I really hate when someone thinks they got one over on me. In fact I will do whatever I deem necessary to make things square between us. That means I'm going to win. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, no matter how long I have to wait, I WILL come out on top. I will stoop to any level to triumph over you. Call it the nature of the beast, call it childish, call it anything you want. Bottom line. I win.
We got a call at the agency one beautiful spring day. The guy wanted a girl for a hour. I remember his name was Mike. We'll use Dipshit as his last name. The rates were explained to Mike and he agreed to everything. He wanted a blonde with big jugs (nothing new there). We had a girl named Debbie working that afternoon that fit the bill. She didn't have a driver because she preferred to keep the driving fee for herself. I always said it was better to be safe than cheap, but you just couldn't get through to some of these girls. She took Mr. Dipshit's address and she was off on her merry way. Thirty minutes later she called back.
Trashman: "House of Ho's, can I help you?"
Debbie: "This guy says he doesn't have any money."
Trashman: "Shit. Tell him to give you the driving fee, and then split."
I hear her talking to him.
Debbie: "You need to give me $25.00 For a driving fee."
Mike: "I don't have ANY money."
Debbie: "Trashman he says ..."
Trashman: "I heard him."
Debbie: "I think this is his mom's house. He's really young. about 18 or so."
Trashman: "Put the fucker on the phone."
Mike: "Uh. Hello?"
Trashman: "Mr. Dipshit, we seem to have a dilemma."
Mike: "Idon'thaveanymoney."
Trashman: "Calm down, we'll figure this out. Now when you called, our rates were explained to you. Including the driving fee. If you don't want the girl for ANY reason, you still have to pay her something for showing up. Didn't you agree to this."
Mike: "Uh. Yeah?"
Trashman: "So pay the girl $25.00 and save me a trip."
Mike: "Idon'thaveanymoney."
Trashman: "Then you need to give her a VCR or a T.V. or something."
Mike: "I can't do that."
Trashman: "Sure you can. Just unplug it and and put it in her car."
Mike: "I can't do that."
Trashman: "Mr. Dipshit put the girl back on the phone."
Debbie: "Hello?"
Trashman: "I'm on my way. Get the fuck out of there and get a long ways away."
Once again I hear her talking to him.
Debbie: "He's on the way and you are so fucked. HAHAHA"
The phone went dead.
I drove over to the next little town. As I entered Mr. Dipshit's neighborhood, I met a patrol cop going in the other direction. We nodded at each other and continued on. I found the address I was looking for and parked to the side of the house. There was a real estate sign in the front yard. Luckily no dogs. I knocked on the backdoor first, and got no answer. I moved around and tried the front door, no luck there either. I walked to the back door for one more try. Nothing. I figured I would have to catch him later by surprise. As I headed back to my car, cops came pouring out of the woodwork, guns drawn and ready to shoot. Unlike the idiots you see on "Cops", I know how to handle this. The first thing you do is empty your mind and listen to the nice officers. Once they have the cuffs on you, then you can start thinking of the lies.
Cop 1: "Stop right there. Turn with your back to me. Put your hands on your head. Now follow my voice and back up towards me. Stop. Now get on your knees."
I was surrounded, had I made any sudden moves and then dropped to the ground these morons would have shot each other with crossfire. It was quite comical. I was cuffed, brought to my feet, leaned over my car, and searched.
Trashman: "Can I ask, what the problem is officer?"
Cop 1: "We got a call that a big scary guy was trying to break in this house."
Trashman: "Since when is knocking on the door an attempt at break in? Plus I'm pretty sure if I wanted to break in I could have just run through the door."
Cop 1: "Then why were you in the backyard?"
Trashman: "I was knocking on the BACK door."
Cop 1: "The resident inside says he doesn't know you and you were trying to break in."
Trashman: "That cop over there (nodding at cop 2) saw me awhile ago, driving down the street. If I was going to break in, would I do it in broad daylight with cops in the neighborhood?"
Cop 1: "Is that true, Cop 2?"
Cop 2: "Yeah I saw him. Wasn't suspicious."
Cop 1: "Then why are you here?"
Trashman: "I work for House of Ho's. The guy inside called and requested a dancer."
Cop 1: "You know they're not dancers."
Trashman: "As far as I know all they do is strip. Anyway we sent a "dancer" over here. She called me back and said this guy kept grabbing her. Since she doesn't have a driver I told her to try and get out and I rushed over here to make sure she was safe. I kept knocking on the doors because I didn't know if she was still in there. I was on my way back out to the car to call you guys, when you showed up."
Cop 1: "What's the guys name?"
Trashman: "Mike Dipshit. The girl said he's about 18 years old."
The cops talked to Mr. Dipshit and he finally admitted that he knew I was coming. Except he said I was coming to get money. I calmly explained to the cops that he had already lied to them once and he definitely wasn't going to admit to sexually assaulting the girl. I was released and told not to be found in the neighborhood again. Yeah, right.
For the next couple of weeks I would randomly call Mike Dipshit and ask for Mrs. Dipshit. Every time I called, Mike answered the phone and demanded to know who was calling and why. I even had some of the girls call and ask to speak to his mother. No luck. This guy must have been sleeping right by the phone. He was bound and determined I wasn't going to talk to mommy.
One day I had one of the drivers go by the house and get the number of the real estate company off the sign out front. I called and made an appointment to see the house, I also requested that the present owner be there in case I had any questions.
Saturday morning I met the real estate agent at the house. She knocked on the door and the lovely Mrs. Dipshit answered it and let us in. As we entered the living room from the foyer, Mike was coming in from the kitchen. He looked up and saw me. He froze like a deer in the headlights and dropped the plate that held his sandwich and chips. The plate shattered on the floor. Mrs Dipshit turned and looked at her son.
Mrs. Dipshit: "Mike! What's wrong with you?"
Trashman: "I'm sorry Mrs. Dipshit. It's all my fault. You see Mike and I have some unfinished business."
Mrs. Dipshit: "Huh?"
Real Estate Lady: "What's going on here?"
Trashman: "I'm sorry I had to deceive the both of you. But there was no other way for me to contact Mrs. Dipshit."
Mrs. Dipshit: "What are you talking about?"
Trashman: "Well you see two weeks ago, probably while you were at work Mike called "The House of Ho's" and ordered a stripper. I supplied that stripper. Only when the girl showed up at YOUR house, Mike refused to pay her. He even refused to pay the $25.00 driving fee that he had agreed to when he called me. The police even came by here. Isn't that right Mike?"
Mike: "Mom..."
Mrs. Dipshit: "SHUT UP MIKE. DID YOU HAVE A STRIPPER IN MY HOUSE?"
Mike: "Mom..."
Mrs. Dipshit: "I SAID SHUT UP"
Real Estate Lady (whispering in my ear): "I like your style."
Trashman (whispering back): "Thanks."
Mrs. Dipshit: "PAY HIM."
Mike: "Mom..."
Mrs. Dipshit: "I SAID PAY HIM. NOW SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND GIVE THIS MAN $25.00."
Mike fished out his wallet and handed me $25.00. He was shaking so bad I don't know how he ever managed it.
Trashman: "Now see Mike, we could have avoided this whole mess. All you had to do was give the girl the money.
Mike: "Mom..."
Mrs. Dipshit: "SHUT UP MIKE."
Trashman: "Once again I want to apologize to you Mrs. Dipshit and to you also Real Estate Lady. I am truly sorry for the deception."
