It must be the doomsday news again - driving people nutty with frightening stories about terrorists , dirty bombs and threats from all sides; and screaming headlines highly communicable diseases (SARS and Menegitis) and killer OTC diet aids, and finally Mad Cow disease.

The take and leave section was crowded with boxes of discarded canned meats - spam, hash, something called "potted meat food product." The latter was probably totally made from ground up lips, gums and similar byproducts of slaughtered beef. There were three pallets of Ephedra.

Lardass got the front end loader and rounded up most of the swag before any of the usual pickers got there. He loaded it in the shed behind the plutonium dumpster.

"What are you gonna do with all that stuff?" I asked when he got back to the cobb house. George and Bill were sitting near the stove perusing the moprning papers, in no hurry to get back to work.
"I hope he's planning to share the goodies," yelled George not looking up from his crossword puzzle. "I am fond of cow brains, you know."
Urp. We were all reminded of George's proclivities towards sweetbreads and other animal organs.
Lardass grinned, displaying a rather advanced case of gingivitis. "Hey, George I got a couple of jars of pickled Rocky Mountain Oysters. You would probably like 'em. Anyway, there's plenty of stuff for anyone who wants it. "
George shook his head, "No Testicles for me, coach; I like internal body parts - tripe, tongue, brains..."
Bill perked up, "Like Night of the Living Dead."
"Huh?"
"You know, they - the ghouls or whatever - liked to eat people's brains. Hey, what the fuck are you one of the living dead?"
"I've seen seen George dance?" I piped up. "I think you are on to something!"
"And you know it was toxic radioactive waste that woke up the dead people," Bill said. He was looking warily out the window in the direction of the plutonium recycle area. Sometimes, we get leaking containers of heavy water seeping into the ground, near the place where we dump bodies.
We all got spooked and crowded at the window looking where Bill was looking. I half expected to see a pack of lurching dessicated corpse-like figures, coming for our brains. Hey, if you can imagine it, it can happen! That's what all the self-help books say - at least the ones that people leave in the book recycle.

I am the boss, and someone has to take charge. "Ok Dumpfucks," I growled, "Enough of this badinage. Let's get back to work.

Post Christmas Blues

Today is the first Monday after the Christmas holiday week. It's a busy day here at the Dump. We have a full staff of people hauling trash and clearing stuff up.

You'd be surprised how many people are waiting when we open the gates at 7:30am. A long line of SUVs festooned with dead Christmas trees, one's that were likely brought inside the day after Thanksgiving and now the homeowners' tolerance for seasonal decorations was at a nadir. Their urgency to get rid of that now despised festive symbol is so high that fistfights threaten to break-out between drivers who feel that others may be attempting to usurp their place in line.

Then there is the wave of unwanted junk gifts that disappointed recipients could not wait to discard. Most of these are unceremoniously (and sometimes, angrily) tossed directly into the land-fill dumpsters - as if to ensure that they are never recycled.

These discards include: Fruit cakes (by the thousands), those cheap scented candles that smell like a french whore's buttcrack, boxes of imported fruit candies that taste like fishmeal, crappy perfume that you buy at the drug store, useless and often ugly replicas of snowmen or Christmas elves, reams of losing scratch tickets, anything made in Malaysia, tapes and CD's of Jim Nabors singing Christmas Carols, and piles and tons of other disappointments.

The staff likes to take coffee breaks near the take-and-leave section during these days after the big holiday. A Lot of people get booze gifts that they do not want. Maybe it conflicts with their meds or something. Anyway, many's the time one of us has come across a bottle or two of unopened fine single malt scotch. Or fruit flavored Absolut. You never know.

I was sitting at my desk in the cobb house when George came in wearing his new "Recycle This!" Tee Shirt. He had found some treasure at the take and leave, and was beaming. "Look at this," he shouted, "Someone threw away a set of sterling silver shrimp forks." He showed me a set of twelve small 3 tined forks, each neatly tucked into its own slot in brown velvet within a leather bound case. "These are worth hundreds of dollars."
"To whom?" I wondered. It seemed like a lot of work to keep a set of silver polished and ready for that event when you serve shrimp cocktail to twelve guests. Funk that!

I was in a vaguely blue mood. With the stress of the holidays behind me I should have felt relieved. I guess I was disappointed by the gifts I had received. The wife had been online and purchased a large container of Viagra and a tube of Penis enlarger for me. My boss had given me a monogrammed organizer. A friend gave me "The Complete Guide to Composting." In the Yankee Swap, I had ended up with a $1.50 box of ribbon candy (and I had put in a gift worth $5.00). Some cheap fuck probably regifted it in the first place. I chucked it angrily into the dumpster.

