Finally tally.
1. Barred from Caesar's - 25
2. Dead Chick - 18
3. Get Me Killed - 7
Some of y'all voted for all 3. That's cool. I was just surprised by the number of people that want me dead. Seems like my absence has cost me some love.
So sit back and make yourselves comfortable, mix a drink, pour a beer, take some painkillers, whatever it is you do to prepare yourself to read one of my tales. This one is a doozy, I'm about to share a story with you that has remained a secret until I told it to Zelda and Jethro. Since I told them, I'll share it with you. I'm warning you ahead of time this story is full of bodily functions and secretions, if you have a queasy stomach stop now. I'm stooping to an all time low and I hope you enjoy it.
I don't remember what year it was I just know it was about 6 or 7 years ago. Jen and I were split up due to my temporary insanity. I was still in business with WBG and things were going financially well. Six of us had gone to Vegas for the Super Bowl, it was me and Kelly, The Saint and Lori, and WBG and his wife.
Saturday night me, Lori, WBG and his wife crossed the street to Caesers Palace to get a few drinks and do a little dancing. The Saint stayed behind to play Black Jack (he was angry because Lori wasn't giving up any). I don't remember where Kelly was, I'm assuming she was visiting her Uncle Paulie in the penthouse at Harrah's.
The tequila was flowing like a river and I was tearing up the dance floor with Lori (I'm quite agile for a fat fuck and one hell of a dancer when I'm drunk). After about 7 or 8 songs and somewhere around the 11th shot of tequila, Lori and I worked our way back to the table. WBG and his wife had just ordered another round. I sat down and Lori straddled my lap looking me right in the eye. She leaned forward and sweetly whispered in my ear. "I'm not wearing any underwear." Then she reached up under her skirt, grabbed my zipper and freed Willy. We proceeded to do some some dirty dancing right at the table. We're swapping spit and other body fluids when the waitress shows up with our order. I grabbed my shot of tequila and downed it real quick. The following conversation is not verbatim, but rather from little snippets of what I remember from that night.
Trashman: "Excuse me miss. Could you bring us another round?"
Waitress: "Yes sir."
WBG: "Are you two fucking."
Trashman: "Shhhhh you'll ruin my concentration ."
Lori: "Ignore them. Just fuck me."
Trashman: "It's hard to ignore a disco full of people."
Lori: "Do what you have to do. Just fuck me."
WBG: "They're fucking."
His Wife: "Are you two crazy?"
Trashman: "She is."
Lori: "Shut and fu...."
Waitress: "That'll be $25.00."
Trashman: "Here's $50.00 keep the change."
Waitress: "Thank you sir. By the way security is watching you and if they figure out what you're doing you'll be thrown out."
Lori: "I'm done now. You can finish."
Trashman: "Give me just a second."
After I blew my load, Lori grabbed a napkin reached under her dress while we were still tongue rasslin and cleaned me up. She caged Willy and zipped me back up all the while only using one hand. I'm not sure but I think she had done this a time or two, and now I knew why she wasn't giving it up to The Saint. He was going for traditional sex and she was a fucking freak.
We drank a few (bunch) more shots of tequila and danced some more. The booze started to do it's damage and I knew it was time for a trip to the men's room, when our waitress returned I had her lead me to the facilities.
I strolled (stumbled) into the mens room and walked up to the first sink I saw, and blew chunks, I stepped down to the next sink and regurgitated, stepped over one more time and lost my lunch. I turned on the water, washed my face, rinsed my mouth and started stirring the puke with my finger. I looked up and see the mens room attendant staring at me.
Trashman: "I'll get it to drain."
I stirred a little longer when I began to feel a rumbling in my bowels. I walked (tripped) to a stall, hung my jacket on the door, dropped my pants, sat down and my ass exploded. Now I'm shitting pure liquid and I have to puke again, so I lean forward and let loose.
Recap. I've got the Hershey squirts and I'm leaned over blowing chunks, I smell like smoke, booze, puke, shit, sweat and nasty sex. Now I fall off the toilet and land in my own vomit. That's right my ass is sticking up in the air and I'm laying in puke. Isn't that how Elvis died? I heard a voice and I eventually looked up and the attendant was staring at me under the door.
attendant: "Are you alright sir?"
Trashman: "I'll be fine. I'm just gonna lay here on the cool tile for a minute."
attendant: "It can't be very cool, it's covered in puke."
Trashman: "Oh yeah. I'm done anyway. Gotta get back to my friends."
I got off the floor and cleaned as much puke and shit off as I could, stepped over to the sink and washed off a little more. I looked in the mirror and was happy with what I saw (I was drunk, really drunk) and headed out the door. No sooner than I stepped out I was grabbed by two gorillas and pushed against the wall.
