This Blog has been sold

Sorry but I sold this blog on e-bay.

You should delete the link since I do not plan to update it anymore

Lardass's widow says thanks for all the emails and cards.

DFM

Best of DumpF*cks

Acknowledging the holiday, I thought I might get away with reprinting an old - probably forgotten - episode from the Pre-FEMA days at the dump. This is one of my favorites. If you have already seen it, please feel free to do something else, other than adding some inane comment about the author.

I was sitting at the Managers desk in the cob house catching up on paperwork this morning when Lardass came in, wet and mumbling to himself. He threw his dripping gloves down on the floor and stomped around rattling cups and coffee pot.
"What's the problem now?" I finally looked up, hoping it would be one of those simple to solve contradictions that His Lardness found so troubling. Naive me.
"Aw, some asshole left a canister of antimatter in the plutonium take-and-leave section. For fuck's sake, anyone knows that you don't just leave antimatter lying around where some kid could find it and bring it to school. (Hello class, Here's my science project. Kaboom.)"

For once he had good reason to be annoyed. Antimatter is about as stable as Maria Carey on crystal meth. Drop it or bump it the wrong way and you get a huge vacant crater where your dump and town used to be, preceded by a gigantic fireball that can be seen in Iowa.

"What did you do with it?" I was tapping my pencil impatiently, Lardass let out a snicker that sounded like the old Woody woodpecker cartoon. 

 "What did I DO? you ask? Like there is something you can DO about a canister of antimatter? Hmmn. Let me see what it says in the procedure manual....funny there is no fucking entry for antimatter! I wonder why! Maybe because you need to contain it in a lead lined magnetic hemispheric dumpster? And we ain't go no fucking extra lead lined dumpsters..."
Lardass was such a dolt. I sometimes wonder why we keep him on the payroll. Then I remember. We don't get a lot of new blood in the dump business, at least not in terms of applicants. Young people just don't dream about working at the dump, these days.

"Wait a minute." I said consulting the asset board which hung on my wall.. I pointed to an icon that represented specialized dumpsters. #3408 was located in the north forty near the big slag heap. "How about this one?"
"That thing got a hemi?" he asked.

"Get the fuck out of here and get that shit secured!"

 He stomped out into the rain, smiling at his little joke.

Awkward Moment

So there I was sitting at the bar at the British Beer Company, my favorite watering hole when I am in Hyannis, drinking a beer with my newest friend - the driver of the maroon Hummer. He says his real name is Marvin, but I should call him 'Zemo'. We were still chuckling about the contretemps at the intersection with the global warming kids. "Hell, when I saw them I thought it was gonna be a car wash. I like it when the chicks get soapy on my car. But, this bunch of treehugger wussys..." he snorted.

I followed his eyes, which seemed to be trying to focus on something behind me, and turned around to see that we were being glared-at harshly by an untanned, bespeckled woman who had come into the bar with two small black dogs on leashes and a plastic bag containing what appeared to be dog doo. "You two are not funny!" she said by way of introduction. 

"You ruined that demonstration of exuberance by those lovely innocent young people. They were just having fun, and you spoiled the moment. You are not funny or brave, you should be ashamed of yourself with your drunken behavior. 

"Madam" Zemo burped the word, "I trust that you are not referring to moi when you are talking about dipsomaniacal behavior. I have not had but 4 or 5 beers today - not counting breakfast of course. I assure you that am a long way from drunk. Besides - I am not the one carrying dogshit around in a plastic bag as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do. So, if we want to open up the door of shame..."

"You think you are funny. I think you are ..." she hesitated, just long enough for Freddy the bartender who was witnessing this scenario to interject, "Hey lady, get them fucking mutts out of my bar before I call the cops!"

Looking as if she had been goosed with an umbrella, the woman stood her ground. "I think you should clean up your language young man!  Whereupon she turned and marched out into the sunlight, with the dogs trailing, wagging their tails.

