C. Rob a veterinarian. The kids always wanted a half-pound of horse tranquilizers for Christmas.
18. You dug a septic tank for this guy from work last summer, but he ain’t paid up. What’s the proper White Trash way for handling the situation?
A. Set his house on fire, but don’t forget to bring the marshmallows.
B. Let your dog chew on him, on account of he’s cheaper than Purina.
C. Offer to trade the unpaid bill for that seventy-eight-pound sturgeon he got mounted on his wall. It’ll make for good bragging when the in-laws come over.
19. It’s you and your woman’s tenth anniversary (if you don’t count the time she was shacking up with that trucker from Indiana). You wanna do something classy. What’s your best move?
A. Give her your leftover KFC from lunch.
B. Steal some flowers from a rich lady’s lawn, then have your buddy deliver ’em so it looks like you paid top dollar.
C. Make her a nice Swanson’s dinner and put on the Pirates game, then let her sit in the good recliner tonight—just so she don’t make a habit of it.
20. It’s Saturday night. Your old man’s got the annual Ducks Unlimited banquet. But you’re playing third base for Len’s Bar in the state softball regionals. Problem is, you got no babysitter. What do you do?
A. Make the old man take ’em to the banquet. The kids gotta learn to drink sometime.
B. Let ’em stay home by themselves. This is what shrinks call nurturing their independence.
C. Put ’em in foster care. Your folks did it to you, and you ain’t turned out so bad.
Correct Answers:
This here’s the answers. Count up the number you got right.
If you can’t count, get your kids to do it—that’s what you send ’em to school for. And if your kids got sent to juvie hall, just make your score up. It ain’t like your probation officer is watching.
Find Your White Trash Rating
Now that you got to calculating up your score, use this here chart to see if you’s decent or scum. This’ll clue you in on how much work you got to reach your full White Trash potential.
17–20: A
You’re authentic trash. You probably hit a ton of homers in softball and guys is always asking you to join their dart team. Stick with me, pal, and you’ll own your own chop shop someday.
13–16: B
You’re pretty good trash, but you turned a little fruity after putting designer mustard on your ballpark dog that one time. I ain’t saying you’re cut out for trash royalty, but if you read this book, you could probably be a foreman and make some good side money stealing plywood from the warehouse. And if anybody tries to give you some designer mustard again, hit ’im in the face with a snow shovel. He’s probably from France.
8–12: C
You’re a half-breed: part trash, part yuppie. You’re probably handy with a power auger, but your last brawl was in junior high, when you got your ass kicked by a guy named Chad. Don’t worry. There’s still hope.
If you follow my scientific teachings, keep your mouth shut, and quit reading that goddamned Men’s Health, you could probably get into the Teamsters. Me and you could do some nice truck hijackings together if you bring the beer.
4–7: D
You got a man-purse. You probably go rollerblading in spandex. And what the hell’s up with all them David Spade posters you got hanging in your garage? I’m thinking you need an intervention. Read this book seven times then give me a call. For the sake of your kin, I’m willing to do some private tutoring so long as you buy the shots and we don’t gotta watch no fruity PAC-10 football on the bar TV.
1–3: F
God don’t like you. That’s why He got you a job in banking. Figure yourself lucky that He ain’t had your ass eaten by locusts yet.
If you was to try burglarizing a construction site, you’d probably drop a concrete block on your foot. The shrieking would blow up the pacemakers in grandmas for miles around. So quit your bawling and start reading the book, grandma killer. At least it’ll keep you outta trouble.
Now unless you wanna spend your golden years like your grandma—living in a Pontiac in the scrap yard—decent trash knows they gotta earn so you always got money for cigs and meat. But a lot of people has a hard time figuring out what’s the best career option: work, welfare, workers’ comp, or crime?
Most folks go straight to welfare or workers’ comp, seeing as how jobs and crime can rarely compete with laying on the couch all day watching cable. You don’t wanna be stuck cleaning bathrooms or casing out a laundromat if some fat lady’s gonna take off her shirt on Jerry Springer today, am I right?
But unless you got a job sewing Nikes in China, working generally pays better than welfare, which means you got more jack to buy them fineries in life, like Hamburger Helper and propane. And the fact is, some jobs ain’t all bad.
How to Tell If Your Job Sucks
In its recent scientifical report entitled Jobs That Don’t Suck, the U.S. Department of Commerce discovered there were at least thirteen in America.
So how do you know if you got one of ’em? Just answer yes or no to the following questions. Your job’s suckage rating got figured at the bottom.
1. Does your job got free coffee that ain’t that limpwristed kind guys with berets and sandals drink?
2. Can you ash on the floor and set fire to stuff if nobody’s using it?
3. Do you get time off on major holidays, like Opening Day, St. Patrick’s, and Deer Hunting Season?
4. Is it okay to be drunk some of the time, just so it ain’t every day?
5. Do the other employees bring good lunches you can steal outta the company fridge when they ain’t looking?
6. Does the boss still fall for the Call-in-a-Bomb-Threat-When-You’s-Too-Hung-Over-to-Show-Up-for-Work Scam?
7a. If you’re a man, do the women employees wear halter tops and not look like them Russian ladies?
