One’s Mans Trash, Another Man’s Hoard

It’s incredible, the amount of junk a normal person can accumulate over the years.  I’m not talking about “Hoarders”-style piles of collectibles, trash and/or cat feces and dead cat bodies clutter.  Just your every day “I might use this later” clutter.  Thanks to our most recent big news, I’ve been on a house cleaning and organizing binge.  Not just for the sake of babies but to also avoid a predicament like this after their arrival:

And just look at the incredible stuff I’ve found!

A fanny pack with a bottle of sun screen inside!  Sure, the sunscreen was made in 2004, making it about as useful as water, but the fanny pack ROCKS!  I can’t throw this away!  So many times I’ve said to myself, “If only I had a fanny pack.  All of my ‘I need to carry something but I also need my hands’ problems would be solved.”  And I had the key all along.  Just like Dorothy and her ruby slippers.  I ditched the sunscreen and kept the fanny pack.

And then there’s this:

Colored pencils, big deal.  WRONG!  Look at what I could have won!  A Sega Genesis and a pair of Reebok Pumps.  I could have been so cool in 1992.  Which goes to show how long I’ve been lugging these nearly identical, barely used boxes of pencils around.  And sadly, I could not part with them.

And there’s this:

Ignore the quarter.  Pay attention to the two shiny, barbed objects.  I found these in a plastic baggie and had no clue what they were. At first.  And then I remembered…  There was a vet school party at our good friend J’s house.  Not sure if it was spring of ’04 or ’05 but I know there was an 80s theme involved because Karl wore a polo shirt with a popped collar, pleated khakis, more hair gel than the entire male cast of “The Jersey Shore” and sunglasses at night.

At some point during the night, after several rounds of drinks, our friend J said to Karl, “Hey!  I have a taser.  Let me tase you.”  Okay, it probably didn’t go down exactly like that.  I’m pretty sure they had both been talking this up for awhile.  But that’s the way I remember it happening.  I was furious.  I didn’t want Karl to be a “Jackass” pincushion but he was insistent.  I was insistent on not being in the room, although I did give a couple of recommendations:  1) someone needed to stand behind him to catch him if/when he fell, and 2) he needed to wear his Dollar Store 80s sunglasses to protect his eyes.  For some reason, Karl thought 3) he needed to take his totally tubular polo shirt off.

J shot at Karl, gangsta-style instead of straight-on.  One barb went into his chest, just below the sternum; the other into the hollow of his neck.  Good thing he wore those sunglasses.  He ended up falling backward.  Good thing I recommended someone stand behind him.  It looked like it hurt (I ended up watching from outside) but I was too pissed to care.  And that’s what a bunch of pre-professionals in their late-20s, early-30s do to let off steam.  And that’s why there was a baggie of taser barbs sitting in a box on a dresser.

Look closely at the barb on the top.  That’s a chunk of Karl skin.

Those went into the trash.

2 Responses to “One’s Mans Trash, Another Man’s Hoard”
  1. I am laughing my butt off!!!!!!!!! Too freakin funny!!!!

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