Archive for May, 2008

Who Will Buy My Memories?

May 31, 2008

0540–Unbelievable. As the Mrs. is getting set up in the driveway, this goober pulls up and starts looking at our wares. Even more unbelievable, he buys the crappiest pet cage we have in all of it’s rusted glory. It was the one thing we didn’t think any one in their right mind would buy. He’s going to keep chickens in it.

0640–These people are like garage sale zombies. Mindlessly shambling from one yard to the next looking for treasure in a manure pile. You know, if zombies did that as well as the whole brain eating thing. On the plus side, they give us money for this junk.

0740–The Brown Invasion. If the Mexicans want to endure a treacherous border crossing and the very real possibility of being sent back to whatever backwater shithole they came out of in order to buy up my used linens. Then I say open the borders. Mr. Bush, tear down this wall.

0810–Out of coffee. Still drinking booze, though.

0857–Out of booze. Drinking sand. Half of the stuff is gone. It won’t be missed. Only the good junk is left. No accounting for taste. Thankfully, the couple from the trailer park up the road were looking to redecorate. And kudos to the hipster with a taste for Americana that snapped up $25 worth of CD’s. Still, no one has made an offer on the Kinky Friedman documentary, Asshole from El Paso.

1003–The Doldrums have set in. The freak parade is starting to wind down. All the garage sale nuts have been at it for a couple of hours. Now we deal with the stragglers. Within the next hour will come the hagglers who want to Christian you down over a $1 chafing dish or some shit.

The Aftermath–Not a bad take.  As I type this a Guatemalan is backing up his truck to load the pool/foosball/air hockey table.  We unloaded just about everything except all of my CD’s/DVD’s and books.  Sorry I didn’t have any gospel, granny.  Try this Jason and the Scorchers Live disc,  it rocks.

The important part is that the garage is now empty enough to be usable.  We’ll try this again in the fall.  I have even more crap in storage.

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Vultures at Dawn

May 30, 2008

Tomorrow is the big Garage Sale. We are unloading a sizable amount of crap valuable household items. Included in the sale will be parts of the massive Sarcastro compact disc collection. Most of which has either been loaded to iTunes or was not a very rewarding purchase in the first place. Come and get me recording industry goons! I’m reselling your precious intellectual property that in many instances I paid full retail price for the pleasure. Nevermind your faulty premise that you are somehow still owed money once you have already been paid for the product you have brought to market. If the auto industry used the same idiotic business model, Toyota would expect payment for someone borrowing my car. So bring on your hired guns and rat-faced shysters. Your threats are meaningless. I have enough bullets and food to start my own FLDS compound! Well, I will once I sell all these goddamn CDs, DVDs and pointless VHS tapes.

So, I’m trying to get stuff quasi-sorted and arranged this morning so that tomorrow is just a matter of pulling it out into the driveway and watching the money roll in. That was my first mistake.

The first “buyer” screeched to a tire burning halt in front of the house and asked if the thing we trap Sarcastro Junior in when we can no longer tolerate his vandalism and just want to hear him keen like a banshee was for sale.

I had no idea.

She asked about price.

I had no idea.

Nevermind that I had told her that we weren’t going to have anything ready for sale until Saturday. She was undeterred by my lack of interest in being thrust into the merchant class.

I was forced to call higher headquarters.

Mrs. Sarcastro informed me that the jumper thingy wasn’t for sale and it would be the repository for Junior during the garage sale. I then relayed this info to the buyer.

But, the Mrs. vacillated and said, “Well, if she wants to pay $15 for it, sell it.” As soon as I looked up to give this woman a renewed chance at it, there went her car in a screech of tires and a cloud of dust up to the next yard sale.

No sooner did I turn back to sorting through junk sentimental family heirlooms, than another minivan pulled up. Out staggered a woman who had not heard that tube tops with horizontal stripes had gone out of style for forty plus year old obese women. Her makeup looked as if it were put on with a wooden spoon. She smelled like a half empty bottle of beer that has been used as an ashtray half way through a college party. Not to be too cruel, but she looked like a clown smuggling inner-tubes.

Again I tried in vain to explain that we were not, in fact, having a garage sale for another 24 hours. She acted as if I was speaking Chinese and proceeded to stagger into the garage while telling me her life story. Sadly, she was not speaking Chinese. It would have been easier to conceal my disinterest. After some inquiries about some useless shit in a pile of even more useless shit treasured possessions we are reluctant to part with, she stumbled down the driveway seven dollars poorer.

As she did so, three carloads of hatchet-faced broads came cruising up. All demanding to know prices of items that may or may not be for sale. Again, I explained that the yard sale was not until the following day. They looked at me if I were wearing a conical hat and building a Great Wall.

One particularly dessicated nag looked through my CDs and inquired, “Do ya have any Meatloaf?”

At that point the youngest one chimed in, “What’s Meatloaf?”

“It’s a group” came the stupefying reply.

At that point, I turned on the hose and chased them out of my yard. I quickly closed the garage door, went in the house, closed the blinds and made plans to be heavily medicated during the actual garage sale.

Y’all be sure to come on by!

The Disturbing Facts of Life

May 17, 2008

In the wake of having The Talk with the boys about all things biologic, the hits just keep on coming.

The other day, Mrs. Sarcastro gave out the warning that she was starting her monthly reign of terror as determined by the lunar cycle.  As always, I am appreciative of such information as it gives us time to stockpile supplies in an interior room of the house such as a bathroom or closet where we can wait out the storm until the danger passes.  They boys were fairly non-plussed.  They only had one question:

“So are you wearing a pad or a tampon?”

What The Dooce?

May 4, 2008

Let this one roll around in your brain for a few minutes:

Say that a blogger gets fired from his or her day job for blogging. (Recent high profile media examples here and here.) It is a common enough tale to become almost a cliche.

But what would your reaction be if you found out a spiteful blogger, for no other reason than to fuck you over and with whom you had some petty online disagreement, went and outed you to your corporate overlords who didn’t take too kindly to your potty mouth and intemperate opinions? You get shit-canned and your online arch-nemesis is crowing over his/her “victory”.

What would your reaction be?

The first emotional reaction would be to go all Nazi Ed Norton and make him/her bite the curb. As appealing as that sounds, the real drawback to that plan is that in addition to being unemployed, you would be facing numerous felony assault charges.

Instead, could your honor and desire for revenge be better served in a court of law? If someone intentionally and willfully engaged in behavior that caused you to lose your source of income, and you could prove their intent, are they exposed to the ugly end of a big fat lawsuit full of compensatory and punitive damages and what not?

I await the Solomon-like wisdom and Matlock-like legal expertise of all seven of my readers to hold forth with their opinions.