Mrs. Dipshit: "Just get out of my house."
Trashman: "Yes ma'am. Oh, and Mike, I always win."
Real Estate Lady and I walked out. As I was walking to my car you could still hear the screaming inside.
Trashman: "I'm really sorry you were a part of this."
Real Estate Lady: "Most entertaining Saturday morning of my life."
Trashman: "You'll probably lose this account."
Real Estate Lady: "That's OK this house has been listed forever anyway. She wants too much and the upstairs is a mess. Thanks to Mike."
Trashman: " Well I've got business to take care of."
Real Estate Lady: "Are you really in the market for a house."
Trashman: "No."
Real Estate Lady: "Well take my card in case you change your mind."
Trashman: "OK. Thank you."
Real Estate Lady: "My cell phone number is on there also."
Trashman: "OK?"
Real Estate Lady: "I'm not doing anything tonight. You know if you wanted to call me, maybe we could get together or something."
Like I said "I always win."
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Friday, December 10, 2004
Two Stepping - 3 Kinds Of Ladies - Impending Nuptials
While I sit at work doing the chores of a retarded monkey, I have plenty of time to think. I know this is a scary thing. Trashman thinking can't be good. Tonight for some unknown reason I started thinking about my childhood. I have some fairly fond memories of growing up in honky tonks. For those of you that don't know what a honky tonk is, it's not a meeting place for the Klan. It's a small family establishment, they just happen to serve alcohol. Anyway I spent some great times in honkey tonks as a child. Back in the day you would find entire family's in the bars on Saturday night. Back then things were a lot different, sure mom and dad were drinking but when the kids were there with them, parents would tend to keep it to a minimum. Not like this day and age where you have parents getting high with their teenagers.
I remember the juke box pumping out great old country songs in between sets of live music. All the kids ate corn nuts and drank coke until they were pissing brown, if you were lucky your parents would buy you a bar pizza just to stop the cries of "I'm hungry."
I remember Saturday nights was the only time I saw my dad smile or heard him laugh, usually while hustling some sucker at the pool table. He really enjoyed money he didn't have to work for.
I remember it was the only time my mom was really happy, because my dad was happy. Mom didn't get beat on Saturday nights.
I remember playing tag or some other game with the other kids in the parking lot.
What I remember most is dancing the two step. Even as a small child I was on the dance floor every Saturday night with the cutie of the week. It's funny I don't remember learning the two step, but I remember dancing it. I guess I just always knew how.
We traveled all over "The Great State of Texas" when I was a kid. I think my dad was on the run a lot or he was just trying to find some new guys to hustle at pool. I've danced my way across this state, from Wichita Falls to San Antonio and El Paso to Pasadena. I've danced in big night clubs and small beer joints, but my favorites were the honkey tonks.
Those Saturday nights were filled with laughter, great music, good times, old friends and family. I wish I could give my kids Saturday nights like those.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I attract three kinds of women. Psychos, Sluts, and Strippers.
Jen doesn't dance nor has she ever removed her clothes, publicly or privately. She's not a stripper.
I'm only the third guy she has ever been with in an intimate manner but I'm the first real man she's been with. She's not a slut.
That only leaves one thing. I guess it's a good thing I like crazy women.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We got our marriage license two days ago. We can get married after 2 o'clock Saturday afternoon. We have 27 days in which to tie the noose, I mean knot. We had an 11 year engagement. We wanted to test the waters. You know live together a while, have a couple of kids, see if we we're a compatible family. Plus nobody is going to vote for a guy that's not married.
I remember the juke box pumping out great old country songs in between sets of live music. All the kids ate corn nuts and drank coke until they were pissing brown, if you were lucky your parents would buy you a bar pizza just to stop the cries of "I'm hungry."
I remember Saturday nights was the only time I saw my dad smile or heard him laugh, usually while hustling some sucker at the pool table. He really enjoyed money he didn't have to work for.
I remember it was the only time my mom was really happy, because my dad was happy. Mom didn't get beat on Saturday nights.
I remember playing tag or some other game with the other kids in the parking lot.
What I remember most is dancing the two step. Even as a small child I was on the dance floor every Saturday night with the cutie of the week. It's funny I don't remember learning the two step, but I remember dancing it. I guess I just always knew how.
We traveled all over "The Great State of Texas" when I was a kid. I think my dad was on the run a lot or he was just trying to find some new guys to hustle at pool. I've danced my way across this state, from Wichita Falls to San Antonio and El Paso to Pasadena. I've danced in big night clubs and small beer joints, but my favorites were the honkey tonks.
Those Saturday nights were filled with laughter, great music, good times, old friends and family. I wish I could give my kids Saturday nights like those.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I attract three kinds of women. Psychos, Sluts, and Strippers.
Jen doesn't dance nor has she ever removed her clothes, publicly or privately. She's not a stripper.
I'm only the third guy she has ever been with in an intimate manner but I'm the first real man she's been with. She's not a slut.
That only leaves one thing. I guess it's a good thing I like crazy women.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We got our marriage license two days ago. We can get married after 2 o'clock Saturday afternoon. We have 27 days in which to tie the noose, I mean knot. We had an 11 year engagement. We wanted to test the waters. You know live together a while, have a couple of kids, see if we we're a compatible family. Plus nobody is going to vote for a guy that's not married.
Thursday, December 02, 2004
"THAT" Girl
Anything I say today will pale in comparison to Jay's announcement. Congratulations to both Jay and Jazz.
I will be making "whistle stops" in the future in regards to my candidacy for President of the United States of America. I know a lot of you think I'm crazy and a crackpot, but I am seriously going to run. I'll admit to being a crazy crackpot now. It shouldn't hurt my chances any.
Let's get started. Today I want to talk about "THAT Girl" or as I call them "BRB's". The Bank Robbing Bitch. These are not women that go around robbing banks as the name would suggest. No. These women are far more dangerous. They are the women that make men do stupid things. For instance, robbing banks without a gun. The conversation would go something like this:
BRB: "Do you love me?"
Sucker: "Of course baby."
BRB: "Then rob that bank for me."
Sucker: "But I don't have a gun."
BRB: "Silly, you don't need a gun. Just use your finger and point it like a gun."
Sucker: "OK."
"BRB's" make you do things like deliver cocaine to upstate New York. First a few 8 balls and eventually a few pounds. All without regard for personal safety. I'm not saying I ever did this. I just know how they make you act.
The world is full of "BRB's". Every man has one, if he is lucky he has never met her and never will. Jen used to get upset when I mentioned "BRB's" because she knew she wasn't mine. It took a long time for me to get it through her head being a mans "BRB" wasn't a good thing. You see the relationship between a man and a "BRB" has nothing to do with true love. It's more of a twisted, sick, perverted, vile, dark, mutated form of love and lust combined. It's the kind of thing that will make you do the stupidest shit you've ever done, all for a woman. A woman that will never love you, a woman that will use you and discard you when she's through. A woman that is evil to the core, yet she doesn't really have any idea she is evil. That's the fucked up part. She thinks she loves you, she makes you think she loves you. Yet she makes you do stupid shit and love has nothing to do with it.
Now I know a lot of you ladies out there are going to start to question your men about "BRB's". I would suggest leaving it alone. If he is not thinking about her don't bring it up. You see once a "BRB" gets her hooks into a man she injects a poison. This poison for the most part is not lethal, but it has been known to kill some men, usually in a very violent manner. Case in point. Two of the most famous "BRB's" are Helen of Troy and Cleopatra. Both managed to destroy men and countries. Most "BRB's" do not work on such a grand scale. Most only affect one or two lives.