Gorilla 1: "Are you a guest here sir?"
Trashman: "Nope. I'm staying at Harrahs."
Gorilla 1: "Do you have a casino card sir?"
Trashman: "Sure."
Gorilla 1: "Could we see it sir."
Trashman: "Sure."
I fished out the card and handed it to the gorilla, he stuck it in his pocket and nodded at gorilla 2, they grabbed me by both arms and started dragging me towards the cab stand.
Gorilla 1: "Sir you're barred from Caesars. For life."
Trashman: "OK"
See even I know when not to put up a fight.
They threw me in a cab and sent me across the street to Harrahs.
I don't remember the ride, just that it cost me $100.00 to cross the street. I remember getting in the cab and then I came too in the hallway being kicked in the leg by one of Harrahs finest.
Harrahs Security: "Is this your room sir?"
Trashman: "Does this key work?"
I handed him my electronic card.
Harrahs Security: "Yes sir."
Trashman: "Then it must be my room."
They opened the door and Kelly was standing there. Uh-oh we woke her up.
Harrahs Security: "Ma'am does this belong to you?"
Kelly: "Yeah?"
Harrahs Security: "Where do you want him?"
Kelly: "Just drop him in the floor."
Harrahs Security: "Sir don't leave the room tonight."
Trashman: "OK"
I passed out on the floor, when I woke up the sun was shining though the window and Kelly was gone. I gradually stood up and looked and myself in the mirror. It was horrible, and then the stink hit me, I almost puked again. My suit was encrusted with puke and shit and God knows what else. I crawled into the shower fully clothed and turned on the water. The stuff was hardened on and I knew the only way I was going to get it off was, wet. After my shower I bagged up the suit and called the front desk to pick up some dry cleaning. Kelly came back to the room and I asked where she had been. I was informed she had to leave due to the stink. Go figure.
When it was returned the next day I called the front desk and chewed some ass for the cleaners ruining my suit. They cut me a check for $650.00. I only paid $350.00 for the suit in the first place.
So now y'all know the story. I had public sex, shit on myself, fell in my own vomit, got barred from Caesars for life, and ruined a suit but I made $300.00 on the deal.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Thursday, September 29, 2005
I'm Back, Pukin' Relish
As y'all know by now, Jen and I met Zelda and Jethro for lunch last Saturday. After hanging with Jack for 20 years it was refreshing to have an intelligent conversation with someone. They are amazing people and their kids were fantastic. I don't think I've ever seen two better behaved kids. I'd like to know how they get their kids to be so good. I use fear myself.
They're the first bloggers I've ever met (Jack doesn't count, of course that's nothing new). I can't wait to hang out with them again. We talked for five hours. Five hours of puke filled conversation. The subject changed several times but it always came back to puke. I couldn't have been happier. We had to leave way to early to suit me, Jen and I had to go to my bosses wife's birthday party. I would have rather stayed at The Broken Spoke. I felt like I had known them all my life and I wasn't ready for the party to end. But like all good things, etc. etc. etc.
I would suggest that if you get a chance to meet them. Do it. You'll never meet a finer pair and Jethro ain't bad either (Sorry had to throw in some breast humor). I'm sure there's a lot more I could say about them, but I'm running on empty right now. I've worked 14 hour day's all week and I probably won't get a day off until next weekend. I won't bore you with that though.
Instead I'm giving you three choices for my next post. Y'all know how this works. Most votes wins.
1. Barred From Caesars Palace For Life
2. Dead Chick In The Van
3. The Truth About Gas Prices (This one could get me killed)
Let your conscience guide you or vote number three if you want me dead.
They're the first bloggers I've ever met (Jack doesn't count, of course that's nothing new). I can't wait to hang out with them again. We talked for five hours. Five hours of puke filled conversation. The subject changed several times but it always came back to puke. I couldn't have been happier. We had to leave way to early to suit me, Jen and I had to go to my bosses wife's birthday party. I would have rather stayed at The Broken Spoke. I felt like I had known them all my life and I wasn't ready for the party to end. But like all good things, etc. etc. etc.
I would suggest that if you get a chance to meet them. Do it. You'll never meet a finer pair and Jethro ain't bad either (Sorry had to throw in some breast humor). I'm sure there's a lot more I could say about them, but I'm running on empty right now. I've worked 14 hour day's all week and I probably won't get a day off until next weekend. I won't bore you with that though.
Instead I'm giving you three choices for my next post. Y'all know how this works. Most votes wins.
