At the dump, we are accustomed to a lot of peculiar and often disagreeable odors. It goes with the job. Not unlike other professions, there are drawbacks. But there are good times too. Like, ...well, I can't think of anything at the moment. But you can bet your sweet ass that I and the other dumpfucks would not continue working here if there weren't some fun times.
The news today had a piece on the air quality around ground zero in the days and weeks after 9/11/2001. Some scientists are now questioning whether the EPA had been correct in determining the air "safe" to breathe.
A bunch of us were gathered for afternoon tea. (ie, beer) One of the new guys had brought some Blue Moon Pumpkin Ale, and we (who normally settle for Pabst Blue Ribbon) were tarrying past the usual break time. I was not feeling sympathetic about the poor new Yorkers who survived and breathed the air. "How many people have to work thirty yards form a decomposing moose?" I wondered. "The fumes alone give you a nagging groin rash."
"Yeah," said Lardass, whose lack of olfactory sensitivity was legendary.
George had recently returned form a vacation to Europe. He was sorting his trip photos, hoping that one of us would take an interest. We hate to see other people's travel photos. It simply reminds us that we never go anywhere. Hey, nice church. Oooh nice mountains. Gee you were in a cab? Wow.
OK, maybe I am jealous, but how the fuck do other people get to take trips to dumps in foreign lands and the rest of us are stuck here in the fetid piles of human waste, wondering if there is a higher power than the 700 horsepower shredder-baler.
Bill walked in, wearing his usual outfit - jodpurs and red sneakers. He is a weird one, even here.
"Hi George," he said, ignoring the rest of us. "Glad to see you back." Then he saw the photos and tried to change the subject. Too late. George made him look at the 14 pictures of him and his wife looking at things that were probably interesting in real life, but inadequately recorded on a cheap one-time-use tourist camera.
Lardass, who had been dozing in the corner, abruptly jumped up, yelling "What's that stench!"
The rest of us just shrugged our shoulders like we hadn't smelled anything. Bill was the only one who didn't realize that his after shave (Aqua Velva) was the offending stink.
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
Blink Day
According to the This Day In History feature that appears on the comics page of the Globe, forty one years ago, Soviet Premier Khrushchev (big Nikita) announced that the Cuban missiles were being dismantled, and taken back to mother Russia.
A lot of young journalists today are referring to the so-called War on Terror as "World War 3."
But, not for me. I think the ending of the Cuban Missile Crisis of October, 1962 was the real WW3.
JFK ordered a blockade. He made the decision that those Soviet supply ships were not going to get though. It was the classical confrontation of two nuclear superpowers. The world held its breath, wondering what would happen next. And, the Soviets blinked.
As a twenty year old enlistee in the USAF who was on the front lines, waiting to die in a Defcom 5 multi-megaton atomic holocaust, I was particularly aware of these events. Note that the "front lines" were actually in Cheyenne Wyoming, where all of our country's operational Atlas Missile silos were located. We definitely believed that the birdies would fly and the world would be ruined for eternity.
But the Soviets backed-down, thank goodness. They blinked. I believe that moment was the beginning and the end of WW3. Only no one knew it at the time.
A lot of young journalists today are referring to the so-called War on Terror as "World War 3."
But, not for me. I think the ending of the Cuban Missile Crisis of October, 1962 was the real WW3.
JFK ordered a blockade. He made the decision that those Soviet supply ships were not going to get though. It was the classical confrontation of two nuclear superpowers. The world held its breath, wondering what would happen next. And, the Soviets blinked.
As a twenty year old enlistee in the USAF who was on the front lines, waiting to die in a Defcom 5 multi-megaton atomic holocaust, I was particularly aware of these events. Note that the "front lines" were actually in Cheyenne Wyoming, where all of our country's operational Atlas Missile silos were located. We definitely believed that the birdies would fly and the world would be ruined for eternity.
But the Soviets backed-down, thank goodness. They blinked. I believe that moment was the beginning and the end of WW3. Only no one knew it at the time.
Monday, October 27, 2003
Falling Back
Everyone showed up early today. It wasn't that they were so anxious to come to the dump to sit and watch the rats or for stale donuts, rather the dumpfucks never remembered to set their clocks back.
Lardass was philosophical. "Look my PC automatically adjusts itself to the time switch twice a year, why the fuck can't they make clocks do the same thing?"
Lardass was philosophical. "Look my PC automatically adjusts itself to the time switch twice a year, why the fuck can't they make clocks do the same thing?"
Friday, October 24, 2003
Bloody Sunday
It was dank and cold morning. We had the Franklin stove going, but it hadn't really cranked-up yet. Nobody felt like day-old coffee, so Lardass started mixing up a batch of spicy bloody marys in a bright orange 5 gallon home depot bucket.
"Lotsa ice for me," mumbled Bill. He had a patch over his left eye. He always had something wrong with him. None of us even razzed him about it, anymore. It would just feed his chronic need for attention and sympathy.
"OK Captain Hook," Lardass grinned, "Pass that can of tomato juice will ya?"