Back to the poison. Once this poison is injected, there is no way of getting it out of a mans blood. It will be there for life. Sometimes it will lay dormant forever, sometimes it will move around coursing through his veins. You will know when it's moving around by the vacant stares and the slobber running down his chin. Don't confuse the slobber with drool. Drool is what he does when he is in heat. Slobber is what he does when madness is running though his veins. The poison will make him think of her from time to time, it can't be helped. Don't worry these are not fond memories. They are just memories. Memories of a woman that used him. Memories of the stupid shit he did just for a little attention from her. Memories of a time he is glad is over and done with.
Ladies if your man has a "BRB" in his past you are lucky to be with him. Simply because he got away from her without dying or going to prison. Very few men make it far enough away from their "BRB" to start a new relationship. The poison usually kills them or turns them into a lunatic. That is if he manages to dig the hooks out. Most men will never meet their "BRB". They are the lucky ones. A few have met them and managed to get away before the hooks were set. I would say they are lucky too. The ones that have had those hooks set in and still managed to get away are just lucky they survived. My "BRB" had her hooks so deep in me I don't really know how I ever got away. Jen had a lot to do with it. I never told her how bad it was, simply because she wouldn't understand it's not love. Her love is what saved me and pulled me out of the abyss.
I'm really lucky I survived.
I will be making "whistle stops" in the future in regards to my candidacy for President of the United States of America. I know a lot of you think I'm crazy and a crackpot, but I am seriously going to run. I'll admit to being a crazy crackpot now. It shouldn't hurt my chances any.
Let's get started. Today I want to talk about "THAT Girl" or as I call them "BRB's". The Bank Robbing Bitch. These are not women that go around robbing banks as the name would suggest. No. These women are far more dangerous. They are the women that make men do stupid things. For instance, robbing banks without a gun. The conversation would go something like this:
BRB: "Do you love me?"
Sucker: "Of course baby."
BRB: "Then rob that bank for me."
Sucker: "But I don't have a gun."
BRB: "Silly, you don't need a gun. Just use your finger and point it like a gun."
Sucker: "OK."
"BRB's" make you do things like deliver cocaine to upstate New York. First a few 8 balls and eventually a few pounds. All without regard for personal safety. I'm not saying I ever did this. I just know how they make you act.
The world is full of "BRB's". Every man has one, if he is lucky he has never met her and never will. Jen used to get upset when I mentioned "BRB's" because she knew she wasn't mine. It took a long time for me to get it through her head being a mans "BRB" wasn't a good thing. You see the relationship between a man and a "BRB" has nothing to do with true love. It's more of a twisted, sick, perverted, vile, dark, mutated form of love and lust combined. It's the kind of thing that will make you do the stupidest shit you've ever done, all for a woman. A woman that will never love you, a woman that will use you and discard you when she's through. A woman that is evil to the core, yet she doesn't really have any idea she is evil. That's the fucked up part. She thinks she loves you, she makes you think she loves you. Yet she makes you do stupid shit and love has nothing to do with it.
Now I know a lot of you ladies out there are going to start to question your men about "BRB's". I would suggest leaving it alone. If he is not thinking about her don't bring it up. You see once a "BRB" gets her hooks into a man she injects a poison. This poison for the most part is not lethal, but it has been known to kill some men, usually in a very violent manner. Case in point. Two of the most famous "BRB's" are Helen of Troy and Cleopatra. Both managed to destroy men and countries. Most "BRB's" do not work on such a grand scale. Most only affect one or two lives.
Back to the poison. Once this poison is injected, there is no way of getting it out of a mans blood. It will be there for life. Sometimes it will lay dormant forever, sometimes it will move around coursing through his veins. You will know when it's moving around by the vacant stares and the slobber running down his chin. Don't confuse the slobber with drool. Drool is what he does when he is in heat. Slobber is what he does when madness is running though his veins. The poison will make him think of her from time to time, it can't be helped. Don't worry these are not fond memories. They are just memories. Memories of a woman that used him. Memories of the stupid shit he did just for a little attention from her. Memories of a time he is glad is over and done with.
Ladies if your man has a "BRB" in his past you are lucky to be with him. Simply because he got away from her without dying or going to prison. Very few men make it far enough away from their "BRB" to start a new relationship. The poison usually kills them or turns them into a lunatic. That is if he manages to dig the hooks out. Most men will never meet their "BRB". They are the lucky ones. A few have met them and managed to get away before the hooks were set. I would say they are lucky too. The ones that have had those hooks set in and still managed to get away are just lucky they survived. My "BRB" had her hooks so deep in me I don't really know how I ever got away. Jen had a lot to do with it. I never told her how bad it was, simply because she wouldn't understand it's not love. Her love is what saved me and pulled me out of the abyss.
I'm really lucky I survived.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Bucking The System
I know I haven't posted in awhile. I've been working overtime so I'm lucky to have the time to read other peoples blogs. The company I work for has a very strict no overtime policy. In other words if you go into overtime you get fired. They asked me to work OT on a special project since my production numbers are so high. All that means to me is I'm slightly more productive than a poorly trained monkey.
I've been in a foul mood for the last few days. I don't mean depressed. I mean mad. Angry. Mean. Urinated to the highest degree of pisstivity. I don't know why. It's just one of those things. However I woke up in a great mood about 10 minutes ago. Got my coffee in one hand, my dick in the other, a cigarette between my toes and typing with my left foot. All is right with the world.
I've decided to do things differently instead of making a list of things I'm thankful that I have, I'm going to make a list of things I'm thankful I don't have. Here goes.
I am thankful I don't
1. Have irritable bowel syndrome.
2. Have Jack's pussy problems.
3. Have El Sid's customer problems.
4. Smell like the French.
5. Have a really big Johnson. (strike that I do have a really big Johnson)
6. Have an ugly wife. (she's reel purrty)
7. Have to pay alimony.
8. Have the clap or any other STD. (dodged that bullet)
9. Like sushi. (nothing like breath that smells like bad pussy)
10. Have hair. (hair care products are expensive, ask Jay.)
11. Have low self esteem.
12. Have sensitive nipples. (wait, just checked, they are sensitive)
13. Have Inanna's neighbors.
14. Have Rob's job.
15. Have any real drama in my life.
16. Have any neurotic disorders. (I'm neurotic just not disorderly)
17. Have more than 300 channels of nothing on TV.
18. Have an empty bank account. (whoops, wrong again)
19. Live anywhere but The United State Of Texas.
20. Have to burn in hell. (thanks Tommy, start blogging again you Cruel Bastard)
21. Drive a Yugo.
22. Have to deal with anymore rain for a few days.
23. Have to answer to anyone. (I'm the mother fucking man)
24. Have to drive anywhere this weekend.
25. Have old man balls. (yet)
This is just a short list of the things that I am glad are not in my life. I will try not to be so negligent in the future. I plan on writing all weekend so I can post even when I don't have time to write.
Wendy asked for a story about when I was a porn star. I was in one movie. It was called Real Swingers Stories 2 Phuckin in Phoenix. I worked under the name Ben Scrooed. End of story. I wish there was more to tell because I am a long winded fucker. I like to hear myself talk or in this case watch myself type.
I really do hope y'all have a Happy Thanksgiving.