1. Barred From Caesars Palace For Life
2. Dead Chick In The Van
3. The Truth About Gas Prices (This one could get me killed)
Let your conscience guide you or vote number three if you want me dead.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
PC? FU!
WARNING: Severe craziness ahead. I've lost my mind.
Okay I've tried to remain silent, but that all ends now. I thought I would hurt my chances at the presidency, then I realized I don't stand a chance of the country coming to their senses and electing me, so I might as well say any fucking thing I want to.
Welcome to The Trashman's Neighborhood. The word of the day is sympathy. You'll find it in the dictionary between Shit and syphilis. If you New Orleans "refugees" want some, look it up cause you're not getting it from me. You had three days warning before the big bitch hit and you sat on your fat lazy welfare receiving asses and did nothing. You could have walked to safety in three days. Now you're laying around the Astrodome and the Austin Civic Center whining about "When do I get my FEMA card?" I haven't heard any whining from Mississippi or Alabama or any other place in Louisiana, just New Orleans. I know the bleeding heart hippy liberals are trying to blame George Bush for the hurricane and the lack of government response. Fact is, it all falls on the local government, that's right the local politicians of one of the most corrupt cities in the world. To think otherwise is pure hippy stupidity (don't get me wrong,, I'm not trying to offend anyone, wait a minute, yes I am).
It seems to me that the liberals have destroyed the basic things that made this country great in the first place. God, guns, guts and glory. This great nation was founded by a group of people trying to escape religious persecution. They believed in God, not allah, or budda or any other heathen deity. Therefore God had a very important role in the founding of America. Liberals have taken God out of our schools. Guns. Our founding fathers used guns to fight for and protect our way of life. Daily the liberals try to force through guns laws that will take away our right to defend ourselves. Guts. It took a lot guts for the settlers to explore uncharted territory and battle the Indians (I can say Indian because I'm part redskin)and the elements and to stand up for what they believed in. Liberals are gutless. Glory. The word itself says it all, that and I can't think of a way to describe it. Liberals are gutless therefore they will never know glory. Another thing the liberals have done is try their damnedest to turn America into a communist country. They do this through welfare. I work. You work. 80% of the citizens of New Orleans don't work and we just give them money. Liberalism at its finest.
I've read hundreds of blogs and news articles and watched all the news reports about New Orleans. Yes, it was a tragedy. Yes, it was catastrophic. Yes, it was dismal. Yes, it was a lot of things, but the thing it was not, was unexpected. You had time to get out. You didn't. Fuck you. Compassion is in the dictionary between cock(as in suck my) and crap (as in what the liberal media is feeding us). Hate me if you want, I don't give a rats ass.
More liberal bullshit. My baby boy (T3) can't hand out birthday invitations in his class unless he gives everybody one. God forbid Little Bertha feels left out. I got news for you Little Bertha. You're not little, your name is Bertha, you're 160 pounds in the 3rd grade. Nobody wants you at their party.
Which leads me to Hollywood. The movie people have become so politically correct that now when you watch a movie involving cheerleaders there's always a fat cheerleader. Don't get me wrong, I prefer my women healthy, but when I'm watching gyrating teenage girls on TV I don't want it ruined by some fat chick with a better moustache than me in a short skirt. Another example of this PC bullshit run amok is the remake of The Bad News Bears. They have a kid on the team in a wheelchair. I'm not saying the paraplegic can't do anything they want. But I will say they can't run bases, even in a souped up wheelchair. Let's not hurt anyone's self esteem.
More liberal stupidity. Some bitch is trying to outlaw dodgeball. It seems that the first kid to get thrown out of the game is in jeopardy of being traumatized for the rest of his life, because he's not good enough. Guess what, that's life. We're not all good at everything. Kids in wheelchair can't play baseball. Fat chicks shouldn't be cheerleaders. Some kids suck at dodgeball. I have my own limitations, I can't see my dick without a mirror. Do I sound like my delicate psyche is hurt. It ain't.
I'm not Caucasian, I'm white, I don't say African American, I say black. Native American, nope. Injun. Latin American. Wrong. Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban, or whatever you are. French, never, just another dick sucker. Liberal is another word for spineless shitbag.
Now before y'all get all crazy calling me a racist, I just want to reassure you I'm not a racist. I'm a bigot and there is a difference.
Okay I've tried to remain silent, but that all ends now. I thought I would hurt my chances at the presidency, then I realized I don't stand a chance of the country coming to their senses and electing me, so I might as well say any fucking thing I want to.
