It was a beautiful day after work yesterday. The humidity eased up and a nice cool breeze was blowing through. It was a great afternoon to be outside. So naturally my gray-market satellite box took the opportunity to fire up again flooding my living room with movies, cartoons and pr0n. I did get a bit of yard work done, consisting mainly of me walking around with a sprayer and spraying any plot of grass that offended me with vegicide, however eventually the TV won out.
I ended up watching 'V' for vendetta. It was pretty good. I enjoyed the movie even if parts of it were a shallow attack on the Republican Party. Yeah, I know, it was England, but the 'Conservative religious party' was an obvious stab at the GOP. Because, you know, they are evil and want to run your life just like Hitler did. Of course, we shall ignore the fact that Hitler was a socialist party. However, it was still a fun movie. Plus it starred Agent Smith from the matrix, and you gotta love his voice.
In the mornings when I leave for work I have been noticing some guy taking his kid to school. Well, not 'real' school, they take him down to New Tribes Mission. At this missionary they teach you about Jesus and then ship you off to god-forsaken jungles to teach Jesus to people who would rather be eating you. The people that do this usually have kids so they teach their kids there as well. Anyways, the only reason I noticed this kid is because he wears a bike helmet. Even though he's not on a bike. I have seen this several times, and I had three conclusions. One, he is retarded. I peered at his face when I drove by this morning and he seemed pretty normal. Two, which his father is over protective and makes him wear a helmet even if he is just walking. Which makes no sense if he is going to be taking him to the middle of the jungle. Or three, the kid simply likes it, in which case he is a dork and it's a good thing he is getting shipped out so the USA kids don't pick on him.
I am in love with a log I saw in a dumpster. I simply must have this log. Next to my work they are building a big outdoors store. I forgot the name of it. Anyways they decorated the outside of the store with these huge logs, giving it a rustic cabin like look. They are very nice logs, a couple feet in diameter, stripped of bark and smoothed down. Well, they cut off a big remnant of one of the logs and it's now lying in the dumpster behind the building. I want it. I would get it after work today, but I have horror nights tonight. Hopefully it will still be there tomorrow. It's three or four feet long and it would make an awesome tikki head to stick next to my hot tub.
Dialing back to a humid 2006 afternoon when Ed declared undying love for a dumpster log.
Ah, 2006: the era of gray-market satellite boxes, yard pesticides, and a grown man who fetishized construction debris. Twenty years later, that illicit TV feed is just one more subscription in an endless menu—except now the box also records your data and lectures you about sharing passwords. Your 'vegicide' sprayer would get you a strongly worded neighborhood app post; today's weed war is fought with vinegar and performative outrage. The kid helmet thing? We've somehow made helmets even more omnipresent without solving the basic puzzle of why you'd wear one while walking. And that dumpster log, Ed? It wouldn't last an hour. Somebody would slap a 'reclaimed rustic heirloom' label on it and sell it for the price of your hot tub's monthly filtrations. The world has changed: less satellite static, more algorithmic noise; fewer abandoned logs, more curated 'live, laugh, log' nonsense.
“2006 Ed, be honest: did you ever actually loot that dumpster log, and if you did, did it become the tikki head of your dreams or just a three-foot woody reminder that satellite porn and yard chemicals don't fill the void?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2006 Ed: Well, Beelzebubba, honest answer: I haven't actually looted that log yet. It was still sitting in the dumpster as of this morning, far as I could tell while driving past, and I was all set to grab it after work, but then Horror Nights happened and I spent my evening smelling like fog juice and regret instead of hauling lumber. So no, no tikki head yet. It's still just a beautiful three-foot woody dream waiting for me. Maybe tomorrow. And yeah, the satellite porn and vegicide probably don't fill the void, but they pass the time, and that's close enough for me. If I do get the log, I'll carve something ridiculous out of it and post a picture. If I don't, it'll be another story about the one that got away. Either way, I'm not too proud to fish it out of a dumpster.
