"I wonder what I am going to do if I get coked up again and wake up with another dead stripper?" I asked Neighbor Bob as a certain nosy neighbor was walking by.
"Yeah. That might be a problem, Pic," said Bob. "Might think of going into rehab."
"Rehab is for quitters," I snapped back. "I've never quit anything in my life."
This, of course, is a bunch of crap because I do not do illegal drugs, but it got the nosy neighbor's attention and as usual she played right into my hand. She thinks of herself as a good citizen and thinks the police department likes her. Truth is they consider her a pain in the ass and wish she would go away. They also probabaly wish I would go away because I constantly feed her misinformation and watch her make a fool out of herself. I also do this to another person that walks past the house every so often and asks nosy questions.
I got chewed out for this several years back when she 'overheard' me talking about burying a couple of magazine selling kids in the back yard that supposidly interrupted my nap. She raised cain and called the chief when she found out that nobody had dug up my back yard until a resourceful cop grabbed his black Lab from home and walked him through my back yard, passing it off as a trained police dog. When the officer asked if he could, I said, "Yeah, sure. Go ahead."
I was incontrite then and will continue to be so because this stupid woman is truly dangerous. Under the guise of being 'helpful' she will tell anyone that comes to her door anything about the entire neighborhood, including what they do and their schedules. She is the criminal's best friend and she is too stupid to know it.
It has taken a long time, but now she simply says, "The guy in the white house is a nut that has a bunch of guns and is always trying to kill someone." That is a VERY good thing. I have worked on attaining this status for years with this woman. The last thing I want her telling strange people is my work schedule.
We are getting a new trash service in about a week or so and they have just issued us new trash cans that are pretty hefty. There are also a whole lot of new rules and regulations about what you can and can't throw out. In addition to that, the recycling policy has changed, too. So has the Piccolo recycling policy. The city now gets nothing that I can sell for scrap.
Bob and I were discussing what we are most likely in for as far as the future of trash removal in the Piccolo neighborhood goes. I see that we're going to have to start ditching what we refer to as dead strippers in an alley or maybe stuffing them into the dumpster behind the convenience store at least for a while until I can corrupt the new guys that will be picking up our trash come 1 October.
The guys that we used to have were trained pretty well because I did a pretty good job of taking halfway decent care of them. Had to get rid of a set of old tires? No problem! Leave them out next to the trash can with a quarter-pint of Jim Beam taped to the inside of the lid. Gone, both the Beam AND the tires.
It's cold and I am up when I hear the truck? Pour a couple styrofoam cups of coffee and add cream and sugar. They appreciate it on cold mornings. It's hot? Grab a couple cold Cokes. Bam! There goes the junky old toilet you have yanked out and replaced that you were wondering how to get rid of. A room full of sheet rock and old 2x4s? No problem! Gone!
Anyway, back to the nosy neighbor.
"So whaddya think about the new trash cans the new company gave us? asked Bob. "They look like they ought to hold two dead strippers."
"Yeah, maybe two of those emaciated little flat-chested coke whores that come up to you with a white Hitler moustache offering you a free lap dance if you repack their nose, but no way in hell can you stuff two halfway decent busty strippers in one of those new cans and still have room left for a week's worth of rubbish," I shot back.
Nosy neighbor turned pale and kept walking by. She stepped up the pace.
A few minutes later the neighborhood cop drove up. He scowled. "Quit talking about stuffing dead strippers into the trash," he said, in a mildly annoyed voice.
"We were talking about the new trash deal the city came up with," I explained. "You know who was walking by and musta overheard us. Coffee?"
"No, thanks for the offer, though. Just finished a cup. Most likely you two were talking about the game or something when she walked by and you changed the subject to stuffin' a dead stripper in the trash again. It's getting old," he said.
"So what do you think of the new trash deal?" I asked.
"Sounds like a pain in the ass," said the cop. "More work and bigger trash cans to deal with."
"Yeah, and still not enough room for two dead strippers." I said, smirking.
"I told you, that's getting old," said the cop. Then he grinned. "The Bangalore torpedo thing last June was pretty funny when you think of it. Dispatch wanted to call EOD, but I headed them off when I found out who had called in on you...Hey, where does this dead stripper crap come from, anyway? What started it?"
"It is what we call stuff we put out in the trash that we're not supposed to, like an old toilet or a couple of tires. It comes from a guy I work with from North Carolina that once commented that back where he came from he could stuff a dead stripper in the trash feet sticking up and the trash guys would take it without batting an eyelash."
"Gotcha." He looked at the new cans." Hmmm. Maybe two if they're skinny," he said. He hadn't really totally lightened up yet, so I decided to go in for the kill.
"Hey," I said. "We're not talking about a couple of those skinny little emaciated Auschwitz survivor types, the kind with white Hitler coke moustaches and boulders falling out their noses or even the skinny little meth monsters. We're talking about a pair of onest to Christ lusty zuftig types like Anna Nicole Smith!"
