started by a bunch of traitors. Our founding fathers committed treason the minute they spoke out against English rule. Anytime a group wants to change the way government is run it is by definition, treason. Thirdly not all southerners were "slave mongers" as Nightmare so eloquently put it. I guess if you stand up against the system to fight for something you truly believe in no matter how fucked up it is, then you're a traitor. There's lots of things I stand up for that other people don't agree with. Other Americans no less. I guess they better get a rope and hang my no good ass.

One question I have is, since flying the Rebel flag is treasonous does that mean that on Puerto Rican day in NYC when everybody is waving Puerto Rican flags they're being treasonous also. Or how about Cinco de Mayo and the Mexican flag, is that treasonous? What about all the reservations and the Native Americans with their flags. Treason? When Reebok sneakers had the Union Jack on them was it treason to wear them? When Danielsan wore the Rising Sun on his bandanna in honor of Mr. Miyagi was that also treason. I assume that any flag other than the American flag with a state flag under it is treason. If that's the case this country is full of fucking traitors.

Keep On Keeping On.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

It IS All About Me

I don't know who mmmarg is but she is one smart individual. She commented on the post where I offered the Trash Juice. She gets it. It's all about world domination. You see even though I wont be paying for or raising these children, I will maintain a psychic control over them. I will build a super army of white (and probably some half-white) trash soldiers.

Now to the other comments. Yvonne thinks I'm a funny mother fucker. Looks like I got another reader with a high IQ. mmmmarg thinks I'm too cheap, that's part of the secret. Quantity. She also wants to know how I'll keep up with the demand. Baby there's plenty of Trash Juice for everybody. Christina is worried about half siblings meeting and falling love, I call that purification. Khaki wants to know where I was with this offer a few years ago. Well I say it's never too late for multiple children. Jenn says I'm not charging enough. HA, less money, more children and since I'm gonna yank my crank on a daily basis anyway, I might as well do it all over the country. Plus I'm counting on all those women that like a little old fashioned baby makin. Nightmare. That was some funny shit. I enjoy a good insult even when they're aimed at me. Charmed has enough kids plus I couldn't in fair conscience steal her from her husband. I like him. Mo wants me really, really, really bad. Seth, not a problem, my vine only swings in one direction. Kristin, you're right I am a genius. Zelda, I just wanna know how you knew about my love for Long John Silvers. Jammie J, I think there should be a Trash 400,000 running around. Hope I didn't miss anybody and I also want to thank all those that stopped by and wished me a recovery. It's Charmed's #2 sons birthday send him some love. Do it now dammit.

New Subject

My wife says I'm an ego-maniac and that I'm narcissistic. Actual she doesn't use those words, I just wanted to let y'all know how smart I am. What she says is that I really like to talk about myself. I just don't see it. I talk about other things. For Instance I just very recently wrote a post about my son T3. I know I've written about other things also. For instance I'VE given MY opinion on many subjects.

Sometimes she reads my stuff and sometimes she avoids the anger (hers not mine). It seems sometimes she doesn't like what I write. I'm cool with that. I'm gonna write it anyway. Cause around here it's MY way or the highway. That's right there's two ways to do things around here. My way and the right way and they're both the same. She knows who the MAN is around here. But she doesn't know all there is to know about the MAN. Nobody does, not even my momma knows who the Trashman really is (and lets keep it that way). But I figure I could let my readers know a little about me, it's not that I'm really into myself or anything. It's just that I'm funny and entertaining and charming and real fuckin pretty too. I mean what more could y'all ask for? So this time in the comments tell me how y'all really feel about me. I know I would if I weren't so humble.

Anonymous #2. Keep on keeping on.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

NaBloPoMo Number 14: The You're Lucky To Be Getting This Much From Me Post

Part of whatever the fuck is wrong with me (physically not mentally) is from time to time I'll have a day where I just feel completely like poo poo. Today is one of those days. I'm exhausted and feel like any minute I'm going to keel over. So this is today's post. I'm taking tomorrow off work so I'll have something better then, plus I would like to address some of the comments from the last post. Until then.

