Response

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Half The Man I Used To Be

My blogging has been lacking for quite some time now, in case you haven't noticed. I have no excuse. Except for one really long one. I'll give you the short version.

For the past year or so I've been really sick. When I say sick, I mean dying a slow painful death. I can only work 4 0r 5 hours a day. I'm always sore to the bone and I'm as tired as ... something that's really tired. Don't get me wrong, I ain't whining or bitching or moaning or complaining, except to Jen. I wound up in the emergency room twice because of this. They only found a fucked up blood count. My symptoms ranged anywhere from leukemia to lupus to THE BEAST (aids).

Jen managed to snag a job 6 months ago with benefits. So off to the doctor I went. She sent me to a blood doctor ( I ain't looking up the correct term). He did a BUNCH of test including a bone marrow biopsy and some kind of spleen thing. Turns out I'm lupus free, leukemia free, and I ain't got THE BEAST. However I have and enlarged spleen. Nobody knows why. So he sends me to another doctor. New doctor runs a BUNCH of test. My vitamin D is real low (explains my craving for milk) and now the kicker. My testosterone is so low it would have to be tripled to be a low reading.

The nurse conveyed this information to me and I almost fell out of my chair laughing. It went something like this.

Nurse: " Mr. Trash you have low testosterone."
Trash: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA."
Nurse: "I don't see what's so funny, this is a serious matter."
Trash: "Lady you must be reading that upside down or backwards."
Nurse: "No. I don't think so. I DO know how to read these reports."
Trash: "I'm way to much man to have low testosterone."
Nurse: "I don't follow."
Trash: "If I were any manlier I would need six wives."
Nurse: "Huh?"
Trash: "I chase my wive around like a horny rabbit."
Nurse: "But do you catch her or is it all in your mind?"
Trash: "If I don't catch her then I beat my monkey bloody."
Nurse: "How often does this occur?"
Trash: "Daily."
Nurse: "We're going to have to refer you to a testosterone specialist."

Once again I'm being passed of to another doctor. It seems that when you have insurance you get passed around like a Saturday night fun time girl. My appointment is the 22nd of this month. I'm not sure if they're going to give me any testosterone or not but if they do I'm defiantly going to be doing some experimenting. The good news is due to the sickness that can not be named I'm losing weight. The bad news is due to my depleated man juice the weight I'm losing is muscle mass and not the fat that orbits me. So I used to be strong like bull and dumb like ox. Now I'm just dumb like ox.

Any way that's it in a nut shell. I'll try to post more often. I'm not looking for sympathy. I know where to find it. In the dictionary between shit and syphillis. I just wanted to explain to y'all and I'm not a secrets kind of guy. To those of y'all that have emailed and I haven't answered. Sorry but it was my nap time.

N.A.A.C.P. or N.A.A.Dog.Killers.

I know I said I would tell the rest of a story, but I've been kind of slow at blogging lately (a situation I hope to remedy soon). I have to delay what I was going to write so I could strike this iron while the fire was hot. The following is just my opinion, not much of this blog will be based on fact. Some of it will be, but most of it will be my ranting.

Not much catches my eye when it comes to news, I try to avoid depressing things, but something came out in the news recently that I've been paying a little attention to. Micheal Vick. This man is an idiot (my opinion). I don't need his lawyers and the NAACP crawling up my ass. But only an idiot would turn a NFL career into a stinking pile of shit (which is what he has done).

Picture this. Micheal Vick gets a very lucrative NFL contract worth millions. So much money if handled correctly it would ensure that his children and their children would never have to work a day of their lives (now we all know it wouldn't have been handled correctly, but that's besides the point). This man decides he has to show his "boyz from the hood" what a big shot he has become and that he's still as "gangsta" as they are. What is more "gangsta" than fighting pit bulls for money? I guess he could have smuggled drugs or ran a string of girls, but evidently dogs were his drug of choice. Anyway, here's a multi-millionaire that wants to fight dogs for a few grand just so he can look like a tough guy. He surrounds himself with a loyal posse (we all now where that got him), picks a tough sounding name for a kennel (Bad Newz Kennels) and proceeds to kill dogs. What a fucking waste of a human being.