I turned back to the bar, peeled a $50 bill off my roll, smoothed it out on the varnished wooden bar and grinned at the bartender, "Freddy, kindly get another beer for me and my friend Zemo here. And ... pour a little something for yourself."

Honk for Global Warming

Yesterday I was walking on Main St in in Hyannis. My wife was engaged in serious (and serial) shopping, so I had some time to kill. I was looking for an ATM when I approached an intersection with some young people stationed on all 4 corners.

The kids looked to be college age and were animatedly displaying large poster board signs that said, "Honk for Global Warming. No day at the Beach!" and, "It's getting Hot out here!" Some cars were dutifully tooting their horns. But some drivers passed by with frowns and extended middle fingers.

"What's this about?" I asked one young fellow who seemed to be having a good time.
"Just trying to save the planet, mate" he beamed superciliously.  I ignored the fact that his accent betrayed the fact that he was in the wrong hemisphere as well as latitude. I suppressed the urge to tell him to go back home and stop wasting our valuable New England-climate-balancing oxygen.

"Please feel free to make a honking sound, if you like." he smiled with the genuine smile of an evangelist who is certain that they are bringing the good news to the godless heathens.

I frowned. "I am more concerned with noise pollution than I am with global warming. Besides how does this help? Your signs don't make it clear whether you are for or against global warming. Besides not all scientists agree on the matter."

He just looked at me like I was being intentionally obtuse. "The UN says it's a problem, mate. You can't find a more neutral organization."
I laughed, "The UN is the most corrupt organization on the planet! What about the 'Oil for food' program? What about all the genocide that they are ignoring? They are corrupt and useless!"
"I haven't heard anything about those things."

Just then a maroon Hummer came through the intersection, honking his horn.
The college kids started booing and giving him a thumbs down sign. The driver, a big tanned dude wearing only a bathing suit screeched to a stop and jumped out. The look in his eyes showed that he had consumed several adult beverages.
"Ok!" he yelled in a whiskey voice, glaring at the sign holders "Who wants to get their ass kicked for global warming?"
The demonstrators went suddenly silent, lowered their signs and looked around to see if anyone was volunteering. No one was.
The Hummer driver laughed at the pall that he had thrown on the party, jumped back in his car and peeled-out.

I almost felt sorry for the college kids. But maybe they could identify with the missionaries who preached God to the cannibals and then were invited to dinner.

I found an ATM and got a wad of cash. As I walked further up the street, I noticed the Hummer parked in front of the British Beer Company. Next to the bar at Baxter's, BBC is is my favorite watering hole in Hyannis, so I decided to go in. Sure enough, the driver was at the bar, now wearing a gaudy Hawaiian shirt, swigging a large stein of dark ale. I walked over and asked him if he was the one who had just yelled at the global warming kids.
"Yeah! That was me. Why?" he grinned, eyes unfocused.
"I just wanted to buy you a beer," I said.

A Patriot

Cares about people as much as the piece of cloth allegedly representing the people.

Feels that all men are not created equal; some are nasty, brutish, and short and it is the job of the Commonweal to help them approach equality, or put them in jail.

Volunteers for service to their country rather than pontificating about how others should sacrifice their time and blood.

Holds those who he elects to the same standards as those who he despises.

Does not condone voting fraud because he suspects the opposition is doing it.

Can believe that the Constitution needs to be updated

Can vote for a communist if he believes he or she would be a good leader

Can believe that unresticted free trade will lead to market in purloined body parts, human slavery and nuclear weapons sold at roadside stands as if they were fireworks.

Doesn't accuse others of hating America merely because the others want to change the way some tings are done.

Is not to be confused with nationalist (my country at all costs right or wrong)

Dumpf*cks Lunch

The sun was blazing as we walked toward the unimpressive building that housed the mexican restaurant. Bill said lets sit out side. No its too hot. I never get my way. You are just lucky we let you come with us so shut up Pricks, he mutteres.

