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Trash Can of Death

The boy takes the trash out to the road for pick up. It's his job. This morning though, he came back in the house and said the trash can was too heavy for him to move. I said somethin' about maybe he should eat more Wheaties and then I went outside to move it up to the road myself.

Turns out, after the 20.37 inches of rain we had last week, the trash can was full of about 800 gallons of water, plus the trash. I pushed and pulled and heaved and hoed and finally got the sumbitch to move.

No shit, that thing weighed more than I do and since our driveway is on a slight incline, I was havin' one helluva a time tryin' to get it up to the road. I remembered thinkin' "dammit, I JUST straightened my bangs. Now I'm gonna be all sweaty and shit and I'll have to do it again"....and just about then, the evil trash can came topplin' backwards on top of me.

My knee gave out and hit the driveway. My face got acquainted with the back side of the trash can and I couldn't free one of my hands from the handle, so it dragged along the concrete.

The best part? The gallons and gallons of puke smellin' trash can juice that gushed out.

Standin' there covered in the trash can juice, I flipped the fuck out. You ever heard one of your neighbors cussin' out a trash can? Mine hadn't either........until today.

Once I righted my glasses back on my face, I noticed the blood drippin' from my hand and I went back to hollerin' and cussin....and kickin'....and some other sweet ass kungfuery type moves. The boy just stood there all wide eyed and finally broke me of my fit pitchin' by askin' if I was ok. "No, no I don't think so....go get Mama her whiskey".......kiddin' y'all...just kiddin'.

I hobbled back into the house and cleaned myself up. The soap burned my hand SO bad. Bandaids, lots and lots of bandaids. I went upstairs to change my clothes and decided I didn't give a shit if my bangs were straight or not.

I headed back down the stairs with my bandaged up hand, scratched glasses and throbbin' face. I found the boy wearing latex gloves that were at least four times too big for him and he was puttin' all the trash can juice covered junk back in the trash can. Bless his heart. Right then, a tear rolled down my cheek. It was the sweetest thing he'd ever done for me.

It took him and I both to get the thing back upright. It was only 8:30 in the monrin' and I had just gotten my ass handed to me by the trash can of death. We got in the car to take the boy on to school and I had to just sit for a minute.....a/c on high and breathe. My bandaids were doin' a bad job, I'm certain to have a black eye and even though I changed my clothes and freshened up, I still smelled like trash can juice.



Lori said…
I'm sorry but the visuals are hilarious!!!!!

You need to get the power drill out and poke a couple of holes in the bottom of the can so the water will drain in the next flood.
You are GENIUS Lori! Thanks for that tip!
Loopy said…
OMG!!! That post kinda made me hurl a little. My suggestion...leave it there FOREVER! Trash Can of Death INDEED!!!
From the O-Zone said…
Wheaties? Those flakes have never worked for me. Although, I suppose if you sprinkled someth... no, that's illegal, isn't it?
oh no! this sounds awful. I feel for ya
Cats Meos said…
I just found your blog via Pioneer Woman. She's great and you, ma'dear, are hilarious and very brave. I do hope you are okay and no black eye but thank you so very much for sharing.

I will absolutely be back for more. What a really great blog.

Cats Meow (aka L. Armstrong)
Awww, thanks Cats! I love writing my blog. I tend to hold nothin' back so everything you read here is straightforward and honest!

Hope you come back again sometime!

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