Keep on keeping on.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

A Little Bit Of Me

While cutting drywall today I cut off a big chunk of my finger. I never could find it. So you'll have to bear with me. Since I'm typing slow you'll just have to read slow. Typing with two fingers is bad enough, you should try typing with one. We bandaged my finger with napkins and vet wrap (it's what was in the truck), when I got home and peeled it off I started bleeding again, everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. So I jumped in the shower and went through the torture of cleaning myself up while trying not to get too much soap on the wound because it stings a little. Afterwards I stood in the shower while Jen dressed the wound. The tub looked like the shower scene from Psycho. I'm still trying to figure out how Jen maintained herself since I was nekkid. Anyway she sprayed Nu-Skin on the area of the wound, it stung just a little. I responded with "FUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKK. OH FUCK. OH FUCK. OH FUCK. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK. FFFFUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKK." What can I say the area was a little tender. But I did manage to come up with tonight's subject. It involves me. nekkid and fuck.

I got to thinking, there are a lot of childless women out there. Some are childless because they just haven't met Mr. Right yet and others because Mr. Right just can't get the job done. What ever the reason I am offering my services. I don't need or want to know the reason but if you are childless and you're wanting a baby just email me at Now there will be a fee. Not much of one but a fee none the less. The cost will be different for each case. I provide the juice you do the work. It breaks down like this.

One shot deal: Airfare, meals, turkey baster.
Two shot deal: Airfare, meals, turkey baster and $50.00
Guaranteed pregnancy: Airfare, meals, turkey baster and I get to name the child.
There will be a contract which absolves me from all child support. I provide the ingredients you do the baking. It's your cake, you pay for it.

Now I realize once you ladies get a look at me you'll want to handle things the old fashioned way, for that you'll have to work out some sort of monetary arrangement with Jen. I will tell you this much, there is an ugly fee. You know who you are so don't act suprised.

Keep on keeping on.

Monday, November 12, 2007

I Can't Take It Anymore

I don't talk about my youngest (T3) much. He's so quite I usually forget he's here. Nothing like the rest of us (especially Jen). He's a straight A student, captain of the safety patrol, usually on Student Council, and this year he made the Who's Who of Academic Excellence. I have never been called to the school because of him and I'm pretty sure I never will be. However and there is always a however, he does have a little redneck white trash blood in him.

The kid LOVES rasslin (wrestling for you educated types). It comes on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday is reruns and Sunday is pay per views. The reason I know this is Wednesday nights is the only time he comes out of his room (usually to talk about rasslin). If he's not watching rasslin then he's playing a rasslin game on PS2. I've even seen him switch back and forth from his show to playing the game during commercials. He has enough rasslin action figures (they're not fucking dolls) to have a Royal Rumble. He wants me to build a ring to scale for his action figures (they're not fucking dolls). The kid eats, breathes and shits rasslin. I don't know how he manages to get his homework done and maintain his grade average. I swear if you were to cut his head open a bunch of little wrestlers would come running out.

The worst part is driving him to school every morning. I'm trapped in the truck with him for 20 minutes or so. It goes something like this.

T3: "Dad?"
Trash (already knows what's coming): "What?"
T3: " How come Jim Duggans name is Hacksaw, yet he carries a 2X4?"
Trash: "I don't know?"
T3: "Who's your favorite wrestler?"
Trash: "Same as yesterday. Stone Cold."
T3: "Who's your second favorite?"
Trash: "Same as yesterday. Dusty Rhodes."
T3: "What was his finishing move?"
Trash: "He didn't have one."
T3: "Who was Road Dog Jesse James?"
Trash: "Half of The New Age Outlaws."
T3: " Who are they?"
Trash: "A tag team from a long time ago."
T3: "Where are they now?"
Trash: "I don't know."
T3: "Will they ever be back?"
Trash: "I don't know."
T3: "Can Rey Mysterio really beat the Great Khali?"
Trash: "No."
T3: "Then how did he do it at the last pay per view?"
Trash: "It's all part of the show."
T3: "Who picks the winners?"
Trash: "Probably Vince. I'm not sure."
T3: "How does he decide?"
Trash (crying): "For the love of God. Please stop, no more rasslin. You're fucking killing me."
T3: "Oh. OK. I'm sorry."
Trash: "Thank you son."
T3: "Dad?"
Trash: "What son?"
T3: "Can I ask you one more rasslin question?"