7b. If you’re a woman, are the men employees you’re having affairs with respectful enough not to call your house when the old man’s home?
8. Is there wildlife you can shoot out the window during lunchtime?
9. Is there a bitchy human resource lady who’s fun to torture by putting cig burns in her paperwork and telling her, “You look pretty today, kinda like Eva Braun”?
10. Can you make a decent score by busting into the pop machine when no one’s looking?
Suckage Rating
Give yourself 1 point for each yes answer.
• 8–10: If you answered yes to eight or more questions, you’re probably in the Lucky Thirteen. That means it ain’t a good idea to spray paint cars in the executive parking lot no more.
• 5–7: Your job’s probably worth keeping—if you answered yes to question 10 and you’re getting at least fifty bucks a week.
• 3–4: Get your ass outta there right quick—but don’t forget to hold up the payroll department before you leave!
• 0–2: What are you, some kind of moron?
The Ten Hottest White Trash Career Opportunities
Now I’m figuring most of you done failed that last test. That’s because the guys who invented jobs is called “bosses,” which is Cherokee for “Antichrist.” But don’t go a worrying. Your ol’ pal Verne got you covered.
Fact is, ever since them bulletproof windows killed the convenience store robbing industry, it ain’t been easy for people to score themselves a decent career. And seeing how most of the factory jobs gone to China and Mississippi, where the bus line don’t go, a lot of us trash is in what you call your state of despair.
But there’s still a lot of jobs where you hardly have to work—much less show up—and the pay’s better than AFDC.
According to my scientific calculations, this here’s gonna be the Top Ten White Trash growth professions in the twenty-first century. So stop looking at the Baywatch reruns and pay attention.
1. CEO
The upside:
The hardest thi
ng you’re ever gonna do is say, “Have my helicopter ready in ten minutes, Cheeves.” Most of the time you sit around pretending to read reports from the Pacific Rim project or firing people cuz they’re too old. And you always got an excuse for missing work when you get drunk and fall off the porch. Just call your secretary and say, “I’ll be at home working on my vision statement today.” Nobody ever actually reads these things, so nobody’s gonna know you was actually watching Judge Judy, who’s kinda hot for an old broad.
The downside:
Guys’ll expect you to play golf, which means you gotta dress up like retirees from Florida and swing little clubs that ain’t even manly enough to hunt gooses with.
You also gotta get one of them molded executive hairdos, which means hacking off the mullet. Forget about ever shacking up again with ladies who can hold decent conversations about muscle cars.
The pay:
Higher than you can count with an eighth-grade public school education. Plus, you get stock options. I don’t exactly know what these is, but you ever see a CEO mooching drinks at closing time?
2. Crack Whore
The upside:
You can call in sick every day on account of it’s part of the job requirements. You don’t gotta pay taxes or rent, cuz crack whores figure good living is clean cardboard in an alley behind a carpet store. Plus, you get to travel to exotic places like the bus station.
The downside:
No paid vacations. Company headquarters is the men’s room of a Phillips 66.
The pay:
None. But since you’re keeping expenses low, this is what them granola eaters call living off the fat of the land.
3. Designated Hitter
The upside:
Sit on the bench, say uplifting things like, “C’mon, Jonesy, we need a hit,” swing a bat four times a day, then beeline it to the clubhouse deli spread before your teammates get in and all that’s left is the bean salad.
The downside:
You don’t get to play in the field. That means you won’t score extra bus fare when the drunks pelt you with quarters in Detroit.
The pay:
We’re talking guaranteed contracts of $5 million a year, plus you get to gouge kids twenty bucks a pop for autographing their crap at card shows.
4. Trophy Wife
The upside:
Watch TV. Lunch. Watch more TV.
The downside:
You gotta marry some candy-ass who’ll buy you exercise equipment, which means if you pound cheese puffs all day, he’ll trade you in for a new model that runs on grapefruit and bean sprouts.
The pay:
Free Lexus, big screen, and makeup. You also get unlimited credit cards to binge shop for halter tops and plastic lawn animals.
5. Third World Dictator
The upside:
You can call yourself a general and order aircraft carriers to take your buddies fishing. Live in a palace where they got servants who’ll fetch cigs and chocolate milk from the Circle K.
The downside:
Everybody’s calling you El Presidente, which sounds kinda sissified for the boss of a country. Most third world gas stations ain’t worth robbing. Everybody talks Mexican on cable.
The pay:
You own the country. This comes in handy when you’re short on gas money.
6. Symphony Violinist
The upside:
Hack away with a funny stick on a violin, then pretend the screeching is famous music from Austria. Rich guys pay top dollar to hear this stuff. You only gotta work three-hour shifts. And the boss is some guy who wears white gloves and is always flopping his arms like a mallard with a sore wing, which means you don’t gotta follow his orders. What’s he gonna do to you? Hit you with his little baton?