I've been in a foul mood for the last few days. I don't mean depressed. I mean mad. Angry. Mean. Urinated to the highest degree of pisstivity. I don't know why. It's just one of those things. However I woke up in a great mood about 10 minutes ago. Got my coffee in one hand, my dick in the other, a cigarette between my toes and typing with my left foot. All is right with the world.
I've decided to do things differently instead of making a list of things I'm thankful that I have, I'm going to make a list of things I'm thankful I don't have. Here goes.
I am thankful I don't
1. Have irritable bowel syndrome.
2. Have Jack's pussy problems.
3. Have El Sid's customer problems.
4. Smell like the French.
5. Have a really big Johnson. (strike that I do have a really big Johnson)
6. Have an ugly wife. (she's reel purrty)
7. Have to pay alimony.
8. Have the clap or any other STD. (dodged that bullet)
9. Like sushi. (nothing like breath that smells like bad pussy)
10. Have hair. (hair care products are expensive, ask Jay.)
11. Have low self esteem.
12. Have sensitive nipples. (wait, just checked, they are sensitive)
13. Have Inanna's neighbors.
14. Have Rob's job.
15. Have any real drama in my life.
16. Have any neurotic disorders. (I'm neurotic just not disorderly)
17. Have more than 300 channels of nothing on TV.
18. Have an empty bank account. (whoops, wrong again)
19. Live anywhere but The United State Of Texas.
20. Have to burn in hell. (thanks Tommy, start blogging again you Cruel Bastard)
21. Drive a Yugo.
22. Have to deal with anymore rain for a few days.
23. Have to answer to anyone. (I'm the mother fucking man)
24. Have to drive anywhere this weekend.
25. Have old man balls. (yet)
This is just a short list of the things that I am glad are not in my life. I will try not to be so negligent in the future. I plan on writing all weekend so I can post even when I don't have time to write.
Wendy asked for a story about when I was a porn star. I was in one movie. It was called Real Swingers Stories 2 Phuckin in Phoenix. I worked under the name Ben Scrooed. End of story. I wish there was more to tell because I am a long winded fucker. I like to hear myself talk or in this case watch myself type.
I really do hope y'all have a Happy Thanksgiving.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Stop The Hate In 2008
Ok good people I haven't been on here in a while, due to the fact I've sort of been planning my campaign. That's right, The Trashman is running for president. You heard it here first and as soon as I can find out how to make it official, I will.
Now I bet you're wondering "What does The Trashman know about being president?" Well to that I say, just as much as the people I'll be running against. George Bush can't be president again and the only way anyone could know what it takes, would be to have had the job already. Who else are you going to vote for? Hillary Clinton?
I do know this much. America is a business and should be run like a business. It should be run by businessmen not politicians. It's all about profit. Now I've been pretty successful running my own businesses, unfortunately I had to leave them due to legalities. So why not give me a chance with a legal business.
I have inhaled and forgotten to exhale. I've lied, cheated, and stole. I have broken most laws, commandments, and rules. I'm not going to hide from my past. Ask me the question and I'll give you a honest answer, unless you ask me about that sheep when I was 14. Basically what I'm saying is, I'm putting it all out there for the whole world to see. Nobody can drag up my past indiscretions to cost me the election. If I lose, then I lost all on my own.
I can balance the budget almost immediately. How you ask? The first thing is foreign aid. After I'm elected Foreign Aid will be an imported drink. That's right no more free money. If you want Americas money you better have something to sell, we're not giving it away anymore. The second thing is welfare. Gone. You want a government check, get it the old fashion way. Earn it. If you receive government money you will be required to work at least 40 hours per week. Go clean up some graffiti. Number three. The military. They're all coming home. We have borders to protect. I figure if we're not messing around in their backyard then they shouldn't be messing around in ours. When was the last time someone attacked a country that was minding they're own business?
Immigration. Touchy subject. If you do not have a work visa. Get the fuck out. If you do not have a student visa. Get the fuck out. If you have not applied for citizenship. Get the fuck out. If you do not have previously granted political asylum. Get the fuck out. That's another thing. Citizenship. If you want it you better learn to speak fucking American (we don't speak English, the English speak English, we speak American). We need to take care of our own before we worry about the rest of the world. What's the old saying? Charity begins at home.
No more labels. Stop with the Afro-American, Hispanic-American, Japanese-American, Whatever-American bullshit. By putting prefixes on American you point out the differences in our population. What's wrong with being AMERICAN? Then we're all the same. I'm not saying we can't all be a little different, individuality is a good thing. But we are all American aren't we? It's that common bond that should pull us together.
Healthcare. Still working on this one.
United Nations. Get the fuck out. Go set up office on an island somewhere. We will no longer be host to a bunch of weenies that hate us anyway. Besides the UN building would make great housing. Which brings me to another of Americas problems.
The homeless. There is no call for anyone to be homeless in America. This is after all the land of opportunity. I would set up an organization to help these people get of the streets, but they're going to earn it. That's right, America will help you get a home, but you're going to work for it.
Imports. America will gladly let you ship your cheap electronics into our beautiful consumer land, but you better be prepared to accept the same amount of stuff from us. If you don't buy our stuff. We're not buying yours. By keeping our money in our country and making our own stuff, we create more jobs for our people. In turn these people spend the money buying American made products. See the big picture?
The two inevitable. Death and Taxes
The death penalty. It will now include child molesters, as long as there is DNA proof. That's another thing, DNA proof. Let's clear out some of these old cases. If there is DNA proof and it could free someone then by all means let them out. But if there is DNA proof parking your ass on death row. Fuck the appeals . Sparky meet Killer. Killer meet Sparky.
Tax. No more income tax. Flat rate sales tax. You buy something, you pay taxes. This way everybody gets taxed at the same rate. Now, some rich fucker is going to say this is not fair, he pays more tax because he bought a Ferrari. Well I say, buy a fucking Chevy you prick.
This is what I've come up with so far. I figure I've got four years to perfect my plan of attack. I've also started picking my cabinet members. Well one of them anyway.
Secretary of State. Jack. I think we need a diplomat with some good old Texas common sense. Plus he's not in the shit business. He doesn't give it, he doesn't take it, and he damned sure ain't buying it.
I know not everybody is going to agree with me. The ability to disagree with The Trashman is part of what makes this a free country. Yet I'm sure I could do a good job and make y'all proud.
The next President of the United States will now accept your questions.
Now I bet you're wondering "What does The Trashman know about being president?" Well to that I say, just as much as the people I'll be running against. George Bush can't be president again and the only way anyone could know what it takes, would be to have had the job already. Who else are you going to vote for? Hillary Clinton?
I do know this much. America is a business and should be run like a business. It should be run by businessmen not politicians. It's all about profit. Now I've been pretty successful running my own businesses, unfortunately I had to leave them due to legalities. So why not give me a chance with a legal business.
I have inhaled and forgotten to exhale. I've lied, cheated, and stole. I have broken most laws, commandments, and rules. I'm not going to hide from my past. Ask me the question and I'll give you a honest answer, unless you ask me about that sheep when I was 14. Basically what I'm saying is, I'm putting it all out there for the whole world to see. Nobody can drag up my past indiscretions to cost me the election. If I lose, then I lost all on my own.