I swear just as soon as he gets a little older, I'm gonna put the stunner on him.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Cranial Rectal Disorder

To the employees of McDonald's I would like to say. Pull your head out of your ass. Oh wait let me say it so you can understand. Saque la cabeza de su asno. I am sick and tired of going through the drive through and getting my order just to have to park and go inside. Where I'll ask for the manager. Like this "Is the manager-o here-o? El jefe? Does anybody speak english here? English, el speak-o english?"

Every time I go to McDonald's I have to deal with broken english at the drive up speaker. Then I pull around to pay and the english is worse. When I finally get to the window to pick up my order the fucking english is gone. What I want to know is, when my order is taken and the idiot pushes the button with a picture of what I want on it, does that then get sent to the next idiot in spanish or english? Hell, is the picture in spanish? And if it is sent in spanish how come there's no fucking sausage and cheese on my biscuit? I ordered the fucking la salchicha, galleta de huevo y queso. So where's the fucking salchicha y queso. Pendejo.

Used to be a mother fucker had to speak english to get a job. Not anymore. Because our spoiled little children think they're too good to work, let alone in the fast food industry. So they have to hire every Tomas, Ricardo y Harold that comes through the door. Come on people put your kids back to work, I want a fucking decent meal. Why should ordering my meal be harder than my work. Hold the pickle, hold the lettuce, special orders don't upset us. Well here's a fucking special order. I order you to put someone at the drive through that can speak fucking english.

Back when I was a kid Mickey D's was full of asshole teenagers, but these asshole teenagers could speak english. It was a beautiful thing.

Keep on keeping on or should I say mantenga a mantener en.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

As Good As I Once Was

I got in from working my ass off all day and what do I find? One lousy comment. Now I have three, one of which is mine. So I got to wondering is it me? Did I lose it? Was I gone to long? Do I suck now? Well I looked back at some of my old stuff. You know what? The new stuff is as good as the old stuff. It must be y'all. Y'all must suck. I AM A ROCKSTAR. An unappreciated rockstar but still a rockstar. If you're not taking this fucking NaBloPoMo challenge or never have then you have no idea how hard it is. So start showing some love. Leave some comments. I check the tracker, I know you're there. Say something damn it. Even if it is a big, FUCK YOU TRASHMAN. I'm cool with that'

Keep on keeping on.

Friday, November 09, 2007

NaBloPoMo Number 9: The Seinfeld Post

This post is all about nothing. I spent the day hanging drywall. Most of it under the stairs in a closet. It's not easy crawling under stairs and hanging that shit when you take up most of the closet. I'm tired and dirty and I'm going back for more fun tomorrow. This will have to do until then. I tried all day to come up with a subject and nothing. Maybe tomorrow.

Anonymous #2 they didn't switch the cup or maybe they did. But how do you explain the regurgitation down each others throats?

Keep on keeping on and reading and commenting.

I stole this from Nightmare.

cash advance

The Missing Post

I lied. I going to post twice today to make up for missing the other day (fucking feds). This is going to be short and not very sweet. A while back I was listening to the Dudley and Bob show on KLBJ. They were talking about a video clip on the web called Two Girls and a Cup. It took me awhile to find it but I did. It is the vilest, sickest most disgusting thing I've ever watched (repeatedly). It is hitonious. I will not put up the link because it's Not Safe For Work. Hell it's Not Safe For Anywhere. However if you want to see it and you're OK with being mentally and emotionally scared for life, just email me at and I will send you the link. Keep your phone close by in case you need to call 911. Oh and a bucket too.

