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Hot Damn

HOT DAMN #15 — The Scrapyard Boys


As a counterpoint to my usual cynical antics, I’ve committed myself to a weekly, year-long discussion of my life’s joys.  But, never one for the more traditional approaches, I intend to keep things a little off side, a tad outlandish, and always one foot outside of polite company.


My house and I have a love hate relationship.

Yes, it provides shelter for my wife and me, not to mention our rapscallion of a corgi. But then there are the times when it kicks me in the nose while I’m taking a nap: floods; faulty wiring; and don’t forget the cavalcade of strange sounds (I swear, there’s a racoon in my fridge and a peculiar ghost who likes to rattle my dishes just to piss me off).

This is my humble abode.

“You suck!” the house seems to be saying.

I, of course, echo those sentiments right back. Because that bastard can go right to hell.

Most recently, my dear house told our thirty-foot metal TV antenna that it should try and take a walk, maybe have a looksee at the neighbour’s many stone statues standing watch in his backyard.

These are the actual "boys" down the street from my actual "house"

These are the actual “boys” down the street from my actual “house”

The TV antenna thought this was a swell idea, and so broke loose from the house, and then gave me the finger as it made its way over, never minding the fence or power line in its way.

I had my sweet revenge, of course (that’s what metal grinders are for, friends), but I was left with a whole mountain of severed rusted metal.

This is where the Scrapyard Boys come in.

No, I have no idea who exactly they are, only that they pride themselves on speed and efficiency . . . oh, and taking your shit.

Every last salvageable pound of it.

God forbid you ever leave something on your curb that you might actually want to keep. If so, you have mere minutes to act. No lie. I once put an old washer and dryer on the curb, and it was gone in the time it took me to make a job-well-done cup of tea (that’s 15 minutes for you non tea drinkers).

These boys are heroes, every unemployed one of them.

I don’t understand why they do what they do (the money can’t be that great), but by God am I ever grateful for them.

And that TV antenna?

I put it out on the curb around 9:00 at night; the next morning it was gone.

Take that, house!

Did you miss last week’s entry on NOT SLAM POETRYCatch up here.

For a full list of all HOT DAMNs, click here.



  1. Pingback: HOT DAMN #16 — Hotdogs | zs roe - May 2, 2015

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