"Tomato Jews? Is that some kind of anti-semitic remark?" Bill was always alert to potential defamation.
"Yeah, whatever. Just hand me that can will ya?" Lardass had no sense of discrimination, or smell.
George strode in wearing his usual outfit: faded work shorts and a raggedy sweatshit with the words "No, you suck! You Commie" emblazoned. He had his cell phone out and was (as usual) talking loudly to someone on the other end. "Sell when it gets over a dollar sixty." He flipped the cover of the phone down and growled, "Did I hear the sound of BM's being made? Done and done. What say you, Bill?"
Bill farted, as a greeting. "They should fire that Grady Little."
George nodded. "That fat-faced Zimmer, too. Somebody should remove his feeding tube. What happened to your eye?"
"Hey," I interjected, to keep Bill from going on about his petty aches and pains, "Where are those bloodys!"
Lardass was just finishing the concoction, mixing in a huge glob of horseradish. He ladeled the Bloody Marys into coffee mugs. We don't have much call for coctail crystal here in the cob house.
"Needs more salt," pronounced George.
"Yeah, it's a bit niggardly on the salt," said Bill.
We all just stared at him, horrified.
He just smiled as if he knew something that we didn't.
"Lotsa ice for me," mumbled Bill. He had a patch over his left eye. He always had something wrong with him. None of us even razzed him about it, anymore. It would just feed his chronic need for attention and sympathy.
"OK Captain Hook," Lardass grinned, "Pass that can of tomato juice will ya?"
"Tomato Jews? Is that some kind of anti-semitic remark?" Bill was always alert to potential defamation.
"Yeah, whatever. Just hand me that can will ya?" Lardass had no sense of discrimination, or smell.
George strode in wearing his usual outfit: faded work shorts and a raggedy sweatshit with the words "No, you suck! You Commie" emblazoned. He had his cell phone out and was (as usual) talking loudly to someone on the other end. "Sell when it gets over a dollar sixty." He flipped the cover of the phone down and growled, "Did I hear the sound of BM's being made? Done and done. What say you, Bill?"
Bill farted, as a greeting. "They should fire that Grady Little."
George nodded. "That fat-faced Zimmer, too. Somebody should remove his feeding tube. What happened to your eye?"
"Hey," I interjected, to keep Bill from going on about his petty aches and pains, "Where are those bloodys!"
Lardass was just finishing the concoction, mixing in a huge glob of horseradish. He ladeled the Bloody Marys into coffee mugs. We don't have much call for coctail crystal here in the cob house.
"Needs more salt," pronounced George.
"Yeah, it's a bit niggardly on the salt," said Bill.
We all just stared at him, horrified.
He just smiled as if he knew something that we didn't.
Wednesday, October 08, 2003
They Bite
It was our usual Sunday morning gathering of dumpfucks. Lardass had brought the day-old pastry, Rajid was making coffee in the old dented coffee urn that had been retrieved from the take-and-leave section. I had been up early (5am) and noticed a pile of Sunday Globes in front of the newsstand. They would not be open until 7am. Someone had cut the twine holding the pile together, and had taken a paper and tucked 2 one dollar bills under a rock that kept the papers from blowing away. I helped myself to three papers and the money. The early bird gets the goodies. Honesty is for losers.
Everyone had a section to read for a change. Lardass got excited when he read the item about the Tiger attacking the famous trainer Roy the while on stage at the Mirage. "Hey Rajid, did you see this?" Rajid had heard about the attack from the TV news. He keeps a grown white Bengal tiger which he brought in to our recent take-your-cat-to-work day.
"This is not so surprising," he said. "My little Cindee has attacked several of my children. We lost two of them last year."
"My god!" I gasped, "Why haven't you had the vicious beast put down?"
"Oh no. These Tigers are very valuable and rare. Children are easy to make." he said pointing to the family photo of him posing with his large family and tired looking wife.
We were all sitting there somewhat shocked at Rajid's attitude, when Bill came in. His right arm was in a sling. His elbow was heavily bandaged, but you could see fleks of blood seeping through.
"What the fuck happened to you?" we wondered.
"My horse kicked me." Bill announced. "Thanks for coming to visit me in the hospital."
"We didn't know you were hurt. When did it happen?" I tried to sound caring, but an article in the paper caught my eye. Some guy in the Bronx had been bitten by a 400lb pet tiger he was keeping in his government subsidized apartment.
Bill was talking, but I wasn't listening anymore. It just sounded like more droning injury details - blah, blah,de blah. I was getting tired of Bill getting wounded every few weeks just to get attention. And I was wondering if we should set up a wild animal recycle area. Nah.
"No one feels my pain," he moaned. We all avoided eye contact with him and rolled out eyes at each other. He was right, again.
Lardass changed the subject. "Hey look at this, the paper reports that Doctor mistakes kill about 50,000 patients every year in USA hospitals. Most of these are deaths caused by infected wounds. Here's an idea: We send the murderous Doctors to North Korea to "help" the enemy (sort of like a reverse M*A*S*H ) during the next war instead of wasting our valuable weapons of total destruction." We all nodded in agreement. Good ideas are hard to come by these days.