Thursday, November 08, 2007

Back On The Gridiron

OK OK OK. So I missed yesterday. I know I said I always do what I say I'm going to do. But I had no control over yesterdays outage. My internet went down and I just managed to get back online 15 minutes ago. I think the feds were blocking my signal, so I had to figure out another way around. I'm back, but who knows for how long. I really ain't got much to say except I won't be making up the missed post. There's no fucking way I'm posting twice in the same day.Believe it or not sometimes I even run out of shit to talk about.

I'm going into the last post comments for tonight's subject. Jenn wants to know how I feel about the whole every kid gets a trophy thing. Jenn, Jenn, Jenn you poor girl. I realize your new to my blog and I'm sorry for this but here goes.

I am dead set against all kids getting trophies. When I grew up the kids in football didn't get trophies. The team got one trophy. One fucking trophy. It's a god damn team sport. We are turning our kids into a bunch of PC pussies. My kids bedrooms are lined with trophies. Football trophies. Baseball trophies. Lacrosse trophies. Trophies upon trophies and fucking ribbons and certificates and assorted other bullshit. Now since you don't know me, I'll tell you I don't pull no fucking punches. Just ask my regular readers. So every time one of the boys has their celebration pizza party (where they collect their undeserved trophy) I ask them if they've ever seen my trophies. They roll their eyes and say no. My response is. That's because I don't have any fucking trophies. I was always on a losing team just like they are. Losers don't get trophies, winners get trophies. The minute you give everybody trophies it takes away from the kids that fought and won. I realize they are exceptions on every team. Give them a fucking piece of paper that says "Good Job Fuckwad" but don't give them a trophy.

I believe that by giving everyone trophies all you're doing is telling them that they don't have to try. Little Johnny is eventually going to see that the fucking loser Little Billy got a trophy and his fat ass didn't even show up to practice. This tells Little Johnny that he doesn't have to try either. Next thing you know you got a bunch of little fat asses sitting around wanting their fucking trophy. Not only that it's detrimental to preparing them for life. First thing you know they'll want a fucking raise because they're late to work every day and they don't do anything while they're there. The only trophy given should be a team trophy, maybe give the kid a polaroid of him holding it. You don't see the pros getting a little miniature glass football. I'm assuming your brother is a liberal, this trophy thing is usually the liberals crying over the fact they lost and no body recognized their effort. even though they tried they're best. Well I want to quote John Mason (Sean Connery - The Rock) "Your "best"! Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen." Nuff said.

You also said you had to starve the kid to make the division. Your brother should have raised hell about that instead of the trophy thing. Football is a game of size. Big kids play football if, somebody's kid is small and they don't want them run over, keep them out of fucking football. That's all. Gotta go find some valium now.

Keep on keeping on.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Tuesday Night Lights

This post is number 6 in a series of 30. It's also about my namesake Trash Jr. Tonight was the last football game of the season. His team finished up with a record of 7 wins and 2 loses. I'm really gonna miss watching him play. It's the end of his middle school football carrier.

At the age of 13 he stands 5'9" and weighs 220 and he hits like a freight train (I know this from experience). He was usually the biggest kid on the field. He was always double teamed and sometimes triple teamed. Unfuckingstoppable is the best word to describe him on the field.

Trash Jr plays right defensive tackle. His main job is to open up holes for the rovers and linebackers so that they can get into the backfield. Even though the position is called tackle, they don't tackle very often unless the ball carrier comes straight up the middle. Which in 8th grade football doesn't happen very often.

His one goal this year was to get one sack on the quarterback. He sets his sights high, I told him it's most likely not to happen considering the nature of his position and the fact in middle school it's mostly a running game. So by the time he gets into the backfield the ball would be gone. He almost accomplished that goal tonight.

