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I'm tired of talking about trailer trash....you know who you are. Stand up and be counted! Let's see....hmm...there's one in the back...and...myself of course...that makes two of us. DON'T BE ASHAMED! Come on down!
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I'd like to be serious for just a moment here and say that being "Trailer Trash" isn't quite as easy as falling off a cabbage truck. Some people take to it like squids in an ink-well, while others find themselves at odds with their ilk, whether actual, or il-represented. There are those who've settled to the level, been born to it, risen to it, aspired to it, and those who've spent their lives making it the somewhat denigrated and often ridiculed class of society it is today. What's my point? ...... Draw your own conclusions. I'm on the cusp of a conclusion myself, but am loathe to surmise hastily, as a rule, or perhaps more accurately, a general guideline.
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Old trailer, new trailer. I'm in a micro-caste I refer to as the "upwardly mobile" trailer trash class.
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Mike
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Phil, our local bartender, finally had to show us the big, baggy, silky women's underpants that he wore as a rule. He tried to shock everyone, but it was a tough room to play. Rest in peace Phil, we love you.
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My Trailer Trash Doll and her pet pig. (check out www.trailertrashdoll.com)
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Betty lived a couple of spaces down from me. I accidently shot my next door neighbor's cat with my pellet gun (which ultimately led to the cat's demise). My neighbor soon moved away and no one else ever moved in. I guess that made Betty my next door neighbor.
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Ted and Willie
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Ted was miffed when he discovered I'd been poaching his possum traps.
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Me, wallowing in my element.
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That's the wing of an Airbus! I'm outahere. I've taken my trailertrashness to a whole new level. (see Costa Rica page)
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Carlos
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 korbell@prodigy.net
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