Nice looking waitress looks at us like we are speaking a foreign language. Margaritas all around. She gets that. Deetto orders veggie burrito. Bill calls it a fag order. The waitress laughs and points to his strawberry marg and says pot calling kettle maybe. We all laugh at that one Sipping our salty margaritas watching the TVs. You cant look anywhere without seeing a TV. Some weather babe is pointing to red blob surrounded by yellow and green where the storms are moving in our direction Nice tits says Bill Then there is a promo for the TV station I did that spot says Bill. We hate it with the fast cuts we yell Pricks, he sulks. local celebrity babe reading the news Clooney says she looks like a skank. He wouldn't do her with Bill's dick. We eat our tacos and beans, veggie burritos and order some beer to chase down the Margs.
Look at that wind Deetoo says we look out the window at the leaves and bits of vegetation roiling around in the wind like you see on tornado hunters. Then the rain and hail for chrisakes pea sized bullets. A river of dark water churning in the streets almost over the curb. TV screen goes blue searching for sattelite signal.
By the time we finish our lunch it is all over and the TV's are working again. Clooney pays for lunch with his fathers day gift certificate. Because its my birthday,they tell me not to pay anything. Deetwo pays for the drinks. Bill says I drove and shamelessly throws in a mere fiver. Everyone calls him a cheap prick, except me.

As we leave Bill says he is glad we didn't sit outside. We pelt him with toothpicks.
He is the driver so we let him in the car. He heads back to Cherry St but being a numnutz takes a wrong turn. If that isn't enough a big tree has fallen across the road and we are forced to detour to the right. Unfamiliar streets. Suddenly it is tropical again. Strange sight: Freezing pellets of fallen hail still blanket the lawns. Clooney urges Turn Left. Deetoo says no turn right. Bill goes straight. We are hopelessly lost. Driving around the lifeless storm whipped unknown territory of auburndale two deckers and vinyl clad apartments. Yelling Where the fugawee!
Finally after wandering for what seemes like days without food or water we stumble back on familiar streets. Time is of the essence now. The Mexican fart food is building up dangerous lava pools of intestinal gasses which threaten to eruct in violent spasms of noisome vapors, or worse. I am the first to be dropped off. They all wish me happy birthday and I let go of an SBD as I exit innocently from the gray Toyota. Hah.

As the gas-filled Toyota backs out of the driveway, I wave farewell then my attention is drawn to my ruined garden. The hail has struck here too shredding the hostas and clipping the tomato plants like a scythe Where have you been yells my wife from the door the storm was awful we hid in the basement My young grandkids who we are babysitting yell grandpa you missed the tornado we were scared. then they go back to their monopoly board. I go out to the porch and sit there in the tropical dampness wondering about the tomatoes and cilantro dozing off thinking of Jack Nicholson's bucket list quote Never trust a fart

ad poopulum

It was one of those August dog days where the heat and humidity are so oppressive that you just want to sit in an air conditioned FEMA trailer and quaff frosty Sierra Nevadas all afternoon, composing long, Faulknerian sentences (for the mere reason that you find it entertaining) instead of going out in the sub-Sahara swelter of the dump, running a twenty ton yellow front-end loader spewing poisonous diesel fumes and creating a din of noise and vibration that makes your ears ring and your teeth numb.


But this is not August, you think to yourself, this is June and this is not Botswana, it is Boston; now all the nattering about global warming is gonna start up again. The good news is that even the most hold-out looney conservatives are starting to realize that the scientific evidence is against them and no amount of pretzel logic is going to sway the thinking of the best and brightest people in the world which we see melting before our eyes like an ice cube on a hot tin roof.

Clooney and I were sitting in the FEMA trailer. It was 3pm and time for what we call "high tea." Clooney was scrawling on that infernal white board that he calls his blog. We had been discussing the partisan political climate in the USA. I had observed that Conservatism seemed like a "lost cause" since the history of the world was pretty much a story of progress and change.

I noted that the majority of the most educated people in the country tended to be liberal. College professors and students, book publishers, news organizations (the "mainstream media" that conservative nutjobs are always complaining about). I wondered aloud why this was so.

