Ch-Ch-Ch- Changes

"April is the cruelest month", said TS Eliot. But who gives a shit what that British dumpfuck thought? After all, he never amounted to anything important, and his silly "Hollow Men" ended with a whimper and not a bang. Ok, I am rambling. Maybe it's the vodka shooters I had for breakfast, or maybe I'm just high, trying out a new persona.

The DFM is over. He has run out of steam. He emerged from a soup of cranial debris to personify the archetypical management ego. He was a Hollow man. He was a failure, who could not do anything right, except to record the antics and foibles of others. He was ineffective as a leader. To puff-up his own self esteem, He constantly mouthed empty B-school mottos, when at the heart, he only was in charge of a trash heap, managing the dregs of the workforce. His minions did not respect him. His superiors tolerated him. His job (and his life) was a whimper.
We have drag this metaphor out ad nauseum, and even we are tired. It is time to put the DFM and his crew into the old Blog dumpster. We need a new idea. A new arena to joust in. Heck, we might even change the name of this thing. We are up for something new. Got any ideas? Keep em to yourself, this is not an audience participation gig. If you are so smart, start your own blog.

So, anyhow, we are moving on. Join us for an thrilling ride into the no-holds-barred wrestle-mania that we call Dumpf*cks.
Housekeeping notes:
The Link to "Bills website" has been replaced by a link which readers will find much more entertaining. Bill has also been deleted as a contributor, not that it matters, since he never added anything anyway. Lefty has also been expunged, for the same reason. Clooney is still invited to contribute, but he has been on "vacation." Whether this was actually another excuse to be absent while the cosmetic surgery stitches heal, or just a fortnight at the Betty Ford Clinic, we have yet to verify.

So there you are. Change is in the wind. Smells like low tide in Chelsea.

Dump in repose

Things have been quiet here at the dump lately. Mainly because I decided to close down the dump for a while. In real life you cannot just lock the gates and tell the citizens to go somewhere else with their garbage.
But here, can be whatever I want it to be. I control the horizontal and the vertical.
Just thought you should know.
We aren't dead. We're just resting.

Pope-erama

Cheesey (the DFM) was beside himself. Virtually all the dump workers had been glued to the cobb hut’s TV watching the coverage of Pope John Paul’s death, funeral preparations, and his many life retrospectives. Nothing was getting done. The recycle area was overflowing with exurban detritus – old storm windows, out-of-fashion baby strollers, rusty charcoal grills, broken lawn furniture, etc. … to the point that it was becoming dangerous. Already one grandmother had had a stack of tires fall on her. Half of the trash compactors were broken and the lines of SUVs trying to use the remaining ones were twenty deep.

No number of threats or cajoling seem to incent the staff to get off their duffs and perform their dumply duties. Obviously, knowing that the Pope, in his youth, liked to ski and hike … and that he forgave the College of Cardinals for electing him Vicar of Christ … was far more important. Cheesey finally was reduced to doing many of the daily dump chores himself, generally poorly. After two days of this humiliation, he snapped. The Big Cheese took the TV and threw it into the brown-glass recycling bin. Whilst doing this, he was screaming anti-Catholic obscenities and flashing, with the fingers on both hands, the devil horns often seen at heavy metal concerts.

The next day he awoke with a clubfoot.