I can balance the budget almost immediately. How you ask? The first thing is foreign aid. After I'm elected Foreign Aid will be an imported drink. That's right no more free money. If you want Americas money you better have something to sell, we're not giving it away anymore. The second thing is welfare. Gone. You want a government check, get it the old fashion way. Earn it. If you receive government money you will be required to work at least 40 hours per week. Go clean up some graffiti. Number three. The military. They're all coming home. We have borders to protect. I figure if we're not messing around in their backyard then they shouldn't be messing around in ours. When was the last time someone attacked a country that was minding they're own business?
Immigration. Touchy subject. If you do not have a work visa. Get the fuck out. If you do not have a student visa. Get the fuck out. If you have not applied for citizenship. Get the fuck out. If you do not have previously granted political asylum. Get the fuck out. That's another thing. Citizenship. If you want it you better learn to speak fucking American (we don't speak English, the English speak English, we speak American). We need to take care of our own before we worry about the rest of the world. What's the old saying? Charity begins at home.
No more labels. Stop with the Afro-American, Hispanic-American, Japanese-American, Whatever-American bullshit. By putting prefixes on American you point out the differences in our population. What's wrong with being AMERICAN? Then we're all the same. I'm not saying we can't all be a little different, individuality is a good thing. But we are all American aren't we? It's that common bond that should pull us together.
Healthcare. Still working on this one.
United Nations. Get the fuck out. Go set up office on an island somewhere. We will no longer be host to a bunch of weenies that hate us anyway. Besides the UN building would make great housing. Which brings me to another of Americas problems.
The homeless. There is no call for anyone to be homeless in America. This is after all the land of opportunity. I would set up an organization to help these people get of the streets, but they're going to earn it. That's right, America will help you get a home, but you're going to work for it.
Imports. America will gladly let you ship your cheap electronics into our beautiful consumer land, but you better be prepared to accept the same amount of stuff from us. If you don't buy our stuff. We're not buying yours. By keeping our money in our country and making our own stuff, we create more jobs for our people. In turn these people spend the money buying American made products. See the big picture?
The two inevitable. Death and Taxes
The death penalty. It will now include child molesters, as long as there is DNA proof. That's another thing, DNA proof. Let's clear out some of these old cases. If there is DNA proof and it could free someone then by all means let them out. But if there is DNA proof parking your ass on death row. Fuck the appeals . Sparky meet Killer. Killer meet Sparky.
Tax. No more income tax. Flat rate sales tax. You buy something, you pay taxes. This way everybody gets taxed at the same rate. Now, some rich fucker is going to say this is not fair, he pays more tax because he bought a Ferrari. Well I say, buy a fucking Chevy you prick.
This is what I've come up with so far. I figure I've got four years to perfect my plan of attack. I've also started picking my cabinet members. Well one of them anyway.
Secretary of State. Jack. I think we need a diplomat with some good old Texas common sense. Plus he's not in the shit business. He doesn't give it, he doesn't take it, and he damned sure ain't buying it.
I know not everybody is going to agree with me. The ability to disagree with The Trashman is part of what makes this a free country. Yet I'm sure I could do a good job and make y'all proud.
The next President of the United States will now accept your questions.
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Simple Assault
Two weeks ago Trashman Jr. went to school, just like any other day. The difference this time is he was attacked by a girl in his class. Now this was not an ordinary attack in the screaming , hitting, biting, hair pulling, pinching sort of way that you would expect from a 10 year old girl. No, this little princess who I will refer to as LB (little bitch) decided to spray my son with paint remover, causing a chemical burn on his leg. The assault happened before class started for the day, where all the kids line up to go to their classrooms. My son told his teacher about the incident. She questioned the little girl and of course LB denied everything. Jen and I were not notified until 1:00 pm.
Throughout the day my son asked to go to the bathroom to put water on the burn. Finally he asked to go to the nurse. They managed to get LB to confess and they found a spray bottle in her desk. The nurse called the poison control center. They said to wash the burn for 15 minutes and to keep it covered with something moisturizing like vaseline. The school eventually called Jen. Jen called me, and I of course in typical irate father fashion, headed for the school.
Once I got there I had to sign in and all the "necessary" bullshit before I could see my son. I asked John how his leg was and he told me it didn't burn anymore, he was fine. He also told me earlier it burned so bad he wanted to cry, but he wasn't going to cry because he wasn't a sissy. At that point I had three feelings. Pride; because my son dealt with it like a man. Anger; because it must have really burned intensely to make him want to cry, he's one tough kid. Severe Anger; because they let this happen in the first place.
I sat in the front office with Trashman Jr. and waited for the assistant principal. When she finally showed up I was even angrier.
Trashman: "I'm calling the police."
AP: "Why would you do that?"
Trashman: "This is a case of assault."
AP: "Let's go in my office so everyone doesn't have to hear your business."
Trashman: "I don't care who hears this."
I was lead into the office and she immediately drew the blinds and closed the door.
AP: "Let me start by apologizing..."
Trashman: "Why? Did you spray him too?"
AP: "Certainly not. I was just going to say..."
Trashman: "Don't apologize to me. I don't want to hear it. I don't apologize for anything I do, so I don't expect anyone to apologize to me."
AP: "Well I think when we make mistakes we should apologize."
Trashman: "I don't make mistakes."
AP: "You're saying you've never done anything wrong?"
Trashman: "No. I've done plenty wrong, it just wasn't a mistake. If I say or do something that's what I meant to do."
AP: "Well as part of the punishment process we make the children "own" their mistake, so I want LB to apologize to you."
Trashman: "I don't want to hear it. I won't believe it. She's not going to mean it, and it's just going to piss me off even more."
AP: "Well it's part of the process that..."
Trashman: "My process is to call the police and have her arrested."
AP: "You don't want to do that."
Trashman: "Why? What are you going to do the girl?"
AP: "I can't tell you due to privacy issues."
Trashman: "Well I can tell you. You're going to hug her and talk about what happened and why did little precious squirt the mean ol boy. As a matter of fact. Why did she have this stuff at school?"
AP: "We're not sure why?"
Trashman: "I can tell you why. She brought it to school to spray somebody."
AP: "We don't know that."
Trashman: "I do. That's why she brought it in a spray bottle.This is why I hate public schools."
AP: "This could have happened anywhere, at the store, at the mall. at the..."
Trashman: "No, it wouldn't have happened anywhere."
AP: "But it could have..."
Trashman: "I guarantee it would not have happened if I would have been here. I unlike others know what's going on around me, at all times. So are you just going to hug this girl and "talk" about it?"
AP: "I can assure you I have a lot more at my disposal as far as punishment. If you read the hand book we sent home with your child you would know it could be anywhere from a time out to three days suspension."
Trashman: "That's not enough. The only way she will learn is if she faces some real consequences."
AP: "Those are real consequences."
Trashman: "No, but an arrest is real."
AP: "You're being a little extreme aren't you?"
Trashman: "I'll tell what I'll do. I'll let Trashman Jr. make the decision. Son do you want to have her arrested?"
AP: "It's not fair to put that on him. You can't ask a child a question like that. That's too much for a child."
Trashman: "I already asked him and he's going to make the decision. I'm trying to raise two men not two little girls, and life's not fair and sometimes you have to make decisions you don't want to make. Well this is one of those times. He will make this decision, he's the one that got burned, he decides what happens."
AP: "I'm raising two boys by myself and I know you have to be tougher on them. I know because I'm their father and their mother. I don't get to give my children the motherly love they should have, because I'm to busy being their father the disciplinarian. That's too much responsibility for a child."