Clooney haughtily declared that these poor deluded souls had been deluded by some sort of groupspeak, which apparently the conservatives are immune from by nature of their superior character and perspicuity. He had enummerated them on his whiteboard which can be found here

I thought it was a nice list of admirable characteristics, but that list did not describe many of the conservatives of my acquaintance. So, I started my own list:

A conservative

- Distrusts the motives of anyone not in the clan.
- Fears people who do not believe in absolute authority.
- Thinks Liberals are more likely to be fascists.
- Nationalistic to a fault; Abhors using the word "Global" in any context.
- Abhors dissent from party line; hates dissidents.
- Has no tolerance for ambivalence; everything is black or white.
- Believes that if God exists, he must be on their side, despite the disappointment and devastation in their lives
- Thinks that their personal accomplishments are due to superior character traits and core values and not sheer luck.
- Can attribute any problem in America today to something Jimmy Carter or Bill Clinton did.
- Will demand any handout by government that the law allows, but unabashedly derides others who do the same thing.
- Believes that the liberals engage in voter fraud - because Conservatives would do it if they believed that they could get away with it. The end justifies the means.
- Evokes the small government mantra while continually voting for corrupt big government politicians
- Can easily be seduced by phonies and hypocrites by a few litmus issues.
- Thinks society would be better of more people carried automatic weapons.

- Wants your kid to enlist in the military to keep his kids safe.

- Thinks poor people are morally bankrupt and probably deserve to be poor and ignorant.
- See slippery slopes in every new invention.
- Loves the flag as a primitive symbol of tribalism.

- Claims that the opposition position is illogical but continually engages in fallacious reasoning.
- Lacks empathy.
- Claims to hold personal liberty in high esteem, does not grant this right to people who were unlucky enough to be born elsewhere in the world.
- Hates people who change their mind; sees free thinking as disloyalty.
- Uncomfortable with unscripted situations and loose canons.
- Has an arrested sense of humor; thinks puns are hilarious.

Bill's Tee Shirt Idea

I was sitting at my desk, googling the phrase "Piping Plovers Taste Like Chicken" -wondering if there are any decent recipes posted on the web. I had a dozen frozen carcasses in the freezer - a gift from an appreciative landfill customer.

When Bill came through the door of the FEMA trailer that I call my office, I was surprised. He was wearing surgical gloves and a mask to protect him from the dangerous bacteria that lurked everywhere. I wasn't surprised at his outfit; I was not expecting him. he had not showed up for work ever since he heard about the asbestos contamination in FEMA trailers. (I figure what the hell - we got it for nothing. And you gotta die of something...)

"Who's here today?" Bill asked looking warily toward Lardass's chair. He took off his wet coat and sort of threw it at a hook. The coat made a wet mark on the wall and slid to the floor.

"Nobody," I replied, "Nobody wants to work in the rain. They all called-in "not-available" already."


"It's fucking raining torrents out there."

"So, what are you doing here?" I didn't mention the fact that he had never been re-hired and has not recieved a paycheck in years.

He took off his mask so I could see him grinning. "I have an idea."
Ever the master on non-verbal communication, I rolled my eyes and nodded for him to get on with it.
"I have a new slogan: we need to get T-shirts and hats that say, "I enjoy a good dump"




"You dolt!" I shouted. "Clooney had that idea years ago, but someone else already had the patent on it. "
"No - his slogan was 'I'm Down in the Dumps' it was about computer memory printouts or something like that."

"Whatever. It's already been used. Goodbye. " I turned back to my Google searching.



Deflated, with limp sails, Bill picked up his coat and headed out the door.
"But.."
"OUT!" I yelled.
Finally, he was gone.

I thought to myself, I really ought to get rid of Bill, he's way too obsessed with shit. I remember one time when he mentioned that as a student at BU he had taken a course in Scatology. When I asked him how he did in that course he said "I got an incomplete; I didn't turn in my feces."

But, how the heck can you fire some who you already fired two years ago?