Everyone had a section to read for a change. Lardass got excited when he read the item about the Tiger attacking the famous trainer Roy the while on stage at the Mirage. "Hey Rajid, did you see this?" Rajid had heard about the attack from the TV news. He keeps a grown white Bengal tiger which he brought in to our recent take-your-cat-to-work day.
"This is not so surprising," he said. "My little Cindee has attacked several of my children. We lost two of them last year."
"My god!" I gasped, "Why haven't you had the vicious beast put down?"
"Oh no. These Tigers are very valuable and rare. Children are easy to make." he said pointing to the family photo of him posing with his large family and tired looking wife.
We were all sitting there somewhat shocked at Rajid's attitude, when Bill came in. His right arm was in a sling. His elbow was heavily bandaged, but you could see fleks of blood seeping through.
"What the fuck happened to you?" we wondered.
"My horse kicked me." Bill announced. "Thanks for coming to visit me in the hospital."
"We didn't know you were hurt. When did it happen?" I tried to sound caring, but an article in the paper caught my eye. Some guy in the Bronx had been bitten by a 400lb pet tiger he was keeping in his government subsidized apartment.
Bill was talking, but I wasn't listening anymore. It just sounded like more droning injury details - blah, blah,de blah. I was getting tired of Bill getting wounded every few weeks just to get attention. And I was wondering if we should set up a wild animal recycle area. Nah.
"No one feels my pain," he moaned. We all avoided eye contact with him and rolled out eyes at each other. He was right, again.
Lardass changed the subject. "Hey look at this, the paper reports that Doctor mistakes kill about 50,000 patients every year in USA hospitals. Most of these are deaths caused by infected wounds. Here's an idea: We send the murderous Doctors to North Korea to "help" the enemy (sort of like a reverse M*A*S*H ) during the next war instead of wasting our valuable weapons of total destruction." We all nodded in agreement. Good ideas are hard to come by these days.
Friday, October 03, 2003
Do Not Call
We have been on the "Do Not Call" list since the get-go. We deride the recent flap over "free speech" and any supposition that there exists a right for businesses to access my private, paid for , communications to annoy me with commercial messeges.
Our so called elected representitives have been falling all over themselves trying to look like they are zealously guarding our privacy. They even gave themselves away recently when they agreed on the laws supporting the Do Not Call List , and passed the measure in record time. Now we know that they actually can do something when they want to do it.
The federal judge who enjoined the law was right in his actual reading of the law. It exempts so many of the people who might call us, that the law is worthless. The authors of the law forgot that we (the callees) want to be free from ALL unwanted callers - not excluding politicians and charities and businesses (and their partners) who may have received a check from us in the past six months. Or salesmen posing as information providers or courtesy calls.
The congress has an opportunity to fix the situation, Go back and include the wording that allows us to sign up for a database where no one can call us for any informational or marketing purpose unless we say it's ok. No unsolicited calls whatsoever with an intent to sell or provide any information relative to a commercial transaction, no charities, no "surveys", no no no.
Also while thery are in session they should change the law that allows callers to block their identities. We want to block all unknown callers. We run our own do not call by refusing to answer the pphone unless we recognise the caller on our callerID.
If I was a telemarketer, I'd be delighted that the government provided the means to eliminate people who have already self identified themselves as not interested in my product. It is much less efficient to establish that the person is not interested, by havong to dial their number.
I'm hanging up now (click)
Our so called elected representitives have been falling all over themselves trying to look like they are zealously guarding our privacy. They even gave themselves away recently when they agreed on the laws supporting the Do Not Call List , and passed the measure in record time. Now we know that they actually can do something when they want to do it.
The federal judge who enjoined the law was right in his actual reading of the law. It exempts so many of the people who might call us, that the law is worthless. The authors of the law forgot that we (the callees) want to be free from ALL unwanted callers - not excluding politicians and charities and businesses (and their partners) who may have received a check from us in the past six months. Or salesmen posing as information providers or courtesy calls.
The congress has an opportunity to fix the situation, Go back and include the wording that allows us to sign up for a database where no one can call us for any informational or marketing purpose unless we say it's ok. No unsolicited calls whatsoever with an intent to sell or provide any information relative to a commercial transaction, no charities, no "surveys", no no no.
Also while thery are in session they should change the law that allows callers to block their identities. We want to block all unknown callers. We run our own do not call by refusing to answer the pphone unless we recognise the caller on our callerID.
If I was a telemarketer, I'd be delighted that the government provided the means to eliminate people who have already self identified themselves as not interested in my product. It is much less efficient to establish that the person is not interested, by havong to dial their number.
I'm hanging up now (click)
Wednesday, October 01, 2003
Huh?
What the screaming fuck are the editors doing when we see this headline in the Globe:
"Worlds Oldest living Man Dead at 114"
There must have been a more intelligent way to rewrite that line.
"Worlds Oldest living Man Dead at 114"
There must have been a more intelligent way to rewrite that line.