Welcome to The Trashman's Neighborhood. The word of the day is sympathy. You'll find it in the dictionary between Shit and syphilis. If you New Orleans "refugees" want some, look it up cause you're not getting it from me. You had three days warning before the big bitch hit and you sat on your fat lazy welfare receiving asses and did nothing. You could have walked to safety in three days. Now you're laying around the Astrodome and the Austin Civic Center whining about "When do I get my FEMA card?" I haven't heard any whining from Mississippi or Alabama or any other place in Louisiana, just New Orleans. I know the bleeding heart hippy liberals are trying to blame George Bush for the hurricane and the lack of government response. Fact is, it all falls on the local government, that's right the local politicians of one of the most corrupt cities in the world. To think otherwise is pure hippy stupidity (don't get me wrong,, I'm not trying to offend anyone, wait a minute, yes I am).
It seems to me that the liberals have destroyed the basic things that made this country great in the first place. God, guns, guts and glory. This great nation was founded by a group of people trying to escape religious persecution. They believed in God, not allah, or budda or any other heathen deity. Therefore God had a very important role in the founding of America. Liberals have taken God out of our schools. Guns. Our founding fathers used guns to fight for and protect our way of life. Daily the liberals try to force through guns laws that will take away our right to defend ourselves. Guts. It took a lot guts for the settlers to explore uncharted territory and battle the Indians (I can say Indian because I'm part redskin)and the elements and to stand up for what they believed in. Liberals are gutless. Glory. The word itself says it all, that and I can't think of a way to describe it. Liberals are gutless therefore they will never know glory. Another thing the liberals have done is try their damnedest to turn America into a communist country. They do this through welfare. I work. You work. 80% of the citizens of New Orleans don't work and we just give them money. Liberalism at its finest.
I've read hundreds of blogs and news articles and watched all the news reports about New Orleans. Yes, it was a tragedy. Yes, it was catastrophic. Yes, it was dismal. Yes, it was a lot of things, but the thing it was not, was unexpected. You had time to get out. You didn't. Fuck you. Compassion is in the dictionary between cock(as in suck my) and crap (as in what the liberal media is feeding us). Hate me if you want, I don't give a rats ass.
More liberal bullshit. My baby boy (T3) can't hand out birthday invitations in his class unless he gives everybody one. God forbid Little Bertha feels left out. I got news for you Little Bertha. You're not little, your name is Bertha, you're 160 pounds in the 3rd grade. Nobody wants you at their party.
Which leads me to Hollywood. The movie people have become so politically correct that now when you watch a movie involving cheerleaders there's always a fat cheerleader. Don't get me wrong, I prefer my women healthy, but when I'm watching gyrating teenage girls on TV I don't want it ruined by some fat chick with a better moustache than me in a short skirt. Another example of this PC bullshit run amok is the remake of The Bad News Bears. They have a kid on the team in a wheelchair. I'm not saying the paraplegic can't do anything they want. But I will say they can't run bases, even in a souped up wheelchair. Let's not hurt anyone's self esteem.
More liberal stupidity. Some bitch is trying to outlaw dodgeball. It seems that the first kid to get thrown out of the game is in jeopardy of being traumatized for the rest of his life, because he's not good enough. Guess what, that's life. We're not all good at everything. Kids in wheelchair can't play baseball. Fat chicks shouldn't be cheerleaders. Some kids suck at dodgeball. I have my own limitations, I can't see my dick without a mirror. Do I sound like my delicate psyche is hurt. It ain't.
I'm not Caucasian, I'm white, I don't say African American, I say black. Native American, nope. Injun. Latin American. Wrong. Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban, or whatever you are. French, never, just another dick sucker. Liberal is another word for spineless shitbag.
Now before y'all get all crazy calling me a racist, I just want to reassure you I'm not a racist. I'm a bigot and there is a difference.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Mysterious Ways
Religion is a subject that I'm not real comfortable with. I'm not sure that I'm what you would call a good Christian. In fact I've kind of always been pretty sure that I had front row seats in hell. I do know the difference between right and wrong and most of the time I try to do the right thing, not because I'm trying to get in God's good graces, just because it's the right thing to do. I have cheated, lied, stolen, coveted my neighbors ass and other parts of her as well. I've broken every commandment, except maybe for the one about killing (I'll never admit to that one, since there's no statute of limitations). Bottom line is God and I never really saw eye to eye. For a long time I lived my life for the dark side, but I find as I get older that I'm being a little nicer to my fellow man. I don't know if I'm just getting soft or if I'm trying to buy my way through the pearly gates or exactly what's going on. I do know, however there may be something to this whole higher power thing. Not to long ago as most of you remember I was whining about being broke and I was attempting to sell some earrings (which most of you didn't buy). Well things have taken a turn for the better since then.