One of the last plays was a passing play, just as Trash Jr got to the quarterback, he threw the ball. Jr did just what he was supposed to do. He made the quarterback sorry he was ever born. He drove him into the ground and slid for about 5 yards. It was beautiful. Jr's team won 32 to 0. Once again it was beautiful. I love watching that kid play. It's like watching a locomotive dance.

Trash Jr had 12 tackles, 30 assist, and at least 2 hits on the quarterback for the season. His stats should have been at least twice that but the defensive coordinator is racist. The mexican coach put a mexican kid from his mexican language class in Jr's spot most of the time. The mexican kid is half Jr's size and spent most of the time knocked on his ass. I know I sound biased and bitter, but I never complained except to Jen and the boy. I didn't rock the boat, mainly because Jr didn't want any problems with the coaches.

He starts high school next year. New coaches. This season is over and I've got a coach in my sights.

24 more fun filled post.
Keep on keeping on.

Monday, November 05, 2007

Easy Money?

OK I was screaming for more comments and some of y'all suggested that I write more stories from my past. Here you go.

I was driving one of the "escorts" around one night form call to call, when some pervert called in looking for a dominatrix. We didn't have one so I asked Suzy if she could do it. She was half Thai, half white with long dark hair and looked like a real bitch. She only took a little convincing. She finally agreed once she found out she was probably going to get to hit the dude.

We got the address and headed for the house. Once we got there she was starting to back out but I wasn't leaving without the money. Trying to back out is not unusual for these girls. They try it on most calls. You have to usually talk them into it and psych them up a little bit. Each girl is different. You just have to figure out what makes them tick. We had one you had to tell her how pretty she was (repeatedly). I had a couple you had to yell at. With Suzy it was easy. The words "You need to feed your baby" usually did the trick. But it wasn't working this time.

Suzy: "I can't do this."
Trash: "Sure you can."
Suzy: "I can't hit anyone."
Trash: "You need to feed your baby."
Suzy: "Not that bad I don't."
Trash: "Well I need to feed mine. So get your ass in there."
Suzy: "I can't. I can't be a bitch."
Trash: "Listen you got the look. All you need is the attitude."
Suzy: "Ho do I get the attitude?"
Trash: "You know that mother fucker in prison that you keep sending money to? Your baby's daddy."
Suzy: "He ain't no mother fucker."
Trash: "Every time he gets new shoes from you or money on his books, he's telling all them other mother fuckers, that he's got a ho back on the block supporting his ass."
Suzy: "No he ain't."
Trash: "Yes he is. And he shows them your picture and tells all about how you suck a great dick and about the one time you let him fuck you in the ass."
Suzy: "How'd you know about that?"
Trash: "He must of told me too."
Trash: "Good. Now take all that anger, go inside and beat this piece of shit."
Suzy: "Time to feed my baby."

Suzy got out of the car, marched up the steps and banged on the door. When the guy opened up, she put her hand on his chest and shoved him back in. His eyes lit up like Christmas bulbs. I settled back in my seat, checked my watch and lit up a cigarette. No less than 15 minutes later she comes running out of the house and jumps in the car.

Suzy: "Get me the fuck out of here.
Trash: "You didn't rob him did you?"
Suzy: "No."
Trash: "Kill him?"
Suzy: "No."
Trash: "Is he laying in there dying?"
Suzy: "NO."
Trash: "Then what's the fucking problem?"
Suzy: "He's a fucking weirdo."
Trash: "No shit. That's why he likes to be spanked."
Suzy: "You just don't get it."
Trash: "Then splain it to me Lucy."
Suzy: "My name is Suzy not Lucy."
Trash: "Old TV show. You're too young. Just tell me what the problem is."
Suzy: "Everything started out fine. I slapped him a couple of times. Called him a few names. Made him get on his knees and spanked his ass with a belt. Evey thing was cool. Then he pulls out a gym bag and reaches in it and comes out with a ping pong paddle with nails stuck though it."
Trash: "What the fuck?"
Suzy: "There's more. He had surgical tube with sewing needles stuck through it. He had a belt with staples all over it. I told him I was done before he pulled anything else out. He started screaming he wanted his money back."
Trash: "You still got the money, right?"
Suzy: "Fuck yeah. Anyway I offered to blow him, fuck him, what ever he wanted I just wasn't hitting him with any of that shit."
Trash: "And?"
Suzy: "And he said he didn't want sex. He just wanted his ass kicked for an hour."
Trash: "Go back in."
Suzy: "No fucking way."
Trash: "Listen. Go back in and tell him for an extra $500 your driver will kick the living shit out of him for an hour."
Suzy: "You're kidding."
Trash: "I'm fucking serious. You can be MY driver. I'll even give you the driving fee."
Suzy: "I'll be right back."