Now I don't know about y'all, but this is what I picture.
It's fight night at Bad Newz Kennels and Mikey is getting dressed for the occasion. The first thing he does is pull out the grill drawer in his massive walk in closet, he then decides on the platinum full grill and pops it in his mouth. Next comes the full length fur with matching top hat, he forgoes the shirt because it's more "gangsta" to go shirtless. Next is the zip up boots with the 6" platform soles and a cane with a silver pit bull head with ruby eyes mounted on top of the cane. Can't forget the rings on every finger and the 1 carat diamond earring in each ear, throw in a few necklaces with huge pendants, a fist full of hundreds for show and its party time.

I'm sure every time he entered the arena he screamed "Let's get ready to rumble" (Mr. Buffer, please don't sue me).

Now he's been busted. His loyal posse all turned on him. The NFL doesn't want him anymore (they usually have a morality clause in the contract just for this type of situation). He's looking at prison time because he's taking the plea deal. Then here comes the the NAAfuckingCP.

The NAACP is standing behind Michael Vick. They would have you believe he is a fine upstanding citizen being falsely accused by "the man". They would have you believe that he is only accepting the plea deal to cut his losses. R.L. White, president of the NAACP's Atlanta chapter said. "We further ask the NFL, Falcons, and the sponsors not to permanently ban Mr. Vick from his ability to bring hours of enjoyment to fans all over this country." I'm sorry but he never even brought me a second of enjoyment as a member of the NFL. But I will enjoy knowing he is in prison having to defend his asshole everyday. He will be a trophy in prison and there's going to be a lot of guys wanting that trophy.

Now my question is why is the NAACP backing Vick but not his associates, Purnell Peace, Quanis Phillips and Tony Taylor? I can answer that question, because Vick is a millionaire and if they help him avoid prison or save his NFL career they could probably count on him for some hefty donations, where as the other three are just some broke ass nigg...... uh people.

Question number two. Why would Vick accept a plea deal if he was innocent. I'm sorry but if I'm not guilty of something I'm not accepting any kind of deal. I would stand up in the court room and scream my innocence until they dragged me out. The possibility of someone being found guilty of something they didn't do is very unlikely. I know it happens from time to time, but not to millionaire NFL stars, ask O.J. He did it and still didn't go to prison. Y'all know what Johnnie Cochran would have said, "If the choke collar don't fit you must acquit."

This is not Michael's first brush with the law. Vick reached a settlement last year with a woman who charged in a lawsuit that he had knowingly given her herpes. Last season, Vick was fined $10,000 by the NFL and agreed to donate another $10,000 to charity for making an obscene gesture toward fans while leaving the field after a game at the Georgia Dome in November. In January, authorities said that a water bottle surrendered by Vick at a security checkpoint at Miami International Airport had a marijuana-like substance in a secret compartment. Later they announced that laboratory tests showed no evidence of drugs and that no charges would be filed (I wonder who got paid). Vick said the compartment was used to store jewelry.

So what we have here is an out of control individual with too much money being backed by a special interest group that no longer follows its original doctrine (much like every other special interest group out there). Well this is what I say, fuck Michael Vick and fuck the NAACP. Fuck'em both.

This is just my opinion and you're entitled to it.

Only One Who's Been 'Round The Block Can Give You The RIde You Need

I was listening to some early 80's rock today. REO Speedwagon to be specific and it got me to reminiscing. So I have a little tale to tell. I told Jen this story earlier, she says I'm a dirty bitch.

The year was 1979 and I had my collar bone broken in a fight so I was yanked out of Physical Education and stuck in Home Economics. When they told my I was going to Home Ec. I thought it was the end of the world. That was a chicks class and I would be labeled a fag. I've never been so wrong in my life. It was heaven. The class was full of girls and the teacher was a hot piece herself. I was lucky enough to miss the child birthing part of the course but thanks to Miss.? (I don't remember her name) I know how to cook and sew and I have a special appreciation for what used to be older women. Now they're just women my age. This story has two parts.

