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We cleaned out half of the attic storage space yesterday for our big weekend project, and took a ton of stuff out to the curb for trash day today. All night long it was like the K-Mart Blue Light Special in front of our house, seriously.

People were going nuts digging through the discards. The funniest was when one guy found a dozen old Playboy and Penthouse magazines from like the 80's in one of the bags. He was whooping it up like he won the lottery. Other hot sellers: a big old framed picture that the priest who married my first hubby and I gave us for a wedding present. I always called it "Sincere Jesus." And the dartboard! That baby was gone before you could say "bull's eye." By this morning, there was nothing left but a rolled up piece of carpet underlayment and my college women's studies textbooks.

Nobody wanted poor old Marxism & Feminism! *sob*

Of course much of the excitement could have been fueled by the end of the blue laws.

Nothing like a fifth of gin to make cast-off ruffled curtains look good.

The bill today at the plumbing supply house was $96.22. Just thought I'd share

Here ya go, tizzie (and the other modern dog owners and admirers out there). My own pooch is rather old-fashioned, though his taste for guacamole I like to think is quite contemporary.

I have never understood the impetus to publicly pick through other people's trash. Seriously, you just DO NOT KNOW what the fuck is in there! Could be playboys? Could be typhus.

I have an imbecile brother-in-law who pretty much furnished his house from streetside castoffs and, needless to say, the entire place smells of cat pee. He pretends not to notice, but it's a sturdy funk, not overwhelming but certainly omnipresent, and unless he's burnt off every smell-cell in his head with coke and crushed ephedrine (fat chance - he's the sort of candyass other, lesser candyasses point to and say "well, sure, we're candyasses, but *that* guy is WAY more candyassed than us!"), he's got to know. I think he just doesn't care, amidst thoughts of how much money he's saved (why, it must be in the hundreds!) by filling his house with pee-soaked mite farms and chipped lamps.

Jesus, Fes, if I'd known that was your brother-in-law I'd have let him have the old microwave. It's practically like new!

Let the cat pee on it and he'll beat a path to your door, I'd bet.

Gotta agree with Fes on this one. Seriously, all you need is one good case of scabies (or a major cockroach infestation)* to ruin the fun of picking stuff up off the street.

Although, along the original lines of tizzie's post, nothing eclipses the pleasure of once watching a family drive by some of my castoffs, screech to a halt, and speed all the way back to my garbage cans in reverse. The object of their desire? Two hideous, GIGANTIC ceramic piggy banks. (I wish I could find evidence of them online, but I can't. Suffice it to say they were painted in such a way that they made those Crying Clown paintings seem like the perfect representation of nuanced, inchoate introspection and they were at least 3 feet tall.) I heard the husband say to the wife, "Ayuh, put the good one in the back with Maw."

The good one?

* I had both but I'm a real slow learner.

Appropos of nothing - well, other than just stumbling on it this afternoon - I didn't know jpoulos was a butcher.

Butcher? He's a vegetarian!

The man only butchers carrots, I tell you. And even then, only reluctantly.

But is related to a bunny? Does he drive one of these? Does he eat here?

Inquiring minds want to know.

The original, fullsize mad bum, in all his glory.

That's beautiful, man.

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