Suzy got out of the car and walked back up the sidewalk. She knocked on the door and the guy let her back in. She was in there for about three minutes and she came out and walked back to the car. She just stood there looking at me. Finally I said "Well?" and she held up $750 dollars and she says "He wants an hour and a half."

I kicked his ass.

Sunday, November 04, 2007

NaBloPoMo Number 4

So far today I got nuthin. Jen's a little sore from the accident.

You people aint supporting us NaBloPoMo types very well. We need comments and lots of them. Zelda, Angi, and Tammy are suffering through this nightmare also. Show'em some love. Visit, read and comment. Just do it. Do it. I like to think we do this for your enjoyment. So give a little back. Dammit.

Keep On Keeping On.
26 more to go.

Saturday, November 03, 2007

Crawling From The Wreckage

Looks like someone's in a bit of a panic. Here's a little info about the Trashman. He does what he says he's gonna do (unless he says he'll stop by before he leaves town. Sorry Jack.). I said I would do 30 days, then by all that is holy I'll do 30 days. I will admit that I was wondering what I would blog about today. But then Jen came through with a subject for me. Today's blog is brought to you by the only mexican in Texas with auto insurance.

Jen called me today and said some dirty things but that's a whole different post. What I want to talk about is she told me she got rear ended. Now if you're like me some dirty thoughts ran through your mind, but then I realized she meant she had been in a car accident. She was less than a mile from the house, so I grabbed T3 and rushed right down. The first thing I see is a mexican girl limping around. This may sound racist, but it's honest. I thought "Oh fuck, I guess I'm paying for this one".

I jumped out of the truck, snapped some pictures (I'll post those in another post, I have to milk this thing) checked out Jen's truck, made sure she was OK, made sure Trash Jr was OK. I had to ask him at least four times if his neck hurt before he got it right.

I found out the mexican girl had insurance. I will now refer to her as a hispanic american. The cop that investigated the accident knows Jen so he looked over the fact her license is from another state. I swear he was a surprised as I was the mex.... uh.... hispanic american girl had insurance (full coverage no less)

The damage on Jens truck is minimal and the hispanic american girls car is totaled. I guess that's what happens when you try to drive an Altima up the tail pipe of a Ford pick-em-up truck. Once again American steel shuts down a Japanese POS. Jen and Trash Jr are fine. I made sure the cop would remember me (they always do) and I got blog material. So I guess all is right with the world.

Now if only I knew a chiropractor.

Friday, November 02, 2007

Dog; The Phony Bounty Hunter

He got enough rope and the dip shit finally hung himself. I've watched this asshole on TV say his prayers right before going to catch some "bad guy" and then run around screaming mother fucker and calling the bail jumper any number of foul names. Then once the "bad guy' is cuffed, Dog is all about "I know where your at Bro. I've been there" bla bla bla bullshit.

Dog was sentenced to five years for murder. He served less than two and a half. He was a member of some motorcycle gang. You gotta wonder if he sold them out for a lesser sentence.

His fat ass wife refers to him as "Big Daddy". The man is 5'7". He wears special made cowboy boots that make him 5'11". Seems that "Big Daddy" ain't so big after all. Let's not forget his mullet. It's not even real, you can see the weave line.