At this point I knew what I was dealing with. I should have known by the butch haircut and the sweat pants and the whistle hanging around her neck. What we had here was a dyed in the wool manhater. She found a sperm donor, got pregnant twice and ran him off. This was a clear case of a woman suffering from penis envy. She was pissed because God castrated her. Of course I was evil, of course my son must have started this. We were men therefore we were the enemy.
Trashman: "He's going to make the decision."
I turned to my pride and joy, the apple of my eye and said very firmly for her benefit.
"MAKE the decision boy. Does she go to jail?"
Trashman Jr: "I don't want her to go to jail Dad."
Trashman: "Good enough for me."
AP: "Well I still want her to apologize..."
Trashman: "I still don't want to hear it."
AP: "How about if she just admits what she did? I'll tell her not to apologize."
Trashman: "You're not going to leave this alone are you?"
AP: "No."
Trashman: "You do know you shouldn't poke a sleeping grizzly with a stick?"
AP: "Will you accept an admittance from LB?"
Trashman: "Fine."
AP: "Now just so you know I will not let you berate this child."
Trashman: "What makes you think I would do that? I don't berate my own children. Why would I do that to someone else's?"
AP: "I just know you're personality..."
Trashman: "Lady, you don't know a damn thing about me. I may be obnoxious and an asshole but I don't pick on little children. I'm offended by that."
AP: "Well I'm sorry if I said anything out..."
Trashman: "Save the apology, you meant it."
After a short time I was lead into another room, LB was sitting there but she didn't seem very worried.
LB: "I squirted you son with some paint remover."
Trashman: "Good enough for me."
I turned and walked out the door.
AP: "I'm glad you've calmed down."
Trashman: "Who says I've calmed down?"
AP: "It just seems like you're a lot calmer."
Trashman: "Well, I'm not. Right now I'm so mad I'm on the verge of a heart attack."
AP: "I think you're calmer. You just don't want to admit it."
Trashman: "You're really trying to kill me aren't you?"
AP: "I have to deal with LB. Have a good weekend Mr. Trashman."
I could have strangled that bitch on the spot and it would have been worth the trip to prison, but I didn't because I made a promise to Jen that I wouldn't go to jail until after the boys grow up and move out. Ten years from now I'll be hunting that bull dyke.
The following Monday Trashman Jr. came home from school and what he told me boiled my blood.
TJ: "Dad, I had to go talk to the counselor today."
Trashman: "What the fuck for?"
TJ: "I went in and LB was sitting there and she said she sprayed me because I cussed at her and I wouldn't stop talking about Vice City. I was talking about Vice City but I didn't cuss at her."
Trashman: "I know you didn't son. They just gave her all weekend to come up with an excuse. What else was said?"
TJ: "The lady asked me when I got sprayed how did I feel. I told her it burned. So she said not how did it feel on the outside but how did it make me feel on the inside."
Trashman: "And?"
TJ: "I told her it didn't make me feel anything on the inside. She said I must have felt something. Sad or hurt."
Trashman: "Keep going."
TJ: "I told her I don't have feelings like that. It's just something that happened. She said everybody feels sad when someone does something mean to them and that I did have feelings like that."
Trashman: "What did you say?"
TJ: "I told her not me, I'm not sensitive. If she wants feelings she should talk to T3. She said to come back and see her when I have feelings."
Trashman: "That was it?"
TJ: "I told her, I guess I don't have to come back here."
My little man is growing up. He knows men have four basic feelings. Happiness, Pride, Love, and Anger. Nothing more nothing less. We don't always show them. I manage to show one of them regularly the other three I'm working on. Sometimes shitty things happen to good people and sometimes good things happen to shitty people. It's just the way of the world. There's nothing you can do about it, so there's no sense in getting all emotional.
Throughout the day my son asked to go to the bathroom to put water on the burn. Finally he asked to go to the nurse. They managed to get LB to confess and they found a spray bottle in her desk. The nurse called the poison control center. They said to wash the burn for 15 minutes and to keep it covered with something moisturizing like vaseline. The school eventually called Jen. Jen called me, and I of course in typical irate father fashion, headed for the school.
Once I got there I had to sign in and all the "necessary" bullshit before I could see my son. I asked John how his leg was and he told me it didn't burn anymore, he was fine. He also told me earlier it burned so bad he wanted to cry, but he wasn't going to cry because he wasn't a sissy. At that point I had three feelings. Pride; because my son dealt with it like a man. Anger; because it must have really burned intensely to make him want to cry, he's one tough kid. Severe Anger; because they let this happen in the first place.
I sat in the front office with Trashman Jr. and waited for the assistant principal. When she finally showed up I was even angrier.
Trashman: "I'm calling the police."
AP: "Why would you do that?"
Trashman: "This is a case of assault."
AP: "Let's go in my office so everyone doesn't have to hear your business."
Trashman: "I don't care who hears this."
I was lead into the office and she immediately drew the blinds and closed the door.
AP: "Let me start by apologizing..."
Trashman: "Why? Did you spray him too?"
AP: "Certainly not. I was just going to say..."
Trashman: "Don't apologize to me. I don't want to hear it. I don't apologize for anything I do, so I don't expect anyone to apologize to me."
AP: "Well I think when we make mistakes we should apologize."
Trashman: "I don't make mistakes."
AP: "You're saying you've never done anything wrong?"
Trashman: "No. I've done plenty wrong, it just wasn't a mistake. If I say or do something that's what I meant to do."
AP: "Well as part of the punishment process we make the children "own" their mistake, so I want LB to apologize to you."
Trashman: "I don't want to hear it. I won't believe it. She's not going to mean it, and it's just going to piss me off even more."
AP: "Well it's part of the process that..."
Trashman: "My process is to call the police and have her arrested."
AP: "You don't want to do that."
Trashman: "Why? What are you going to do the girl?"
AP: "I can't tell you due to privacy issues."
Trashman: "Well I can tell you. You're going to hug her and talk about what happened and why did little precious squirt the mean ol boy. As a matter of fact. Why did she have this stuff at school?"
AP: "We're not sure why?"
Trashman: "I can tell you why. She brought it to school to spray somebody."
AP: "We don't know that."
Trashman: "I do. That's why she brought it in a spray bottle.This is why I hate public schools."
AP: "This could have happened anywhere, at the store, at the mall. at the..."
Trashman: "No, it wouldn't have happened anywhere."
AP: "But it could have..."
Trashman: "I guarantee it would not have happened if I would have been here. I unlike others know what's going on around me, at all times. So are you just going to hug this girl and "talk" about it?"
AP: "I can assure you I have a lot more at my disposal as far as punishment. If you read the hand book we sent home with your child you would know it could be anywhere from a time out to three days suspension."
Trashman: "That's not enough. The only way she will learn is if she faces some real consequences."
AP: "Those are real consequences."
Trashman: "No, but an arrest is real."
AP: "You're being a little extreme aren't you?"
Trashman: "I'll tell what I'll do. I'll let Trashman Jr. make the decision. Son do you want to have her arrested?"
AP: "It's not fair to put that on him. You can't ask a child a question like that. That's too much for a child."
Trashman: "I already asked him and he's going to make the decision. I'm trying to raise two men not two little girls, and life's not fair and sometimes you have to make decisions you don't want to make. Well this is one of those times. He will make this decision, he's the one that got burned, he decides what happens."
AP: "I'm raising two boys by myself and I know you have to be tougher on them. I know because I'm their father and their mother. I don't get to give my children the motherly love they should have, because I'm to busy being their father the disciplinarian. That's too much responsibility for a child."