But there is a new year ahead...Things could get better.

don't blog drunk

Because you can accidently erase an hour of writing

Christmas Eve at the Dump

During my lunch hour I went to the mall to watch the commerce happening. I love monitoring the interface between supplier and consumer. I was pleased to note that I could not find a parking space within reasonable walking distance. I parked in a handicapped spot and limped into the mall concourse. One of the ways I entertain myself is to pretend I'm interested in the Bose equipment. I ask a lot of dumb questions, let the guy demo the most expensive rig, then, pulling out my checkbook, I ask the price. When he tells me that its $1100 I just shake my head and walk away, muttering. "You gotta be shitting me." (Some people think its mean to waste a saleperson's time, but for some reason it helps me relax.)
Anyway, I love seeing people laden with bags of stuff. I get a warm feeling because I know that eventually, all this crap ends up at the dump. I went over to the Christmas Tree Shops, which is an export outlet for China. There were 15 register lanes open, with long lines in each lane. More landfill futures.
So I was in a pretty good mood when I got back to the cobb shack that we use as an office at the dump. I dug out a couple of seasonal CD's that someone had trashed. I put the Tony Bennett one on. He was singing, "Here Comes Santa Claus." when Lardass came in, as usual, reeking with the stink of effluviam.
His usually pleasant demeaner turned dour. "Shut that fucking crap off, willya?" he groaned.
"Well, Merry Chistmas to you too, Mr Cheerful!" I turned the sound down to barely audible.
"Aw, Humbug on you, prickface."
"Nice talk. For Chrissake, It's Christmas Eve. What is your problem? You have a job. You have your, um, health. Well, sort of. And..."
"You wanna know why I'm pissed?" he interrupted.
"Yeah."
"I was thinking of all the people who re-gift."

We dumpsterguys hate re-gifting. We think it is a barbaric practice employed by the most cynical citizens among us. It keeps material that should be chucked into the shitcan in circulation. It's like robbing us of stuff that should come to us. I wish I could say it is an un-american practice, but on the contrary, only in america can you boast about being so tacky as to give shit that you wouldn't want to people on your "gift" list.

I was pondering the evil in the world when Bill came limping in wearing his holiday jodhpurs.
"Hey!" I Yelled, "I hope you didn't park in the handicapped space?"
"Naw. This dampness gets to my knee." he tapped his left knee with his leather riding crop. "I parked back near the used condom dumpster. Someone ought to empty that thing."

Morbid Fear of Work

It was a nasty slushy morning. The early crew was busy plowing the night's accumulation of snow - about 6 inches had fallen before turning to rain. Now there was a 4 inch pack of wet snow to be scraped off the access roads and disposal areas. I was in the office, as usual, doing paperwork when the phone rang. It was Bill.
"Are you coming in today" I asked, knowing it was another sick call.
"Depends." he answered warily. "How are you this morning?"
"OK. Feeling much better." I said assuringly.
"How's Lardass feeling? Is he still coughing?" Bill was deathly afraid of catching anything. It was humorous for the rest of us, because he was a walking disease factory. He lives on a farm and is contantly at risk for contracting deadly equine diseases, tick bourne disease, feed mold and spider bites. His faithful companion and best friend is a dog - the filthiest of god's creatures, known to enjoy rolling in feces. So it was funny that Bill was afraid of contracting germs from his fellow dumpfucks - most of whom were ten times more hygienic than he. For example, I always wash my hands before returning to work.
"Oh Lardass is fine," I lied. "He's out plowing the Recycle area now."
"Good. I'll be in shortly."
"Ok, Bill, see you soon." I hung up.
Lardass, who had been in the john puking his guts out, came out as I was cradling the receiver. "Who called?" he asked, wiping his chin. Before I could answer he started yet another coughing fit. I winced, feeling his pain. Poor sick bastard didn't get his flu shot this year. After the coughing subsided I sprayed a cloud of Lysol at him. Then I answered his question.
"Nobody." I said blowing my nose into a snot drenched hanky.

We got him!

The phone rang at 9am this morning. It was George (Dam Sad) doing his falsetto arab "lululululu" in celebration of the momentous and historical capture of the Ace of spades. I figured that was enough of a reason to get up and see what happened. Believe ot or not, they actually got the bastard. And, they say that he put up no resistence (unlike his maniac sons and nephew), despite the fact that he had a pistol.

Ironic - is it not? - that he (Saddam, not George) was hiding in a dirt hole. After 23 years enjoying the opulance of his former existence - which he sacrificed for no real reason. He could easily have saved all this nonsense by appeasing the US just a little more. He could have stayed in charge, stayed rich and powerful by just agreeing not to attack Israel or develop WMDs. What a Dumbfuck.

Bark at This, wagtail.

It was very cold this morning. No one wanted to work out in the yard on a day like this, not fit for man nor beast. I let them hang around the Franklin on an extended break that seemed to last all morning. George and Bill were discussing the intelligence of dogs.
"I had a really smart dog once," said George wistfully. "A golden retreiver. We called him Bowser. You know, I taught that pup to go and fetch the paper."
"No shit!" Bill was clearly impressed. "You mean you could just send him out, so you could stay inside on cold days like this?"
"Yeah, he was a smart little doggie. One problem, though..."
"What?"
"Well, maybe we rewarded him too much when he brought back that paper. Because he wanted to go back out, And after a while I heard barking. I went out to the porch and sure enough, there was a pile of papers. That dog had gone around to the neighbors driveways and got them too."
"What did you do?"
"Well, I had to get dressed and take the papers back. Had to keep the fool dog inside until everyone had brought their papers in. It took almost a year to break him of that training."
"Boy there's a moral there somewhere. said Bill.
Lardass had been listening to the discussion, piped up,"Like the Sourcerer's Apprentice - you were dealing with powers beyond your understanding."
I could see that this was about to devolve into one of those deep philosophical discussions that could take all afternoon,
I interjected, "Hey, did any of you ever notice the difference between the way cats and dogs look at you when you turn up the sound and dance naked in front of them?"
They all just sat and stared at me like I was some kind of weird fuck (just like the cats do).