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).