It is perhaps a testament to the type of person I somehow grew up to be that my absolute favorite thing to do is sort through the bags of dumpster produce to put into various five-gallon buckets for my pigs and chickens. The Chinese restaurant beside the Food Lion I used to hit hard has been closed, which means their back kitchen door is not open, exposing my dumpster digging ass to to the skinny China kid washing dishes who probably could give half a fuck anyways. But I prefer to not be seen.
But with the back door shut, the dumpsters have been prime territory, to where I didn't even take all I could the past two days because yesterday I felt guilty and today a fat chick who works at the Subway came out to smoke a cigarette. In the Food Lion itself was a funny scene because the assistant manager is very obviously an aging (around my age) wigger dude who settled down into a job. He has the haircut and demeanor of a guy that loves black chicks and probably still plays pick-up basketball weekly, at least during basketball season, and I always worry about him catching me in the dumpsters because he's like the only person I've ever seen working at a grocery store I think could kick my ass. Today, I get in a line, and two spots in front of me is a sister with two kids buying a whole shitload of groceries, and the wigger assistant manager dude comes over to help her get stuff out, making small talk. She's got both her kids names tattooed down her arms in really ghetto ass india ink style, and he's just talking away, loading her groceries. "You need help taking these out to the car?" and she's like, "No," and he's like, "I'm a big boy, I can help," but she's having none of it. He walks off and the girl behind the register rolls her eyes and rings me up and I go outside and pilfer their dumpsters.
But at home, truck bed full of produce, most all of it about 90% fresh, with like one bad spot, sorting it out, giving it to our pigs or the cantaloupes and some grapes and some lettuces to the chickens, my youngest two like to get in the back of the truck and help sort through the shit. I usually won't take them with when I'm dumpster diving because, I mean, fuck. I guess societal norms weight too heavily on me and make me feel like it's a bad move. My oldest goes, but she's getting near 12 and is on that her-own-thing trip, although she ain't.
This song made my countdown not because I give half a fuck about it, but because my oldest - Gypsy - loves The Clash, and she plays the fuck out of this song, and we share an Itunes for our gaypods, though I do not technically know if her's is a gaypod yet. She asked me to put it on mine long enough for it to make my stupid monthly list, because she knows I write about the top 13 songs each month. She doesn't know where, or what I write, but she knows I do it, and she enjoys tinkering with my madness and forcing me to recognize "Should I Stay or Should I Go". Personally, The Clash has never spoken to me like it does some people, and I could probably whittle my whole desire to listen to them down to about six or seven songs, most of which would come from London Calling, but I'm biased because I read a Penthouse Letter when I was like 14 where some dude hooked up with two chicks listening to that and it having perfect timing with the fucking.
Anyways, my oldest has an email and is going to set up a facebook account, and on one hand that shit creeps me the fuck out because I know how the internet be, but on the other hand, what the fuck can I do? Probably one of the most shocking things she'll come across at some point is the endless amounts of ridiculous nonsense I've written over the years.
Well Gypsy, if you make it to this, you are a damn chill kid. And yes, your father is a ridiculous freak. Which is why you will be too. Sorry about that. The quicker you embrace it, the quicker you can fine tune it to your liking or try to minimize the damage done and go to college to learn physics and master time travel.
STEAL "Should I Stay Or Should I Go"
NEXT UP: My most favoritest of all Hunstville rap songs!
No comments:
Post a Comment