There I am, just minding my own business. I'm in my truck with my normal load just ready to unload it and get back home to a nice cold beer and the chili I've been cooking, no beans of course because I ain't no Yankee. Then I see him.
He's dumping trash in my lake. Well, it's not really my lake, it belongs to the county but I've been coming here more years than I wish to admit to doing my business. And this guy is dumping trash in it. I should say something but I don't think he'll appreciate it. I'm not going to call the police either, they can't stop people from dumping trash unless they see it. So I do the only logical thing.
I grab some of my trash, a big piece, and I wait for him to go back to his car (he brought a car to this lake, what an amateur) and sneak up behind him. Growing up in the country taught me how to sneak around in the wild and not going to college when we had a draft taught me how to get behind people, especially when they are being paranoid. I clubbed him over the head with my trash.
It's an amazing thing, the human femur is a great club. I'm sorry I can't properly introduce you, the trash had a name at some time, it's...well, I guess that doesn't really matter now. I have my hunting equipment in my truck so I use that on this guy before he wakes up.
I look over to where he was dumping his trash and I shake my head in disgust. His trash isn't even under water. Did he weigh it down? Did he put some small holes in the trash bags so the water would weigh it down? No to both. Damn amateurs making us pros look bad. Now, instead of going home and having a nice meal I have to clean up after him. I clean up his mess without a problem, he could have done the same thing if he wasn't so lazy. Damn amateurs.
I don't worry about weighing down my trash, bones don't float. What do I do about this guy? He does look pretty good. My tastes normally run to a different look, but I'm pretty open minded, something else I learned in 'Nam. I check out his car (I still can't believe that he brought a car here, it doesn't even have four wheel drive), it's a rental and his wallet just has the usual yuppie crap in it.
He doesn't have a wedding ring on or the tan line of where he took it off. That decides me, I don't have to worry about a wife pestering the cops to find her darling hubby. This guy just became my new dinner guest, I hope he likes my chili. Doesn't really matter though. He'll eat it if he wants anything to eat and of course when the conversations get boring then he'll become my new trash.
He's a yuppie, I wonder if he'll want anything special in his recipe when I make him into chili. He better remember though, I ain't no Yankee, he better not want any beans.
My latest foray into short fiction. I wanted a little humor in this one. Inspired by the family I saw at the lake today. The look they gave me told me it was their lake.
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