Part 1:

Miss.? required her students to do projects outside off school. If I remember correctly it was a important part of the six weeks grade. We had to do something we wouldn't normally do or had ever done before. I decided to refinish a piece of furniture. My mom had an old magazine table that we used for a T.V. stand, it had seen better days, so it became my victim. My mom took me to the local hardware store and purchased all the necessary chemicals. For the next three weeks I lovingly stripped the old varnish, sanded, stained, and clear coated the T.V. stand. It was beautiful. When it was all said and done I had to write a report about the process. I turned in the report and Miss.? informed me that she needed to see the piece of furniture to insure that I did the work, she said she would come by my house after school.

I was sitting at home waiting for Miss.? to show up, I just wanted to get the grading over with. She knocked on the door and I let her in.

Miss.?: "Is your mom home?"
Trash: "No. She's at work."
Miss.?: "O.K. Where's the T.V. stand?"
Trash: "Right here."
She looked over the stand inspecting the whole thing. Checking all the nooks and crannies. She finally turned around walked over to me took my right hand in hers and said "You're very good with your hands." Then she placed my hand on her left tit. I know. I know. This story sounds like it should start with "Dear Penthouse, You're not going to believe this, but....."

I was in shock I didn't know what the fuck was going on, all I knew was I was 14 and I had a 30 something year old woman's left tit in my hand.

Miss.? " Trash? Are you O.K.?"
Trash: "Uh Huh."
Miss.?" Have you ever touched a woman before?"
Trash: "Uh Huh."
Miss.? "Then you know what to do?"
Trash: "Uh Huh."
Miss.? " Where's your bed?"
Trash: "Uh Huh."
Miss.? "Take me there."

I led her to my my bedroom, and she led me to places that only one girl (my first) had ever taken me before. The other girls I had been with were amateurs. This woman knew how to work a guy over. It's a good thing I was 14 and could bounce back quickley. She did things the girls my age never dreamed of doing. It was like a horizontal slow dance. The girls my age didn't dance, they just laid there. When it was over I was laying there watching her put her clothes back on. She was wearing a brown suede leather skirt a white blouse. As she was doing up the buttons, she looked over at me. I remember feeling embarrassed, I don't why but I did. She walked over to me, leaned down and kissed me on the cheek.

Miss.?: "Trash?"
Trash: "Yes Ma'am."
Miss.?: "You can't tell anybody about this. It never happened, and it will never happen again. Do you understand?"
Trash: "Yes Ma'am."
Miss.?: "Promise."
Trash: "I promise."
Miss.?: "You got an A on the T.V. stand."
Trash: "Oh. O.K."
Miss.?: "You're cute."

With that she turned and walked out of my life, until I saw her at school the next day. Looking at her as a teacher again was one of the hardest things I ever did. I wished and hoped and prayed for the experience again. It never happened. She treated me like any other student. She even sent me to the principal on more than one occasion. I never broke that promise until today.

I was sitting on the back patio telling Jen this story. I still remember exactly what she was wearing. I remember her green eyes and her long brown hair that curled up at the ends. I remember every curve of her body. I remember every thing we did that day. I remember that her fingernails and toenails were painted the same color. I remember the feel of her soft skin against mine. I remember the smell of her perfume (I don't know what it was but I know it when I smell it). I remember she was wearing little ruby earrings. But for the life of me I can't remember that bitches name.

Part B: Next Time.

Volume 69

I have more issues than Time magazine.

Keeping A Promise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annie's Road

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

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

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

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

I never took my foot of the gas, in fact I believe I stuck my foot in the carburetor. I passed her and never looked back. I never even checked my mirrors cause I knew if I did I would see this.

I didn't think My feeble little mind could take that sort of image. Plus I was pretty sure she was sitting in my backseat anyway. I got to the store and bought whatever it was I was supposed to buy, and headed home, the LONG way. When I got home Jen looked at me and said "What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost." I answered "I'm pretty sure I just did." Sorry no funny punch line. No fancy ending. Just a story. A story that made me rethink a lot of my beliefs. Don't forget to click the links.

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