At this point I knew what I was dealing with. I should have known by the butch haircut and the sweat pants and the whistle hanging around her neck. What we had here was a dyed in the wool manhater. She found a sperm donor, got pregnant twice and ran him off. This was a clear case of a woman suffering from penis envy. She was pissed because God castrated her. Of course I was evil, of course my son must have started this. We were men therefore we were the enemy.
Trashman: "He's going to make the decision."
I turned to my pride and joy, the apple of my eye and said very firmly for her benefit.
"MAKE the decision boy. Does she go to jail?"
Trashman Jr: "I don't want her to go to jail Dad."
Trashman: "Good enough for me."
AP: "Well I still want her to apologize..."
Trashman: "I still don't want to hear it."
AP: "How about if she just admits what she did? I'll tell her not to apologize."
Trashman: "You're not going to leave this alone are you?"
AP: "No."
Trashman: "You do know you shouldn't poke a sleeping grizzly with a stick?"
AP: "Will you accept an admittance from LB?"
Trashman: "Fine."
AP: "Now just so you know I will not let you berate this child."
Trashman: "What makes you think I would do that? I don't berate my own children. Why would I do that to someone else's?"
AP: "I just know you're personality..."
Trashman: "Lady, you don't know a damn thing about me. I may be obnoxious and an asshole but I don't pick on little children. I'm offended by that."
AP: "Well I'm sorry if I said anything out..."
Trashman: "Save the apology, you meant it."
After a short time I was lead into another room, LB was sitting there but she didn't seem very worried.
LB: "I squirted you son with some paint remover."
Trashman: "Good enough for me."
I turned and walked out the door.
AP: "I'm glad you've calmed down."
Trashman: "Who says I've calmed down?"
AP: "It just seems like you're a lot calmer."
Trashman: "Well, I'm not. Right now I'm so mad I'm on the verge of a heart attack."
AP: "I think you're calmer. You just don't want to admit it."
Trashman: "You're really trying to kill me aren't you?"
AP: "I have to deal with LB. Have a good weekend Mr. Trashman."
I could have strangled that bitch on the spot and it would have been worth the trip to prison, but I didn't because I made a promise to Jen that I wouldn't go to jail until after the boys grow up and move out. Ten years from now I'll be hunting that bull dyke.
The following Monday Trashman Jr. came home from school and what he told me boiled my blood.
TJ: "Dad, I had to go talk to the counselor today."
Trashman: "What the fuck for?"
TJ: "I went in and LB was sitting there and she said she sprayed me because I cussed at her and I wouldn't stop talking about Vice City. I was talking about Vice City but I didn't cuss at her."
Trashman: "I know you didn't son. They just gave her all weekend to come up with an excuse. What else was said?"
TJ: "The lady asked me when I got sprayed how did I feel. I told her it burned. So she said not how did it feel on the outside but how did it make me feel on the inside."
Trashman: "And?"
TJ: "I told her it didn't make me feel anything on the inside. She said I must have felt something. Sad or hurt."
Trashman: "Keep going."
TJ: "I told her I don't have feelings like that. It's just something that happened. She said everybody feels sad when someone does something mean to them and that I did have feelings like that."
Trashman: "What did you say?"
TJ: "I told her not me, I'm not sensitive. If she wants feelings she should talk to T3. She said to come back and see her when I have feelings."
Trashman: "That was it?"
TJ: "I told her, I guess I don't have to come back here."
My little man is growing up. He knows men have four basic feelings. Happiness, Pride, Love, and Anger. Nothing more nothing less. We don't always show them. I manage to show one of them regularly the other three I'm working on. Sometimes shitty things happen to good people and sometimes good things happen to shitty people. It's just the way of the world. There's nothing you can do about it, so there's no sense in getting all emotional.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Tattooed Steel and Sex Appeal
Vader, baby this one is for you.
For years I had talked trash about getting a tattoo on my johnson. One night I went so far as to track down a female artist (ain't no way a man is touching my dick). I called the tattoo shop to get prices. The girl that answered the phone had a sweet little girl voice and was named Candy, it already sounded promising.
Trashman: "How much would it cost me to get a tattoo on my crank."
Candy: "On your what?"
Trashman: "My crank, my cob, my willy, my johnson, my dick."
Candy: "Oh you want a tattoo on your penis?"
Trashman: "Is that the medical term?"
Candy: "The price would be $150.00 handling charge and then the tattoo price would depend on the size of the tattoo."
Trashman: "I'm a white guy, so you don't have much to work with."
Candy: "What did you want tattooed on your penis?"
Trashman: "A lightning bolt."
Candy: "I can do that. What is the significance of the lightning bolt?"
Trashman: "Lightning never strikes the same place twice or I cum in a flash. Take your pick."
Candy: "You realize it's going to be painful?"
Trashman: "I plan on fainting right before you start, with any luck I won't feel a thing."
Candy: "When would you like to make the appointment?"
Trashman: "How about tomorrow?"
The time was set. The next day I was at The Saints shop talking shit about getting my dick tattooed. I don't think I had any intention of making the appointment. That is until The Saint called my bluff.
The Saint: "You see that dry erase board?"
Trashman: "Yeah."
The Saint: "This afternoon it's either going to say, Trashman is the mother fucking man or Trashman is a big wet pussy. Your choice.
I walked out the door and drove straight to the tattoo parlor. I was ready to meet the sweet voiced Candy. My dick was about to be handled by a strange woman with a name and voice that just dripped sugar. I walked into the parlor and found a rather unpleasant looking woman sitting there. Her upper body was fine but her ass was as big as a Buick and square like one too. She had on coke bottle glasses, and her straw like hair was pulled back in a pony tail. This woman was ugly.
Trashman: "I have an appointment with Candy."
Ugly (in that voice): "You must be Trashman."
Trashman (thinking "please God don't let it be her"): "Yeah. Is Candy in?"
Ugly: "I'm Candy."
Trashman (fuck, fuck, fuck): "OK. Nice to meet you. Lets get this done."
I figured at least there was no chance of me getting a hard on and I better be nice because this beast was going to have my dick in her hand. No way was I going back to the shop without this tattoo. I laid on the table and Candy went to work. Now let me tell you, for the most part it was quite painful but at times she hit spots with that needle that were wonderfully euphoric. First pain then pleasure, back and forth. I didn't know whether to punch her or kiss her. Then I would look at that face and know instantly kissing her was out of the question. Candy finished the tattoo after a couple of hours. During this time we got to know each other. Turns out she was probably the nicest person I ever met and not just because she had my manhood in her hands. She regularly takes kids off the streets and puts them back in school, then she helps them find a job and a house. She has been doing this for years. Personality in an ugly woman will work to her advantage sometimes. But I'm sorry to say, no matter how much personality Candy had or how nice she was there was just no getting past that much ugly. Damn shame. That voice, that name, that sweetness, that personality, and THAT face.
Getting off the table and moving around was surprisingly pain free. It was like nothing had happened. Just so you know that tattoo required two pints of ink.
Candy: "All done."
Trashman: "Thank God."
Candy: "You know you can't have sexual relations for six weeks, right?"
Trashman: "Huh? You mean no fucking."
Candy: "Yep and no oral either."
Trashman: "I can't even get a blowjob."
Candy: "You are really crass aren't you?"
Trashman: "I don't know what that means."
Candy: "Unrefined."
Trashman (smiling): "Oh yeah that's me."
