Open For Business

Sorry, gentle readers. The dump has been closed lately due to a perverse condition known in the entropic zones as "metaphor fatigue." Normally, it is not very challenging to find inspiration in the day to day events of the world or to find something worth lampooning in the real conversations with my cohorts. But lately, it has been a desert. George went on vacation - without my permission. Bill has been permanently terminated for chronic absenteeism. Absolutely nothing of remote interest has been happening on the world stage.
There has been nothing to report.

So, I decided to appoint Lardass as the acting Dumpfuck Manager (DFM) while I sat on a metaphorical beach to recharge my literal batteries. He was supposed to update the blog, which of course he failed to do.

"I ain't the writer," was his excuse when I upbraided him this morning. "I had other stuff to do. The trash don't stop just cause you have writers block."
"It wasn't writers block."
"Ok, then what was it? A breakdown? I can see you've been in the sun." He was referring to my sunburned face and arms. "Fuck, that looks painful."
"I fell asleep."
"You look like a boiled crab." he grimaced at my blistered hide.
"You look like Jabba the Hut!" I countered testily, "And you smell like a bag of wet assholes."
He just grinned. He was a man who was proud both of his aroma and his obesity. He had more self esteem than anyone I could think of. So what if I thought he was in need of several baths? No one was better behind the wheel of a front-end loader. Once I saw him move a ten thousand cubic yard mountain of compost clear across the yard in three hours!
"Look, are you working today or are you just posing for a sex offender awareness poster?"
He grinned. "Good one." And headed out to unlock the gates.
It was time to open up and let the good citizens drive in to dispose of the refuse of their lives.
It felt good to be back on the job.