Now on to catching criminals. Every time they locate a guy it's his sons Leland and Dwayne Lee and his brother Tim doing all the dirty work. They chase the guys down. They tackle them. They put the cuffs on them. Then "Big Daddy" steps up and says "You can't get away from THE DOG". OOHHHH scary stuff.

He turned his own son into the police for drugs. He's admitted this on his show. Now the boy is out of prison, and turn about is fair play. His son recorded "Big Daddy" saying ni**er (I'm using asterisks because Jen asked me to, I don't have a problem writing the word, especially if somebody else said it)no less than six times. Then he sold the tape to the National Enquirer. Way to go "Big Daddy". Good job of turning your own kid against you.

His size is fake. His hair is fake. His bounty hunting is fake. Everything about him is fake. Except his racism. That's as real as it gets. I don't care if he's a racist or not but I do think he should own that shit. He should be real about something.

I've listened to the recording. Dog Chapman is an asshole. here's a guy that claims to be all about God and forgiveness. I guess that doesn't count if you're black. I counted six ni**ers, one mother fucker, one fucked, five fuckings, two fucks and one god damn. Pretty bad coming from such a stand up, praying, god fearing kind of guy.

The best thing about this, is I'll probably never have to watch that show again. I know I could always change the channel, but it's kind of like when I watch COPS. It gives me something to raise hell about.

That's two. 28 more to go.
Keep On Keeping On.
And you fuckers better start leaving some comments.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

NaBloPoMo Number 1

Well here it is the first day of NaBloPoMo. I'm not sure I've got 29 more of these in me. Hopefully this will be the only boring one.

I've been swinging a sledge hammer all day and I just don't have the energy to write anything, plus I could really use a shower (there's a little something for the ladies to think about).

Today is my moms birthday. The old broad is 80. She doesn't look a day over 120 and has the memory of a toddler. But she lives by herself, which puts her in a better spot than most of us.

Keep On Keeping On.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Whole Lotta Nuthin

I signed myself up for this. So I guess you'll be seeing a lot more of me. Not that there's more of me to see. In fact there's less. Still dropping the ounces. It sucks. I wanted to be the biggest president ever.

Go back and read these stories. Annie's Road. Danny O'Death. Dead Chicks. Sorry no new ghost stories.

Officer Jack
Saw him two weekends ago. He's still wearing dresses. He gave me a piece of history. I'll be forever grateful. Owe him an apology for not stopping by before I left town. Shit happens when you're riding with somebody else.

Grounded For Life
Went to see mom. Had to repair her VCR. Took a while but I'm a fucking genius. We sat at the kitchen table shooting the shit.

Trash: "You know granny, my life is real god damn hard."
Granny: "How's that?"
Trash: "Well I wouldn't expect YOU to understand. But when you're as pretty as I am, you get too much attention from the ladies."
Granny: "I'll bet you do."
Trash: "I do."
Granny: "There's none prettier than you son."
Trash: "I know. I mean it's tough. For instance, you know that Texaco in that little town half way between here and there?"
Granny: "Yep."
Trash: "There's a hot little red head with great jubblies that works there. I was getting a bottle of water and she couldn't keep her eyes off me. I felt like she was undressing me with her eyes, violated if you will."
Granny: "You poor thing. That must have been horrible."
Trash: "It was."
Trash Jr: "That didn't happen."
Trash: "You were in the car, what do you know?"
Trash Jr: "I know you're crazy."
Trash: "Hey T3 back me up on this."
T3: "What dad?"
Trash: "Was that red head with the great jubblies looking at me like I was a steak?"
T3: "Yeah dad. They all do. You're a big ol' steak and they're vegetarians."
Trash: "You're grounded."

