What Are We Gonna Do With All This Trash?: Pick A Caption, Any Caption...

May 04, 2007

Pick A Caption, Any Caption...

O.K., let's see here, I'll go with...

"Wait.. where the hell am I?! What is this... some

sort of ballgame!? Who's this dude I'm next to? Why do

I feel like listening to the Black Crowes?"

and...

"Grrrr. With this new bionic face I had installed, I can kill

a man with the slightest twitch of my brow.

Unfortunately,

similar experiments to make my wife more dashing were

terrible disasters, resulting in orange skin and a nasty case

of TBS (Toothpickular Bone Syndrome)."

1 comment:

Scrap Heap Pete said...: My wife informed me that Mrs. Beckham may have admitted publicly to either a past or present eating disorder, in which case I'm sorry for the mean-spirited Toothpickular Bone comment. But you're still orange.; 6:46 PM

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A History Of Trash

Trash, at first, was a pretty cool guy. You know, he’d come over with some beers, and you’d hang out and have a couple of laughs. Maybe Trash brought some weed with him, and you guys tried to sync up Dark Side Of The Moon with The Wizard Of Oz until you remembered you lost your VHS copy of that movie sometime in college and that you fucking hate Pink Floyd. Good times were had, nonetheless.

But then, you don’t know what changed, but Trash started to overstay his welcome. He’d just linger for hours, never taking the hint you wanted him to leave, no matter how many times you yawned obnoxiously or mentioned how early you had to get up tomorrow. Trash just didn’t get it. You were getting older. You didn’t have the time anymore to stay up until 3 a.m. to talk about the Port season of “The Wire” or how much you miss Jawbox. Eventually, you just stopped taking Trash’s phone calls and no longer replied to his group e-mails about sneaking into abandoned mental hospitals.

Last time you saw Trash, he was smoking alone outside a local dive bar, looking down at his decaying and mismatched shoes. You hoped he had been doing well. You hoped he had not been hurt by the disintegration of your friendship. And if he had, you wanted to comfort him. You wanted to tell him that even though people move on with their lives, it doesn’t mean they stop caring. You wanted him to see in your eyes a sincere appreciation for the time you shared, because all the relationships in our lives help make us who we are, and even if you weren’t the best of friends anymore, you wanted him to know that there would always be a piece of Trash in your heart.

But instead, you looked away and crossed the street. You were with your new girlfriend, and you really didn’t want to have to explain Trash to her. She’d never understand.