Y'all know how I feel about these meme things I hate doing them. This is the last one I'm gonna fucking do. Until next time. You can blame Nightmare for this one.
Here is the rules.
1. Write your own six word memoire.
2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you want.
3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post and to the original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere.
4. Tag at least five more blogs with links.
5. Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play....
1. Women love me. I know it.
2. It's posted.
3. The link is up top.
4. Zelda Charmed Mo Irish Christina
5. Answer me damnit.
Keep on keeping on.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Hope
Tonight I was digging around through my shit looking for some tapes (cassette) that my spiritual advisor had sent me a long time ago. I finally bought a tape player and I wanted to hear some good old fashioned screaming from the pulpit. I found a tape marked with my dad's name and the year 1977. I listened to it. Somethings should just be left alone.
My dad was not much of a talker, but his friend sure was. The tape was 15 minutes of music taped from the radio and 45 minutes of a drunken discussion at our kitchen table.
The tape recorder was one of those old Panasonic doodads that you had to push 2 buttons to get it to record (in mono). There's a lot of back ground noise (some little girl) and lots of static, so it made it real hard to understand a lot of it. Like I said my dads friend really liked to talk so it was mostly him. At one point he's bitching about some land he's getting cheated out of and then my dad remarks "Well . He won't enjoy the land if he ain't here. Tell me what he looks like and I'll kill him for you."
Later on his friend is telling some lie about a race horse he used to own and how he turned down a $33,000.00 offer on the horse (the price was verified by his wife that he repeatedly referred to as MaMa) in Fredricksburg after a win. The "bookies" busted up his Jockey real bad so the next day a different jockey rode the horse and threw the race after a 15 length lead. After that his brother sold the horse for $600.00 because some fellers of the Italian persuasion made him an offer he couldn't refuse. At which point my dad said "That's just like all sports now days. They ain't sports no more, it's all business and it's controlled by the nigger mafia."
Finally his friend gets ready to leave and my dad says he wants to send some "elk" steaks with him. This is the only point where I hear my mother on the tape (she being the good obedient wife didn't dare open her mouth while the lord of the manor was holding court, but being a gracious hostess she did say goodbye after fetching some "elk" steaks and a beer for the road for the visitors). The kicker is the "elk" was really horse. One of my dads friends (Wayne) in San Angelo had fallen victim to the old "my refer unit broke down and I need to sell this beef cheap before it goes bad scam". Wayne had a walk in freezer in his ranch house and had bought several sides of "beef". When he showed it to my dad (one of the original scam artist) and told him the story my dad informed Wayne that he had not gotten a good deal on "beef" he in fact over paid for horse meat. Wayne owned several bars so he and my dad concocted a giant bar-b-que and charged people for the privilege of eating bar-b-qued elk. People talked about how great the "elk" was for years.
When my dad sent "elk" home with his friend, you can hear me on the tape.
Trash: "You gave your friend some of that horse meat?"
Original Trash: "That's not horse, it's elk."
Trash: "Wayne said it was horse."
Original Trash: "Don't listen to Wayne, you can't believe a word he says."
I knew better. As a child I had the ability to keep my mouth closed and my ears open. I listened to my dads conversations all the time. I heard them plan the bar-b-que.
What gets me is I was never surprised by anything my dad said on the tape. It didn't shock me to hear him offer to kill someone (it wouldn't have been the first or last time he took a life). I was unfazed by the nigger mafia remark (look up racist in the dictionary, you see that picture? that's my dad). I defiantly was not surprised by the fact he lied about the "elk" he had been doing that for quite some time.
Nope. What got me was the fact every time I heard his voice, I shrank a little. Until I was that scared 12 year old boy sitting quietly in the corner hoping to go unnoticed. Hoping he wouldn't look in my direction and if he did see me, hoping he was in a "good" mood. Waiting for him to suddenly turn angry over nothing. Friends, no friends. It didn't matter if anyone was there or not. If dear old dad decided you did something wrong then your ass belonged to him, until he either got tired or bored with you. It always started out with a verbal berating and if you were lucky it ended there, but there were lots of times it didn't. While I listened to that tape all I could do was pray, and hope this time God was listening.
Keep on keeping on.
My dad was not much of a talker, but his friend sure was. The tape was 15 minutes of music taped from the radio and 45 minutes of a drunken discussion at our kitchen table.
The tape recorder was one of those old Panasonic doodads that you had to push 2 buttons to get it to record (in mono). There's a lot of back ground noise (some little girl) and lots of static, so it made it real hard to understand a lot of it. Like I said my dads friend really liked to talk so it was mostly him. At one point he's bitching about some land he's getting cheated out of and then my dad remarks "Well . He won't enjoy the land if he ain't here. Tell me what he looks like and I'll kill him for you."