Let's go back in time a little. A while back I was little better off financially and one of my fellow bloggers wasn't. So I helped where I could and I figured that was that. Then I got into my present financial shape (broke). In fact I got so broke that I was off my medication for a few weeks. Then someone very special sent me the money for a months worth of pills. I threatened to return it but I was told in no uncertain terms that would not be allowed. A couple of days later I received even more money from someone else special. This individual told me they did it in a Christian sort of way. I also know that the first person that sent me money for my pills received some very needed financial help from a unnamed source. I'm not saying God had anything to do with any of this, but it really makes me wonder and I sent thanks His way just in case. One thing I'm sure of is my meds are covered for the four months.
Not long ago I started a remodeling business with a friend of mine. I don't know much about construction. I know people. I handle the phones, the money, and the customers. He handles the work. Before the job starts, I'm in charge, after the job starts, he's in charge. We now both work for another contractor, for even more money than we were making on our own. I'm the foreman. I don't know how it happened, but I make a ridiculous amount of money making sure other people do things I don't have a clue how to do myself. Good thing I learn fast. Once again I chalk it up to the Big Guy upstairs, that or I'm a better con-man than I thought. Either way I'm getting paid. Thanks God.
I've also been questioning my purpose in life a lot lately. I figure it's to entertain y'all. That's the best I can come up with, after all I am a funny mother fucker. Maybe y'all have some idea what I'm supposed to do. Maybe I'll go into the religion business and compete with Tommy. After all much like Jimmy Swaggart I have cavorted with hookers and like Robert Tilton I have shamelessly begged for your money.
Let's go back in time a little. A while back I was little better off financially and one of my fellow bloggers wasn't. So I helped where I could and I figured that was that. Then I got into my present financial shape (broke). In fact I got so broke that I was off my medication for a few weeks. Then someone very special sent me the money for a months worth of pills. I threatened to return it but I was told in no uncertain terms that would not be allowed. A couple of days later I received even more money from someone else special. This individual told me they did it in a Christian sort of way. I also know that the first person that sent me money for my pills received some very needed financial help from a unnamed source. I'm not saying God had anything to do with any of this, but it really makes me wonder and I sent thanks His way just in case. One thing I'm sure of is my meds are covered for the four months.
Not long ago I started a remodeling business with a friend of mine. I don't know much about construction. I know people. I handle the phones, the money, and the customers. He handles the work. Before the job starts, I'm in charge, after the job starts, he's in charge. We now both work for another contractor, for even more money than we were making on our own. I'm the foreman. I don't know how it happened, but I make a ridiculous amount of money making sure other people do things I don't have a clue how to do myself. Good thing I learn fast. Once again I chalk it up to the Big Guy upstairs, that or I'm a better con-man than I thought. Either way I'm getting paid. Thanks God.
I've also been questioning my purpose in life a lot lately. I figure it's to entertain y'all. That's the best I can come up with, after all I am a funny mother fucker. Maybe y'all have some idea what I'm supposed to do. Maybe I'll go into the religion business and compete with Tommy. After all much like Jimmy Swaggart I have cavorted with hookers and like Robert Tilton I have shamelessly begged for your money.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
It’s Been A Long Time Since I Rock And Rolled
A lot has happened since I last talked to y'all. For instance my baby boy (T3) got crabs from a stripper and my namesake (Trash Jr) discovered his hard on. I am however most perplexed by the lack of attention my disappearance has generated. That Kevin guy left and got 200 comments, Jay quit and got about 140. I take time off and get 38. What the fuck is that? 38 is an insult, yeah granted a bunch of y'all emailed and checked on me and I really appreciate that, but the rest of you fuckers ain't no good. Next time I disappear I expect at least 80 or 90 comments.
I called Angi and Tommy this weekend, simply because they're on my favorite people list, that and I needed Jeanettes phone number. I called Jeanette, and Inanna was there with her. That was a surprise. I knew she was going on vacation but I had no idea where. The reason I called was because I heard Jeanette was getting married and I wanted to make sure it didn't cut into her stalking time. I need at least one stalker, since the rest of y'all don't seem to care if I'm alive or dead.
Speaking of alive or dead, I didn't take my meds for about two weeks due to lack of funds. I figured I found a way out without pulling the trigger myself. Some very special people got wind of my self imposed slow torturous death plans and gave me the money for my prescription. I don't know whether to thank them or be pissed at them. Just when I thought I was out they pulled me back in. This last paragraph is meant to be taken lightly.