Back from my Travels

In case you haven't noticed, I've been away for the past six weeks on my world dump tour.

I felt almost like a stranger as I drove the trusty old Hummer through the RDF gates this morning. It was good to be back, to see the gang again. Perhaps in my absence they had learned to appreciate me - or at least respect my leadership.

Anyone who has visited the dump in the past is well aware of my management challenges.

Clooney - Pedantic, arrogant and elitist. An Ivy League Frat Boy who once worked on Wall Street. He is alleged to have caused several men and a chimpanzee to commit suicide. His main contribution is to question my every decision and correct every little gramitical or speling misteak.

Bill - hypochondriac, germophobic, and a complainer. He was once a creative genius but gave it up to raise horses and weeds on a farm with his "wife." He calls in sick if he thinks someone else is sick. He won't sit in a seat that Lardass has used without wiping it down with purelle.

Lardass - a large doughy fellow with a high tolerance for grime and a disturbing case of gingivitis. Often accompanied by a lingering noisome miasma due to his nonexistent hygiene and poor sense of smell. Immorally analytical, he often seems to stumble into moments of remarkable lucidity. We can't tell if he is as wise as Shakespeare or dumb as a bag of rags.

Dee Two - the old new guy. Has the look and accent of an Asian, but is in fact a Canadian citizen. I used to save money by paying him in Loonies; now he is more highly paid than the others.

Achmed - The new new guy. From the Mideast. Obsequious and grateful for the job. Believes that if there is a God, he made humans mainly as entertainment to watch us fight.

This is the staff that they expect me to run the dump with. A bunch of rag tag workers who would rather sit around the office all day shooting the bull and arguing than do the work of the dump.

Finally a chance to wear that Hawaiian Shirt I got from Aunt Helen

I am always looking for new places to dump trash. Lardass gave me an idea last week at the Monthly Dumpf*cks Ideas meeting when he said - "Hey, why don't we just dump all the crap into a live volcano? Is it break time yet?"

The idea was sheer genius and pure Lardass: simple direct and impossible. I looked on a map and the nearest volcano is in New Jersey. But the idea was seductive and eventually I thought of the Hawaiian Islands. Now that would make a perfect dumping spot, because most of the islands are uninhabited stretches of rocky lava slopes and beach sand. A perfect junkett.. A scouting trip that can be expensed to the dump research budget - and a few days of sun and surf.

Try not to hate me. I know you are stuck in the doldrums of a ghastly winter and I am wending my way to a warm beach in Hawaii. Let me remind you that though you may be miserable, cold and sick, please try to have some empathy for me: stuck on a so-called island paradise in 78-80 degree weather, with nothing to do but to sightseeing, snorkeling in the lagoon and hanging around the lanai bars, inundated by young tanned buxom women who are wearing practically nothing. How is that supposed to be fun?

Pity me. You get to go to work everyday, catching-up on the news in your car radio while stalled in traffic, arriving late under the friendly and understanding hawk-eye of your manager. And your coworkers, sure they may be petty, back-biting shits, but they are your shits - team-mates and soul pals. And while you are getting the love from your social network, here I will be with hardly anything to do, out of the range of electronic signals, forced to meet new people many of whom are wearing skimpy outfits, and no one to talk about the news with, because all they care about is their freaking tans!

I’m telling you this is going to be a hellhole. And the worst of it is, this goes on for a month! Crikey! Who the heck can afford to stay in Hawaii for a month?

So I may be er too busy to keep posting while I'm on the road, but keep checking back just in case. I love those flower wreaths that they put around your neck. I think my first question to the cabby will be “Hey, where does a guy go to get leied around here?”

Videotaping The Competition

I was sitting in the Hummer in the parking lot of the Starbucks (where I often stop on my way to work), sipping my Vente Verona and reading the newspaper that I had stolen from the stack of papers when the clerk was looking the other way. I know what you are thinking: If you can afford the Hummer then you should be able to afford the paper. Well suck on this factoid, dude: The Hummer was stolen too! Hah! Not that anyone who is alive today is going to report it stolen... if you gather my meaning.

