Trashy Chicken Driver

So Trixie and I had chicken the other day. Wednesday maybe. Good stuff. I like to eat the drumsticks.

Anyway, the morning after, I rolled out of bed, padded across the floor into the bathroom, put on my robe and opened the bedroom door.

WHAM!

What the fuck is that stench???

Is Hoffa under my basement???

Did we not take the trash out last night???

Jesus H. Christ it's unbearable in here!

So I open all the windows, remove the offending bag from the trash and throw it into the big trash can in the garage, awaiting a Tuesday deployment.

Trixie, who returned home from a 24 shift that morning, called me and wanted to know why all the windows were open.

She HATES it when I leave windows open.

I told her about the offending odor and she still told me to leave the windows closed...BUT HA! SHE DIDN'T NOTICE THE CHOKING ASS LIKE SMELL! IT WORKED! IN YOUR FACE WIFE!

Anyway, an uneventful day passes.

Then I get home, pull the car into the garage, gather a few items and open the car door.

FUCKING CHRIST!

As it's been baking in a closed trash can, in a closed and balls hot garage all day, it's gotten worse...

So, to make a long story short, which is impossible now, Trixie demands I take the belching bag to the dumpster that's parked up the street for the construction of a house.

Later in the evening, I decide I'd like some ice cream.

Baron, wanna go bye-bye???

The three of us pile in the car, but not before I fish the carrion from the can.

I then drive, oh so metrosexually, to the dumpster, eyes protected from the sun by my Ray Ban Aviators, dog happily hanging out the back window...and bag of stink hanging from my outstretched left hand...out the driver's side window.

Now, if YOU saw me, what the fuck would you think?