I'm finally wireless so I no longer have an excuse for not blogging. I guess next time disappear it's cause I just don't care. No really. I've been working 10 hour days for the last 19 days straight. I love what I'm doing. I finally found something challenging. That just means, I don't have a clue as to what I'm doing but it's lots of fun.
I bet y'all are really wondering about the crabs, stripper, hard on thing by now. Y'all are some really sick fucks.
This took place at the dinner table the other night. Trash Jr was wondering where his squishy ball was.
Trash Jr: "Where's my squishy?"
Trash: "I don't know where your squishy is, but I know where mine is. Ha Ha Ha."
Trash Jr: "That's sick, besides it's not squishy."
Trash: "Sure it is."
Trash Jr: "No. It's hard most of the time. I even can make it move up and down. I do that and say, Say hello to my little friend."
Trash: " Now that's funny."
Jen: "AAAAAAHHHHHHHH"
Now the part all you twisted perverts have been waiting for. T3 got crabs from a stripper and I watched while it happened.
I was sent to a house to knock some walls out. I had T3 with me, he was my little helper for the day. When we got there, I walked in and found three tattooed, pierced, bleach blondes sitting at the kitchen table. One of them was in the process of moving out. It was her bedroom we were knocking the walls out of. I entered the bedroom and saw about 40 pairs of high heeled shoes and thong underwear everywhere. It was rough working conditions but some how I managed to finish up with out leaving in a fit of disgust. While T3 and I were knocking the walls out the stripper walked back and forth swaying that beautiful as....... I mean carrying load after load of sweet smelling underwea..... I mean her stuff to her car. She stopped to talk to T3 for a minute.
Stripper: "Hi."
T3: "Yo what up bitc..... "I mean he said "Hi."
For a minute I was living through him.
Stripper: "Some one gave me a gag gift last Christmas and I can't take them with me. I was wondering if you wanted them."
T3: "Wanted what?"
Stripper: "These crabs."
T3: "Dad can this lady give me crabs?"
I almost choked on my tongue.
Trash: "Sure son. Tell her thank you."
T3: "Thank you."
Stripper: "You're welcome. I hope you enjoy them."
She carried another load of lacey soft undergarmen...... stuff to her car.
Trash: "You got crabs from a stripper."
T3: "Huh?"
What did you people think I was talking about.
Here's a little something for Angi. I know how much she likes critters.
I called Angi and Tommy this weekend, simply because they're on my favorite people list, that and I needed Jeanettes phone number. I called Jeanette, and Inanna was there with her. That was a surprise. I knew she was going on vacation but I had no idea where. The reason I called was because I heard Jeanette was getting married and I wanted to make sure it didn't cut into her stalking time. I need at least one stalker, since the rest of y'all don't seem to care if I'm alive or dead.
Speaking of alive or dead, I didn't take my meds for about two weeks due to lack of funds. I figured I found a way out without pulling the trigger myself. Some very special people got wind of my self imposed slow torturous death plans and gave me the money for my prescription. I don't know whether to thank them or be pissed at them. Just when I thought I was out they pulled me back in. This last paragraph is meant to be taken lightly.
I'm finally wireless so I no longer have an excuse for not blogging. I guess next time disappear it's cause I just don't care. No really. I've been working 10 hour days for the last 19 days straight. I love what I'm doing. I finally found something challenging. That just means, I don't have a clue as to what I'm doing but it's lots of fun.
I bet y'all are really wondering about the crabs, stripper, hard on thing by now. Y'all are some really sick fucks.
This took place at the dinner table the other night. Trash Jr was wondering where his squishy ball was.
Trash Jr: "Where's my squishy?"
Trash: "I don't know where your squishy is, but I know where mine is. Ha Ha Ha."
Trash Jr: "That's sick, besides it's not squishy."
Trash: "Sure it is."
Trash Jr: "No. It's hard most of the time. I even can make it move up and down. I do that and say, Say hello to my little friend."
Trash: " Now that's funny."
Jen: "AAAAAAHHHHHHHH"
Now the part all you twisted perverts have been waiting for. T3 got crabs from a stripper and I watched while it happened.
I was sent to a house to knock some walls out. I had T3 with me, he was my little helper for the day. When we got there, I walked in and found three tattooed, pierced, bleach blondes sitting at the kitchen table. One of them was in the process of moving out. It was her bedroom we were knocking the walls out of. I entered the bedroom and saw about 40 pairs of high heeled shoes and thong underwear everywhere. It was rough working conditions but some how I managed to finish up with out leaving in a fit of disgust. While T3 and I were knocking the walls out the stripper walked back and forth swaying that beautiful as....... I mean carrying load after load of sweet smelling underwea..... I mean her stuff to her car. She stopped to talk to T3 for a minute.
