Chief Egalitarian Garbage Taster Ie White Trash

Chief egalitarian garbage taster i.e. “white trash” As Halloween costume, one year during early grade school, my father got brilliant idea for sole son dressed uniquely rubbish qua putrid offal getup. Missus Shaner (talon clawed, shriveled relic archaeopteryx dinosaur, who taught fifth grade) gave me first prize, and subsequently felt so convinced about authenticity of this kid being “white trash”, she notified another classmate dressed as janitor to dispense me in school dumpster. The receptacle sanitation disposal company bequeathed altruistic dumpster vis a vis to dive amidst maggoty muck (in addition to real rubbish in dumpster) nearest landfill loaded with all kinds of junk, viz food scraps, recyclables, and soiled diapers. Over short span of time, detritus commingled into one brew of despicable, fly haven, jiggling lifelike, nursing putrescence re: teeming vibrantly, mark kid lee, noisomely... with yum zuck for swamp thing, I seemed metamorphosing into by cruel hoax. Nothing prepared, neither sickened nor violated senses of smell, sight, taste, and touch to maximum factor tolerated of each odious blast, each pestilential assault issued an appalling refrain sans: The Idler Wheel Is Wiser than the Driver of the Screw and Whipping Cords Will Serve You More than Ropes Will Ever Do, before mine myopic bespectacled eyes (smarting from constant comet drubbing irritants (which glasses kiddie bifocals caked with smudge good as naught), stayed shut while inundation of corrosive gaseous shaped oxbow wreath wisps. Liberty vis a vis in sight envisioned visibly threatened offshoots of tendril spikes; snaking sneakily, sordidly slithering silently, yet straightaway as a scene from some spooky sideshow, or “haunted house”. This ugly slop splashed upon mine formerly pristine academic uniform appeared near identical to l grubby, crabby, arguably meanest lunch lady served i.e. via lob stirring) splattered sundry speckles sundry detritus found me writhing with nausea. Thee nasty muck and mire found formerly introverted boy transformed into sponge bobbing squarely panting creature from the black lagoon, whose sea legs set sought semi- solid stated surface to stand upright amidst variegated flotsam and jetsam. Dishabille appearance acquired fresh splattered coat of rancid slimy ham and bacon covered arms (among other pieces of moldy clothes, food and iconic library oddment ricocheting unpredictably as trash truck violently shook up and down all night long en route on highway to hell to Moyer’s Dump, which toxic brew would be declared Superfund Site and shuttered in near future. Once Robert Hall wardrobe affixed with capital one fancy feast of grateful dead roadkill, kickstarter from some automotive contraption, and plenti of fish heads (with square pants trimmed with lovely bones), I felt indistinguishable from regular riffraff riding shotgun. When trucker parked and stopped awful bin laden made ready to empty contents within mountain of olfactory noxious material. A thought occurred, now might be golden, (or rather gook steeped) opportunity to extricate myself from morass of mish mashed, linkedin kind dulled juggernaut, icky first class bric a brac.