The downside:
You gotta wear a tux. Your relatives is gonna think you’re a waiter from them bird food restaurants downtown.
The pay:
How am I supposed to know? Get off your ass and find out yourself. I’m tired of doing all the work here.
7. Bar Hag
The upside:
Sit at the bar, sweet-talk toothless guys who couldn’t buy a decent woman with a profit sharing check, and be ugly.
The downside:
Shifts last from 6:00 a.m. to 2:00 a.m. You gotta survive on cocktail wieners from happy hour.
The pay:
Free drinks. Some nights you get to sleep in the cab of a new Dodge Ram.
8. Congressman
The upside:
Basically the same job as a bar hag: sit around, blab, and mooch stuff. Mostly you just eat free steak dinners from lobbyists, go on fact-finding missions to country clubs in Hawaii, and vote to let chemical companies build hazardous waste dumps at preschools.
The downside:
They cut out your heart as a job requirement. People will keep a close eye on you so you can’t steal the silverware when you come over for dinner.
The pay:
Six figures plus bribes, junkets, free dinners, sex with interns, and an office full of Ivy League ass-kissers who can haul shingles in case you get a roofing job.
9. Punk Rock Hairdresser
The upside:
Change your name to François, get a caulking gun, blast their hair with some tub and tile sealer, mess it all up, and charge ’em $100 a pop. They’re punkers. They’ll think it’s cutting edge.
The downside:
You gotta tell people you’re a hairdresser. If you get the urge to color coordinate your belt and your shoes, call 911.
The pay:
One hundred bucks for three minutes of work. Try making that selling plasma.
10. Workers’ Comp
The upside:
It’s kind of like being a trophy wife, only without the credit cards or exercise equipment. Just fake a back injury, sit around reading TV Digest, watch fishing shows, and have your kids fetch you Rolling Rock and Count Chocula.
The downside:
You gotta go to the doctor. Sometimes they schedule appointments in the middle of that Bruins–Islanders replay you was meaning to watch.
The pay:
Four hundred dollars a month, plus quality time with the kids in front of the TV.
How to Show Class and Not Get Shot While You’re Robbing the 7-Eleven
Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Right about now you’re saying to yourself, “Hey, Verne, if robbing convenience stores was good enough for my ma, why can’t I carry on the family business?”
Now ol’ Verne ain’t against following in the footsteps of our ancestors. Hell, if it wasn’t for them giving us a proper raising, we’d probably growed up to be like them candy-asses on The Surreal Life or CNN.
But us trash got a problem: Since our folks mostly run off with the neighbor lady or joined the enriching ranks of the professional bar hag industry, there ain’t no one around to sermonize on the sacred teachings these days. Which means a lotta your younger trash ain’t clued in on the finer points of thieving.
People is always getting shot. They’re trying to rob the BP but ending up at the Mailbox Express by mistake. And half of ’em can’t even remember to grab them baby formulas and Newports the old lady was wanting.
Now these ain’t the kinda job skills a guy could learn at the orphanage. It don’t take no ironworkers apprentice program degree to tell you them nuns ain’t exactly earned their journeyman’s when it comes to sticking up a Tank ’n’ Tummy.
Which is why I got to calculating this scientific checklist. If we’re gonna carry on the sacred traditions, we at least gotta get some of them professionalisms, show a little class. You don’t wanna put in a hard day’s robbing, and all you got to show for it is a pack of teriyaki jerky and three bullets in your face, am I right?
Picking a Good Place to Rob
The first question when it comes to choosing your mark is, “Is it open?” Robbing, in case you ain’t noticed, ain’t particularly easy when the store is closed.
This here
happened to my sister Jenny. Her fifth husband got killed when he broke into the zoo and tried to rob the lion cage. Since them lions looked like they was eating good, he figured they musta had a meat supply worth stealing.
Which meant that Jenny had to take over the family business. So she figured she’d do a 4:00 a.m. job at the 7-Eleven, on account of all they had on Bravo was them goddamned celebrity poker shows.
Now a lot of guys is partial to early morning robbing. You can go straight to work after closing time, and that’s when the fresh donuts gets delivered.
Problem is, Jenny lives in Buffalo, which is up near Canadia, which is colder than a lawyer’s heart. And this particular 7-Eleven was only open from 6:00 a.m. to midnight. Which meant that Jenny had to stand around for two hours waiting for the robbery to get started.
She ended up with a pretty good score. Got herself thirty-eight bucks and a baker’s dozen of glazed. Me, I woulda gone with the chocolate cream, but this here’s what you call your minor professional differences.
Anyways, them two hours of waiting done froze her feet. She got arthritis. The doc says she can’t do no more winter robbing.
Now if you was living in Houston, this ain’t a problem. But in Buffalo it’s always winter except on August 13. Which meant that Jenny had to get a part-time job shoplifting from the Junior Miss section at the Gap. I don’t gotta tell you them pawnshops ain’t exactly paying top dollar for pleated skorts in mango orange. The family business was ruined.
Choosing the Right Gun
White Trash Etiquette Page 2