Later on his friend is telling some lie about a race horse he used to own and how he turned down a $33,000.00 offer on the horse (the price was verified by his wife that he repeatedly referred to as MaMa) in Fredricksburg after a win. The "bookies" busted up his Jockey real bad so the next day a different jockey rode the horse and threw the race after a 15 length lead. After that his brother sold the horse for $600.00 because some fellers of the Italian persuasion made him an offer he couldn't refuse. At which point my dad said "That's just like all sports now days. They ain't sports no more, it's all business and it's controlled by the nigger mafia."
Finally his friend gets ready to leave and my dad says he wants to send some "elk" steaks with him. This is the only point where I hear my mother on the tape (she being the good obedient wife didn't dare open her mouth while the lord of the manor was holding court, but being a gracious hostess she did say goodbye after fetching some "elk" steaks and a beer for the road for the visitors). The kicker is the "elk" was really horse. One of my dads friends (Wayne) in San Angelo had fallen victim to the old "my refer unit broke down and I need to sell this beef cheap before it goes bad scam". Wayne had a walk in freezer in his ranch house and had bought several sides of "beef". When he showed it to my dad (one of the original scam artist) and told him the story my dad informed Wayne that he had not gotten a good deal on "beef" he in fact over paid for horse meat. Wayne owned several bars so he and my dad concocted a giant bar-b-que and charged people for the privilege of eating bar-b-qued elk. People talked about how great the "elk" was for years.
When my dad sent "elk" home with his friend, you can hear me on the tape.
Trash: "You gave your friend some of that horse meat?"
Original Trash: "That's not horse, it's elk."
Trash: "Wayne said it was horse."
Original Trash: "Don't listen to Wayne, you can't believe a word he says."
I knew better. As a child I had the ability to keep my mouth closed and my ears open. I listened to my dads conversations all the time. I heard them plan the bar-b-que.
What gets me is I was never surprised by anything my dad said on the tape. It didn't shock me to hear him offer to kill someone (it wouldn't have been the first or last time he took a life). I was unfazed by the nigger mafia remark (look up racist in the dictionary, you see that picture? that's my dad). I defiantly was not surprised by the fact he lied about the "elk" he had been doing that for quite some time.
Nope. What got me was the fact every time I heard his voice, I shrank a little. Until I was that scared 12 year old boy sitting quietly in the corner hoping to go unnoticed. Hoping he wouldn't look in my direction and if he did see me, hoping he was in a "good" mood. Waiting for him to suddenly turn angry over nothing. Friends, no friends. It didn't matter if anyone was there or not. If dear old dad decided you did something wrong then your ass belonged to him, until he either got tired or bored with you. It always started out with a verbal berating and if you were lucky it ended there, but there were lots of times it didn't. While I listened to that tape all I could do was pray, and hope this time God was listening.
Keep on keeping on.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Don't Be Hatin'
Good genetics ain't the only reason I'm so fucking hot.
For you guys out there that can't wait to make some homo remark about me because you're afraid of those feelings you get when you're around certain dudes. Yes. I realize that I've been tea bagged.
Keep on keeping on.
UPDATE:
I walked into the house today and Jen was digging around in MY sewing kit.
Trash: "You sewing something?"
Jen: "No. I just need a straight pin."
Trash: "If you ain't sewing then stay out of my sewing kit."
Trash Jr: "First you get a gaycial and now you sew?"
Trash: "You think sewing is gay?"
Trash Jr: "Yep. Are you getting in touch with your feminine side?"
Trash: "My foot's about to get in touch with your backside. The only thing feminine I do is shop."
Trash Jr: "You do shop like a chick."
If I quit smoking I'm pretty sure I could catch him.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
2013
Those of you that have met and know me know that I am a shy, quiet, reserved, secretive kind of person. So me telling you about my 5 year plan is my way of trying to overcome some of my reclusiveness (is that a word?). Those of you that know me betterer also know that I don't live from day to day, so my 5 year plan will not be such a suprise.
A couple of you remember that I am running for President if by some freak chance I win, my 5 year plan will change to read simply "World Domination". If I don't win here is my plan.
A trip inside the mind of The Trashman.
One of the things I plan on after my failed attempt at fixing our country, is getting a set of store bought teeth. Since I won't have the great dental plan that comes with being commander in chief, I guess I'll just go with the lowest bidder. As far as medical goes, since the doctors can't figure out what's wrong with me and my ex-insurance decided not to pay the bills I quit going to my appointments. I figure it can't kill me if I don't know what it is. So I'll just keep on living.
Housing. I want an old Air Stream trailer somewhere in the woods (no neighbors). If there ain't no kids to walk through my yard, then I can't throw no rocks at them. I'm OK with the trailer having a flat or 2 and a slight tilt to one side. As long as the fridge will stay closed and keep my ice cream frozen, then it's all good. If it don't stay closed I'll just buy a bungee cord.