Look, go ask Obama how he got his house - Ask Hillary about how she made a skillion in the market - Ask McCain how he got rich as a US Senator... the facts is: when you have power opportunities sometimes come your way to acquire things... You don't ask questions.

When you run a busy suburban dump, certain people seek you out and start talking about how "one hand washes the other..." - unless your name is Lardass (he hasn't washed his hands since Bill Clinton was in office, "getting his ashes hauled by at least the one intern in a blue dress, lying under oath, dismantling the military, giving secret technology to China." as Clooney likes to remind us.) Anyway the point is that you do favors for people and... well, one day you have the keys to a new Hummer. It's the way life works.

So, I guess some day, I should tell you about how I came to be driving the Hummer. Some day.

Not today. Today I had this huge idea while I was reading the freshly purloined copy of the Globe Sports section. I was searching in vain for a piece on Bull riding, which has become the fastest growing non-team, spectator sport involving bovine animals in America (at least by the 23 fans who attended the rodeo in Worcester last week. The previous year only 10 fans came to the event so that is a 30% increase, if my math is correct.)

Browsing, idly while sipping and munching on the pumpkin cake free samples that I grabbed, my attention was caught by an article bemoaning last year's flap concerning the New England Patriots who were caught red-handed filming the defensive signals of the opponents. The writer of the article wanted the readers to "get over it." I was just about to think, Dude, It might be easier if you news whores would stop writing about it.

And that's when I had this killer idea. Eureka! I need video of competitors' dumps. How can I expect to keep my facility "State of the Art" when I don't know the state of the other guys' dumps?

When I arrived at the FEMA trailer that I call my office, I was excited to tell the crew about the idea. Strangely enough the usual gang was out working when I arrived. Achmed the new guy was sweeping up, sucking around the boss like most new guys do, looking for more work so he could show-up the rest of the crew.

I handed him the old recycled Super Eight (millermeter) camera and told him to go out and get some footage of some of the other local dumps. Natick, Needham, Newton.

"What ever you say, dude. " he said as he grabbed the camera and headed out the door.

I yelled. " ...and stop going around calling everbody 'dude.' It makes you sound like a damned Valley Boy." He grimaced. I'm sure he didn't know what a valley boy is, but it sounded kind of unmanly. He was raised in Kabul under Taliban rule, so anything that smacked of androgeny was both feared and loathed.

This was his first job since sneaking into the USA. He had been hired to replace Clooney while he was out for the "operation." After Clooney returned, unexpectedly, I did not have the heart to fire him, so I found enough work for both of them to do. It was easy to fudge the budget for the first few months, since I paid Achmed in Canadian dollars. Now the shit was beginning to hit the fan, because the dollar has fallen and - according to my calculations the Looney is now the bull goose currency - having increased by about 30%.

"And for Chrissakes, don't let them catch you with the camera!" I yelled.

Progress

A 14th century inventor, Irving Pascal, noticed that the drains on sinks were too big. People were constantly losing babies when they pulled the plugs after bathing the infants. He proposed smaller drains, and of course now we seldom hear of a baby actually being thrown out with the bathwater. This my friends is progress.

The Strike is Nearly Over

It occurred to me that I could explain the dearth of creative prose lately by pretending that I was "witholding my essense" in sympathy with my brother and sister writers.

But that would not have fooled you, would it? So I may as well admit that I have just been lazy-busy lately with more rewarding activities.

The term "crazy-busy" is the title of a book about people who live lives of frenzy and distraction.

Lazy-busy is a nicer term, describing people who drift from breakfast to lunch to nap to dinner to bed and get 8 hours of restful sleep. We fill our time with satisfying experiences, meeting friends, going to lectures, languishing at the library, drinking coffee at Starbucks while reading the entire paper... that sort of thing.

Who the hell has time to lay his ink stained soul out on the rack of public opinion where mooching freeloaders get to read it free of charge?