Stripper: "Hi."
T3: "Yo what up bitc..... "I mean he said "Hi."
For a minute I was living through him.
Stripper: "Some one gave me a gag gift last Christmas and I can't take them with me. I was wondering if you wanted them."
T3: "Wanted what?"
Stripper: "These crabs."
T3: "Dad can this lady give me crabs?"
I almost choked on my tongue.
Trash: "Sure son. Tell her thank you."
T3: "Thank you."
Stripper: "You're welcome. I hope you enjoy them."
She carried another load of lacey soft undergarmen...... stuff to her car.
Trash: "You got crabs from a stripper."
T3: "Huh?"
What did you people think I was talking about.
Here's a little something for Angi. I know how much she likes critters.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Busy Busy Busy
I've been real busy this last week. It's given me a lot to talk about, unfortunately it's kept me away from my one true love, this blog. I start a new job (sort of) tomorrow. It's quite a ways from here and it's 10 hour days, so I don't know when I'll get back on here.
I got a call from a guy tonight, he lost a couple of guys and he's working on a government contract, so he has to be done by the end of the week. I'll be working for him for the rest of the week, hopefully this will turn into more work.
I lost four jobs this week due to lack of respect (not mine, theirs). Two people didn't call back, one bitch didn't show up for her estimate, and one low-life mother fucker gave me the job until the next day when I showed up to start, then he told me his partner went with someone else for a higher price. I asked why he didn't call me before I drove 30 miles and his lame-ass excuse was "I lost your number." Neat fucking trick since we did business over his cell phone, which was hanging on his belt. Luckily my partner pulled me to the truck before I hit the mother fucker. The whole way he was whispering in my ear "We don't have bail money." That's why I call him JC (Jiminy Crickett) he's my conscience. I call him before I do anything I think might be the least bit ignorant. Which is at least six times a day.
So in the very near future I will be doing a post about respect, then I have one planned for education reform, and another about religion. I realize religion is a touchy subject, but I have been questioning my own mortality quite frequenting lately, what with getting old and all. Reverend Tommy has set me straight on a lot of things, but each day I come up with more and more questions. I want to be 100% about things before I croak.
I asked for a laptop or new tattoo for my birthday ( I have expensive taste for a broke fuck). I got a cake and a couple of cards, then I went down and got myself a new laptop. Well, it will be mine if I make all the payments for the next three years. Woo Hoo. I think I finally have it all set up and running right. JC is also my computer guy, he came over and fixed things as I fucked them up. What a friend.
So, that's kind of where I've been this week.
I got a call from a guy tonight, he lost a couple of guys and he's working on a government contract, so he has to be done by the end of the week. I'll be working for him for the rest of the week, hopefully this will turn into more work.
I lost four jobs this week due to lack of respect (not mine, theirs). Two people didn't call back, one bitch didn't show up for her estimate, and one low-life mother fucker gave me the job until the next day when I showed up to start, then he told me his partner went with someone else for a higher price. I asked why he didn't call me before I drove 30 miles and his lame-ass excuse was "I lost your number." Neat fucking trick since we did business over his cell phone, which was hanging on his belt. Luckily my partner pulled me to the truck before I hit the mother fucker. The whole way he was whispering in my ear "We don't have bail money." That's why I call him JC (Jiminy Crickett) he's my conscience. I call him before I do anything I think might be the least bit ignorant. Which is at least six times a day.
So in the very near future I will be doing a post about respect, then I have one planned for education reform, and another about religion. I realize religion is a touchy subject, but I have been questioning my own mortality quite frequenting lately, what with getting old and all. Reverend Tommy has set me straight on a lot of things, but each day I come up with more and more questions. I want to be 100% about things before I croak.
I asked for a laptop or new tattoo for my birthday ( I have expensive taste for a broke fuck). I got a cake and a couple of cards, then I went down and got myself a new laptop. Well, it will be mine if I make all the payments for the next three years. Woo Hoo. I think I finally have it all set up and running right. JC is also my computer guy, he came over and fixed things as I fucked them up. What a friend.
So, that's kind of where I've been this week.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
TRASH DAY
Well, it's finally here. The day you've all been waiting for. Trash Day. Now you don't have to read anymore notes at the bottom of my posts, asking for cards, gifts and dirty underwear. Today I turn 41 and my blog is officially one year old.
