Wild White Trash Mayhem

Posted on October 26, 2007 @ 7:37 AM

It’s 12:37 in the morning and drizzling.  As I type this, there is an episode of Jerry Springer taking place outside my truck.  From what I can gather, a man was letting his son (who sounds like he’s in his late-teens to early-twenties) and estranged wife live with him temporarily in his small, dilapidated, mid-1970s motorhome parked on the shoulder of a busy road in a suburb north of Seattle.   The motorhome hasn’t moved for at least the last two weeks, so this is no vacation.  Apparently the man left town three days ago; he has just returned to discover that in his absence his guests managed to fry the vehicle’s electrical system by, and I quote, “n---er –rigging” a circuit enabling the mother to plug in her curling iron so that she might practice her beauty school techniques in the comfort of the motorhome.  It just doesn’t get any more white trash than that.

The man is currently screaming at his son phrases such as “You come into my fucking home and fuck everything up!” “You punk-ass bitch, I’ll take you down right now!” and “I’m going to stab a fucking knife into your fucking heart.”  The mother has fled into the wet night.  It sounds as though the man is throwing things, punching the vehicle, and probably waking up a lot of suburbanites.  I don’t dare pull back the curtains to look out the window – I don’t want them to know I’m in here, considering I’m parked just a few feet from their disabled living quarters – who knows what they might do.  The father just exclaimed that he is taking possession of the son’s El Camino, which is parked in front of the motorhome, as payback.  Obviously the son is not happy about that arrangement, and he’s trying to stand up for himself.  “I’m not about to get fucked over because of what my mom did!”  “Well I got fucked over by what your mom did!”

Now, despite their differences (and while continuing to scream at one another the entire time), the two men have temporarily banded together and are engaged in an extensive hunt for the keys to the El Camino, which the father threw into the darkness in a fit of rage and are nowhere to be found.  I guess things do indeed continue to get more white trash.

Well, gotta run, the cops are here. . . .

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