White Trash Bastard

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Apparently, it is the time of year to put bulk items out by the street for pick up.  They probably sent out flyers or something.  I figured it out when all of my neighbors had big piles of junk, which are usually for sale at their bi-weekly yard sales, out by the mailbox.

If I had paid more attention, I might have been able to figure out more junk to drag to the end of the driveway.  All I could come up with on the spot was the Bastard gas grill.  This grill, which has earned the name Bastard for good reason, has been an albatross since I bought it. 

The Bastard has never fired up properly.  It always involved a lot of jiggering around with the valve in order to get the gas flowing properly.  Sometimes it would fire right up.  Mostly, it required the jiggering.  The worst times were when I would be stumbling drunk with a lit Marlboro hanging from my lower lip trying to get the Bastard lit.  Even my tough guy pals would go running into the house like a little girl who has just seen a spider when that would happen. 

Last time I tried to fire it up, it made a sound like it was pumping gas everywhere except the grill.  Come to find out when I went looking for a replacement valve, the manufacturer had issued a recall for the grills.  Turns out the regulator valve was made out of toothpicks and dog slobber.  With that info, and the realization that a faulty gas grill with after market replacement parts might void my thus far impeccable record of not getting blowed up yet, helped me realize that the Bastard was destined for the junk heap.

So, I hauled it out to the street.  Within an hour it was gone.  All of my neighbors still had mounds of junk in their yards.  Turns out that bottom-feeding hillbillies troll the neighborhoods when the bulk waste is put out.  I’ve seen three different ones skulking around looking for junk like it is the loading dock of the Salvation Army store on a Sunday night.  That’s another hick magnet.  Every Sunday night, random jackasses clean out their homes of useless stuff and dump it in the rear parking lot of the Salvation Army store on Charlotte.  All the while, people who are reminiscent of Jawas rummage through all the junk looking for that shitty exercise bike and pee stained rug that will really tie the room together.  It is like a secret after dark swap meet.  Especially when the people who dump their stuff leave with someone else’s trash.

So, one of these goobers thinks he’s got him a new gas grill.   Watch your local news this week for some poor dope that blows himself up in West Nashville from a bad gas grill.  That would be the Bastard.

And as always with the stuff I put at the end of the driveway, ALL SALES ARE FINAL. 

 

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One Response to “White Trash Bastard”

  1. Tara Says:

    That was a bastard grill…

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