Over the last year I have told you about the day I was born, my perverted neighbor, why I chose the name Trashman, and my oldest boys miraculous birth. I have shared with you stories about our move from Phoenix, my views on women, my wet dreams and scaring myself with my own tattoo. I wrote about Jen getting pregnant and losing the baby. I discussed with you the smell of ass sex, dumping my dead friends body (he really wasn't dead), being attacked by an evil ventriloquist dummy and having my life on the line (somehow I avoided getting killed). I've announced my bid for the presidency. I told you about the time an ugly woman held my dick for two hours while tattooing it, and the time my son was assaulted at school. You've read about "THAT" girl, old loves that never were, my run ins with the police and "tricks" that didn't want to pay, my wedding, and why Jack doesn't go to my mom's house. I've written stories about bear rasslin, getting caught fucking by dear old mom and getting my dick puked on by Jen, why not to date three women at the same time, the differences between men and women, and my ability to bullshit. I talked about a trip to jail, another police story and my ability to bullshit, where Jack went, when he pulled his disappearing act, my death when I came back to life, and mine and Jack's trip to the Old Time Tent Revival. I waxed poetic about the time I shot myself, my mom's cancer and the seven stages of catastrophe, telemarketers, Starshits coffee, the time I threatened my mom's doctor with a double amputation, and the time I tried to sell a half Puerto Rican-half Indian girl to some Japanese gentlemen as a white girl. I've answered your questions. Me, Jack and Jay told you three different versions of the same story. I've been on my soap box about healthcare, relationships, cops, and the greatest American alive (me). I whined about my father (Satan) and the way he treated his kids. I cried about being broke, attempted to sell you earrings and threatened to sell Rambo for cosmetic animal testing. I've answered I don't know how many of those tags you people hit me with, wanting to know the color of my underwear, favorite suppositories, etc.
Over the last year I've gotten to know a bunch of you and have become friends with some of you. I've made you laugh, cry, scream, and I'm sure I've made some of y'all hate me (right Grace). I've bared my soul to y'all. I love y'all all most as much as y'all love me. Love me or hate me, one thing is certain. I should have charged y'all to read my blog.
Note: Some of you received earrings damaged by USPS. I will be replacing these, this week. Jethro, yours will be mailed this week. I need a new shipping method. Thanks to Micki for the animation and Jeanette for my birthday card. Happy Birthday to Boo. Cards, gifts and women's underwear will still be accepted.
Over the last year I have told you about the day I was born, my perverted neighbor, why I chose the name Trashman, and my oldest boys miraculous birth. I have shared with you stories about our move from Phoenix, my views on women, my wet dreams and scaring myself with my own tattoo. I wrote about Jen getting pregnant and losing the baby. I discussed with you the smell of ass sex, dumping my dead friends body (he really wasn't dead), being attacked by an evil ventriloquist dummy and having my life on the line (somehow I avoided getting killed). I've announced my bid for the presidency. I told you about the time an ugly woman held my dick for two hours while tattooing it, and the time my son was assaulted at school. You've read about "THAT" girl, old loves that never were, my run ins with the police and "tricks" that didn't want to pay, my wedding, and why Jack doesn't go to my mom's house. I've written stories about bear rasslin, getting caught fucking by dear old mom and getting my dick puked on by Jen, why not to date three women at the same time, the differences between men and women, and my ability to bullshit. I talked about a trip to jail, another police story and my ability to bullshit, where Jack went, when he pulled his disappearing act, my death when I came back to life, and mine and Jack's trip to the Old Time Tent Revival. I waxed poetic about the time I shot myself, my mom's cancer and the seven stages of catastrophe, telemarketers, Starshits coffee, the time I threatened my mom's doctor with a double amputation, and the time I tried to sell a half Puerto Rican-half Indian girl to some Japanese gentlemen as a white girl. I've answered your questions. Me, Jack and Jay told you three different versions of the same story. I've been on my soap box about healthcare, relationships, cops, and the greatest American alive (me). I whined about my father (Satan) and the way he treated his kids. I cried about being broke, attempted to sell you earrings and threatened to sell Rambo for cosmetic animal testing. I've answered I don't know how many of those tags you people hit me with, wanting to know the color of my underwear, favorite suppositories, etc.
Over the last year I've gotten to know a bunch of you and have become friends with some of you. I've made you laugh, cry, scream, and I'm sure I've made some of y'all hate me (right Grace). I've bared my soul to y'all. I love y'all all most as much as y'all love me. Love me or hate me, one thing is certain. I should have charged y'all to read my blog.
Note: Some of you received earrings damaged by USPS. I will be replacing these, this week. Jethro, yours will be mailed this week. I need a new shipping method. Thanks to Micki for the animation and Jeanette for my birthday card. Happy Birthday to Boo. Cards, gifts and women's underwear will still be accepted.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)