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Running A Savage Burn On The Local Trash Disposal Baron before/after I have to write this, because this thought is blocking the others. Sort of like a creative plug, this inane, and possibly insane thought. And I only say insane, because it has occupied waaaaaay too much of my time and thought processes. But its time has come, and here it is: I'm going to run a savage burn on the dump-man. Yes, its true. A few miles from the 'rents homebase is what is known as a 'transfer station'. Basically its like a big metal tube into which everyone heaves their trash. Its the burbs. And being the burbs, and for whatever mf'n reason, the 'rents don't get curbside service. Being a few miles from the transfer, they just don't offer it. I don't ask. Its none of my business. Anyway, it smells, and they have a reeeeallly slow guy who runs the place. He has a little hut, or hutch or whatever in the middle of the two transfer 'cases', and that's where he hangs out, all day, six days a week, in the middle of reeking garbage. He's generally affable, but dumb as a rock. Go figure, his chosen career has him spending the majority of his life in stinky trash. I think he's crazy, also. Again, go figure. He's told me many things about his life, such as his son's lack of success at college (flunked out) and loss of love (denial of marraige proposal) over the years. But the fucker doesn't recognize me anymore, and busts my balls about something called a"dump card" every time he sees me. Now, I don't know what a "dump card" is, and to be completely truthful, I'm not sure I want to know. In addition, I could give a flying fuck. I just want to dump my trash. And he wholly complicates the process. His name is Bill. Bill:"You got your dump card?" arg:"No." Bill,"Woyyou better have it next time." (woy?) And this cycle has gone on for awhile, to my mild disturbance, but I can deal with crazy fucks, you know? Just don't impede my progress. I don't ask for much, dump-man. Back in your hole, you. He's gotten a bit more aggressive of late, and is calling upon powers that I really, clearly think are not his. His last statement was:"Woyyou better have your dump-card next time. They're getting reeeeaaal serious, and they might not let you in here next time." I guess I was not aware that the county was installing security and bodyguards down at the local transfer station. Fuck me, "they" are getting serious. And when "they" get serious, brothers get fucked. So this is the grand plan to run a savage burn on the local borderline retarded dump-man, so help me God I'm going to hell in a gibbering fit of lunacy. Bill:"So, you got your dump card?" Arg:(throwing trash in bin):"Sure do, Bill. I've got it right in the glove-box." And then I get in the car and leave. I thought of peeling out, and flipping him off, but really, I want to see how many times I can get away with it, so its best not to do anything that will fire sparks of recognition in his stink addled mind. I could probably get away with it for awhile. Dumb fucker. Don't fuck with me. You're the Dump Man. Push your button, compact your trash, and leave me out of it. "Oh, yeah, I got it in the glove-box, man. Just a second." Watch his reality re-seal itself around that. What the fuck are you going to do, asshole? Call upon the "trash police"? Fuck off. Seriously. What the fuck? Eventually you're just going to have to take it, dump-man, like you take everyone's trash. You can't beat me. You can't keep me out. Fucker. Willing to bet, as a way to cope, he'll start believing that I showed him said "dump card", lest his powers of trash disposal be foiled. Otherwise, over and over, "Yeah, sure man. I got it right over here. Its awesome." Asshole. (I am so going insane. For the petty grace of my simple minded amusement, go I.)
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