"I don't know about a pair of Anna Nicoles," said the cop, with a trace of a smirk. "One, easy. But I don't see..." Then his mouth ran away with him. "At least not in one piece."
"You can't fit two Anna Nicole Smiths in those new cans. You have to leave room for trash to cover the bodies a bit." interrupted a woman's voice. It was Lois from across the street. She had ambled over and listened for a bit before she made her presence known. She looked at Bob and I. "I know who you two were talking trash in front of! She went straight to her cell phone and dialed 911!"
Lois is one of those rare women that is comfortable around men and knows the rules. She is queen of the embarrassed yet amused female blush. It is a red face that means she knows that she is still a lady but shows she has a pretty masculine sense of humor. She can express amusement without losing her feminity. It's a rare gift only seen by women that have been raised with a strong male influence. Lois had been raised by her father along with three brothers, having lost her mother at a young age.
Now the cop blushed a bit. Lois had made him feel a little sheepish. Like most officers he didn't like being caught in any kind of unprofessional behavior, and talking trash with a couple of old men like Bob and I was pushing the edge when you think about it. Then again, sometimes Lois makes a guy feel a touch uncomfortable until they figure her out. Then they really open up to her. She can be really funny.
He turned to me.
"Why are we talking about this?" he asked. Then he looked at me. "Besides, aren't you getting a little long in the tooth to be dragging home more than one stripper at a time, Pic?"
"It's been a while," I said, smirking. " I got a couple of flings left in me before they park me in the Old Folks Home. Then again, it's been a while since I woke up sick as a dog, puking, all sweaty, stinking of cheap perfume and covered with glitter!"
Lois turned red and laughed like hell. "How long, Pic?"
"Try over 30 years ago," I confessed. "The day I woke up with her is the day I gave up tequila."
The cop looked at her for a couple of seconds and I think he had her figured out. I could see he had relaxed a bit. Good cops can read people fast. He looked at me and shook his head. "If that happened to me I would have probably quit tequila, too," said the cop.
"Hey, I hope our little mischief didn't ruin your day," I said to the cop.
"Hmmm... I'll admit you two are sometimes a pain in the neck, but at least you guys are interesting," he said. "Which reminds me, thanks for the 'Go to jail' cards. I actually used one on some wise-ass the other day."
It was a reference to the time I handed him a stack of cards I had made up on my printer a while back. I copied up a bunch of Monopoly cards that said 'Go to jail, do not pass GO, do not collect $200' and gave them to him several months ago, much to his amusement.
"What was she like?" Lois asked me.
"What was who like?" I replied.
"The stripper you woke up with." she answered.
"Oh. her. Hot. Like you," I replied, smugly. Then I turned very cheerful. "But a LOT trashier. You even couldn't come close to being that trashy after six quaaludes and a Jerry Springer Show remake. Why do you think I have never made a pass at you? You are nowhere near close to being trashy enough for the likes of me."
Lois really turned beet red. "I thought it was because you were afraid my husband would shoot you," she said.
"That, too," I replied."But if you were anywhere near close to being that trashy I would have risked it."
She turned redder but I know she was amused.
"Quaaludes? What do you know about quaaludes?" interrupted the cop.
"I grew up in the 60s," I answered. "I haven't heard of them floating around for years but when a drug gets the nickname 'panty droppers' you tend to remember it."
"They're still around," said the cop.
"I thought they stopped making them years ago," I said.
"The companies did, but there are still places you can get them." he replied.
"Figures. It is certainly nice to hear that quaaludes are still out there dropping the female panties of the planet one pair at a time," I replied in a cheerful voice just dripping with sarcasm.
Then the cop shook his head. "All of you guys are sick!" he said and rolled up the window. Then he unrolled it. I was quick when I saw the window go down.
"Hey, how long was it in your career when you stopped being disgusted and started being amused? I asked him. I was treated to a smirk, but no answer.
"Hey, where do you get those little bottles of...Oh, never mind." he said.
He knows about the small bottles of whiskey I occasionally tape to the inside lid of my trash can when the guys do me a favor. A couple of years ago he said something to me about it. I suppose it is illegal, but the rules are that the trash guys have to be over 21 because of some insurance rules otherwise I would not have done that. I'm not stupid enough to give liquor to minors and besides, I had a quiet word with the trash guys and made sure they didn't nip on the job. I don't want to do something nice that can get a guy canned.
In fact, when I first started this they would stash the bottles under a rock and pick them up after work. I don't really tape the bottles to the lid anymore, I generally leave a note to check under the rock after work.
"Jim Beam? Delaware," I answered. "Want me to pick you up a few?"
"No," he said. "Let's see how this new trash deal works out."
I'm wondering the same thing myself.
I'll keep you posted.
my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/
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