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.