I left the parlor and went to see Kelli. She loved the tattoo so much she just had to taste it. Who was I to stop her. Candy must have been kidding about the no sex stuff, it was even better than before. I left Kelli's and went to The Saints shop, I walked straight to the board, took the marker and wrote in huge letters TRASHMAN IS THE MOTHER FUCKING MAN.
The Saint: "You're one twisted mother fucker."
Trashman: "You need proof?"
The Saint: "Fuck no. I don't want to see your dick."
Trashman: "I wasn't going to show you my dick. Call Kelli, she just kissed the lightning."
The Saint: "You know you're going to pay for that."
Trashman: "Bullshit. I don't feel a thing."
That night my dick swelled up to the size of a large watermelon. I could feel my heartbeat in it. Walking was out of the question. The Saint got me ice bags and towels so I could sit and play cards. What a great guy.
A couple of weeks later I was hanging out with JJ (my two legged pit bull).
JJ: " You really got it tattooed."
Trashman: "Wanna see?"
JJ: "Fuck no I don't want to see your dick."
Trashman: "OK."
JJ: "Did she shave you?"
Trashman: "Yeah."
JJ: "Did she use vaseline."
Trashman: "Yeah."
JJ: " How long did she hang on to it?"
Trashman: " About two hours."
JJ: " Did you get a hard on?"
Trashman: "Nope."
JJ: "She shaved you, smeared you down with vaseline, and fondled you for two hours and you didn't get a hard on? Bullshit."
Trashman: "Get in the truck."
We drove to the tattoo parlor. On the way there I told JJ to be nice when we got there. He asked "Why?" and I just said "You'll see". We walked in and no one was in front. We went to the back of the parlor and Candy was working on some drawings. As we approached she looked up.
Trashman: "I want you to meet a friend of mine. He's thinking about getting a tattoo."
Candy: "Hello."
Trashman: "JJ I want you to meet Candy."
All he could say was. "Oh."
For years I had talked trash about getting a tattoo on my johnson. One night I went so far as to track down a female artist (ain't no way a man is touching my dick). I called the tattoo shop to get prices. The girl that answered the phone had a sweet little girl voice and was named Candy, it already sounded promising.
Trashman: "How much would it cost me to get a tattoo on my crank."
Candy: "On your what?"
Trashman: "My crank, my cob, my willy, my johnson, my dick."
Candy: "Oh you want a tattoo on your penis?"
Trashman: "Is that the medical term?"
Candy: "The price would be $150.00 handling charge and then the tattoo price would depend on the size of the tattoo."
Trashman: "I'm a white guy, so you don't have much to work with."
Candy: "What did you want tattooed on your penis?"
Trashman: "A lightning bolt."
Candy: "I can do that. What is the significance of the lightning bolt?"
Trashman: "Lightning never strikes the same place twice or I cum in a flash. Take your pick."
Candy: "You realize it's going to be painful?"
Trashman: "I plan on fainting right before you start, with any luck I won't feel a thing."
Candy: "When would you like to make the appointment?"
Trashman: "How about tomorrow?"
The time was set. The next day I was at The Saints shop talking shit about getting my dick tattooed. I don't think I had any intention of making the appointment. That is until The Saint called my bluff.
The Saint: "You see that dry erase board?"
Trashman: "Yeah."
The Saint: "This afternoon it's either going to say, Trashman is the mother fucking man or Trashman is a big wet pussy. Your choice.
I walked out the door and drove straight to the tattoo parlor. I was ready to meet the sweet voiced Candy. My dick was about to be handled by a strange woman with a name and voice that just dripped sugar. I walked into the parlor and found a rather unpleasant looking woman sitting there. Her upper body was fine but her ass was as big as a Buick and square like one too. She had on coke bottle glasses, and her straw like hair was pulled back in a pony tail. This woman was ugly.
Trashman: "I have an appointment with Candy."
Ugly (in that voice): "You must be Trashman."
Trashman (thinking "please God don't let it be her"): "Yeah. Is Candy in?"
Ugly: "I'm Candy."
Trashman (fuck, fuck, fuck): "OK. Nice to meet you. Lets get this done."
I figured at least there was no chance of me getting a hard on and I better be nice because this beast was going to have my dick in her hand. No way was I going back to the shop without this tattoo. I laid on the table and Candy went to work. Now let me tell you, for the most part it was quite painful but at times she hit spots with that needle that were wonderfully euphoric. First pain then pleasure, back and forth. I didn't know whether to punch her or kiss her. Then I would look at that face and know instantly kissing her was out of the question. Candy finished the tattoo after a couple of hours. During this time we got to know each other. Turns out she was probably the nicest person I ever met and not just because she had my manhood in her hands. She regularly takes kids off the streets and puts them back in school, then she helps them find a job and a house. She has been doing this for years. Personality in an ugly woman will work to her advantage sometimes. But I'm sorry to say, no matter how much personality Candy had or how nice she was there was just no getting past that much ugly. Damn shame. That voice, that name, that sweetness, that personality, and THAT face.
Getting off the table and moving around was surprisingly pain free. It was like nothing had happened. Just so you know that tattoo required two pints of ink.
Candy: "All done."
Trashman: "Thank God."
Candy: "You know you can't have sexual relations for six weeks, right?"
Trashman: "Huh? You mean no fucking."
Candy: "Yep and no oral either."
Trashman: "I can't even get a blowjob."
Candy: "You are really crass aren't you?"
Trashman: "I don't know what that means."
Candy: "Unrefined."
Trashman (smiling): "Oh yeah that's me."
I left the parlor and went to see Kelli. She loved the tattoo so much she just had to taste it. Who was I to stop her. Candy must have been kidding about the no sex stuff, it was even better than before. I left Kelli's and went to The Saints shop, I walked straight to the board, took the marker and wrote in huge letters TRASHMAN IS THE MOTHER FUCKING MAN.
The Saint: "You're one twisted mother fucker."
Trashman: "You need proof?"
The Saint: "Fuck no. I don't want to see your dick."
Trashman: "I wasn't going to show you my dick. Call Kelli, she just kissed the lightning."
The Saint: "You know you're going to pay for that."
Trashman: "Bullshit. I don't feel a thing."
That night my dick swelled up to the size of a large watermelon. I could feel my heartbeat in it. Walking was out of the question. The Saint got me ice bags and towels so I could sit and play cards. What a great guy.
A couple of weeks later I was hanging out with JJ (my two legged pit bull).
JJ: " You really got it tattooed."
Trashman: "Wanna see?"
JJ: "Fuck no I don't want to see your dick."
Trashman: "OK."
JJ: "Did she shave you?"
Trashman: "Yeah."
JJ: "Did she use vaseline."
Trashman: "Yeah."
JJ: " How long did she hang on to it?"
Trashman: " About two hours."
JJ: " Did you get a hard on?"
Trashman: "Nope."
JJ: "She shaved you, smeared you down with vaseline, and fondled you for two hours and you didn't get a hard on? Bullshit."
Trashman: "Get in the truck."
We drove to the tattoo parlor. On the way there I told JJ to be nice when we got there. He asked "Why?" and I just said "You'll see". We walked in and no one was in front. We went to the back of the parlor and Candy was working on some drawings. As we approached she looked up.
Trashman: "I want you to meet a friend of mine. He's thinking about getting a tattoo."
Candy: "Hello."
Trashman: "JJ I want you to meet Candy."
All he could say was. "Oh."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)