Twice The Man I Thought I Was
I went to my new Dr. We'll call him Dr. B. He ordered a new testosterone test. He says the test Dr. A gave me wasn't really for testosterone. Seems the testosterone level is highest at 8am. Which explains a lot. He asked me a few questions about hard ons and how often I think about sex. My answers were no problem and all the time. Then he played with my balls. I said "Now I have a hard on problem." Dr. B says I don't have a testosterone problem except I may have too much. Which also explains a lot. Like baldness (too manly for my hair). My sex drive (can't get enough, ever). My thought patterns (sex, sex, sex, football, sex, sex, sex, work, sex sex, sex....). Also why women throw themselves at me, I must be putting some kind of pheromone out there. It can't be just because I'm pretty.

Thursday, October 11, 2007


Once again some fool has shot up his school and then turned his gun on himself. The only plus to that is he saved the tax payers a bunch of money. Nightmare wrote an interesting blog about one of the attempted killers friends reaction. This post is more of a reaction to Nightmares post than a statement on the school shooting, although I will touch on the shooting just a bit.

One thing Nightmare says is parenting IS like it used to be. Sorry dude but I call bullshit on that one. Parenting is a lot harder now days just for the simple fact that you can't beat (spank) your kids anymore. If you do some one is calling DYFS or CPS or whatever liberal children's watchdog group you have in your area. Hell they might even bypass the do gooders and call the police right away, file a complaint and have you arrested on the spot. Don't tell me this doesn't happen. I once had to step in as a witness in a grocery store because a woman called the cops and reported a couple for abuse. Their only crime was telling their child no when she asked for something. The nosey bitch figured since they told the child no and the child threw a fit, then that must be abuse.

Let's not forget the schools. Children are taught from day one that they can report their parents for abuse if mommy and daddy just look at them cross eyed.

Another problem with this particular young man is the fact even though the article didn't say it. I'm pretty sure daddy wasn't anywhere around. The cops had been to his house in the past for a domestic dispute, he evidently slapped his mother and called her a vulgar name. If I tried that shit my dad would have put me in a comma. I'd still be in it too. Plus if daddy had been around the kid probably would have learned to shoot a little straighter.

Back to preventive maintenance also known as corporal punishment. When I was a kid and I fucked up I got my ass beat by whatever neighbor caught me. Once I even got my ass whipped by the cop that caught me. Then I was taken home and got my ass beat by my mom. She told dad about my fuck up of the day when he got home and I got my ass beat again. I usually got at least two ass beatings for my transgressions. Children are much like dogs. They learn through pain association. Fuck up plus get beat equals I won't do that again. Simple math. Used to be the school could beat your ass too. I had a really rough year in 8th grade (my uncle was the principal). I'm not sure this young man would have benefited from an ass whipping, but it certainly couldn't have hurt.

I will agree that this was a piss poor case of parenting. But when daddy's gone and mommy is too small to hand out proper discipline and her hands are tied by the do gooders, then you need to blame more than just the parenting. Hilary Clinton said a long time ago that it takes a whole village to raise a child. Sometimes the village needs to turn their backs and let the kid take the ass whipping he needs.

I agree with Nightmare about people spoiling their children. My kids get nothing for free. If they want something they work. They work for me, demo (can't nobody wreck shit like my kids can), pulling nails, hanging drywall, painting trim any number of construction type things. They're better at it than most grown men. I'm proud of my boys but from time to time they have to be reminded on how to behave (I ain't admitting nothing).

Now on to the shooting. Supposedly when Asa Coon walked out of the bathroom he bumped into Michael Peek. Michael Peek punched Coon in the face and walked away. So Coon shot him. Seems like Coon isn't the only one that need a few lessons on how to treat people. I'm betting the next time somebody bumps into Mr. Peek he thinks twice before punching them in the face. I'm not saying Peek should have been shot but he needed something and in this case it just happened to be a bullet.

I could ramble on and on about this but I wouldn't want to bore you. The facts are this kid was one messed up individual and now he's not. I don't know if any of this could have been prevented but I do know it is harder to raise kids now days.

This is just my opinion. I could be wrong but I'm not.