Employment. I want to be a ward of the state or on some kind of trumped up disability. That is of course unless I get famous. Then nothing changes except I won't have to sweat when my government check doesn't show up on the third of the month.
Marital Status. Divorced. Planing on taking my new girlfriend to her high school prom.
Transportation. Meals on Wheels. Won't be able to afford gas. On the rare occasions that I need to get to town, I'll get my girlfriends dad to drive me. Like every Friday night when I go to the Nudie Bar.
Entertainment. See above.
Credit Status. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
There are other things I have planned, such as I want to be known by the towns people as that crazy old man on the hill or the old pervert that's dating half the high school. I would like rumors spread about me, whispering behind my back where I'm referred to as that "serial killer dude" and assorted other falsehoods. I'll probably start most of these myself. Including the one about witness protection and the one about escaping from the prison for the criminally insane. I want my humble abode to be the one the kids dare each other to approach on Halloween, of course I'll probably be playing dress up with my new girlfriend. I want the sheriff to show up on a weekly basis telling me that he's been getting more complaints about me. Oh and I want to spend my days sitting on a park bench feeding the ducks.
We use 43 muscles to frown, 17 to smile, and 2 to pull a trigger. I'm lazy and I'm tired of smiling.
A couple of you remember that I am running for President if by some freak chance I win, my 5 year plan will change to read simply "World Domination". If I don't win here is my plan.
A trip inside the mind of The Trashman.
One of the things I plan on after my failed attempt at fixing our country, is getting a set of store bought teeth. Since I won't have the great dental plan that comes with being commander in chief, I guess I'll just go with the lowest bidder. As far as medical goes, since the doctors can't figure out what's wrong with me and my ex-insurance decided not to pay the bills I quit going to my appointments. I figure it can't kill me if I don't know what it is. So I'll just keep on living.
Housing. I want an old Air Stream trailer somewhere in the woods (no neighbors). If there ain't no kids to walk through my yard, then I can't throw no rocks at them. I'm OK with the trailer having a flat or 2 and a slight tilt to one side. As long as the fridge will stay closed and keep my ice cream frozen, then it's all good. If it don't stay closed I'll just buy a bungee cord.
Employment. I want to be a ward of the state or on some kind of trumped up disability. That is of course unless I get famous. Then nothing changes except I won't have to sweat when my government check doesn't show up on the third of the month.
Marital Status. Divorced. Planing on taking my new girlfriend to her high school prom.
Transportation. Meals on Wheels. Won't be able to afford gas. On the rare occasions that I need to get to town, I'll get my girlfriends dad to drive me. Like every Friday night when I go to the Nudie Bar.
Entertainment. See above.
Credit Status. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
There are other things I have planned, such as I want to be known by the towns people as that crazy old man on the hill or the old pervert that's dating half the high school. I would like rumors spread about me, whispering behind my back where I'm referred to as that "serial killer dude" and assorted other falsehoods. I'll probably start most of these myself. Including the one about witness protection and the one about escaping from the prison for the criminally insane. I want my humble abode to be the one the kids dare each other to approach on Halloween, of course I'll probably be playing dress up with my new girlfriend. I want the sheriff to show up on a weekly basis telling me that he's been getting more complaints about me. Oh and I want to spend my days sitting on a park bench feeding the ducks.
We use 43 muscles to frown, 17 to smile, and 2 to pull a trigger. I'm lazy and I'm tired of smiling.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Cookin' With Jen
The other night Jen was browning some hamburger meat for her famous noodle sauce. The burger meat smelled really good and I let her know it.
Trashman: "Damn that burger meat smells good."
Jen: "Good burger meat always does."
Trashman: "Burger meat is burger meat."
Jen: "No. It's not, the more expensive stuff is better. It's real meat."
Trashman: "The cheap stuff is real meat too. It just hit the floor a few more times."
Jen: "The good stuff is more meat and less fat. The cheap stuff is just fat and gristle."
Trashman: (In my best hillbilly voice) "I love me some fat and gristle. That's why I married you."
I'll let y'all know when she's talking to me again. Until then.
Keep on keeping on.
Trashman: "Damn that burger meat smells good."
Jen: "Good burger meat always does."
Trashman: "Burger meat is burger meat."
Jen: "No. It's not, the more expensive stuff is better. It's real meat."
Trashman: "The cheap stuff is real meat too. It just hit the floor a few more times."
Jen: "The good stuff is more meat and less fat. The cheap stuff is just fat and gristle."
Trashman: (In my best hillbilly voice) "I love me some fat and gristle. That's why I married you."
I'll let y'all know when she's talking to me again. Until then.
Keep on keeping on.
Monday, March 03, 2008
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