SPIKE AND I CRUSH CANS

I had a couple bags of aluminum cans sitting on the porch, and since there wasn’t anything worth watching on the telly, Spike and I decided to crush ’um and cash in. We set a cinder block on the tailgate and smacked the cans with a brickbat. Not bad work if you can get it, but it’s hard on a man’s back.

I crushed the Sundrop cans and Spike took care of the Busch.

Sweet, syrupy soda squirted me every time I smacked a can and I guess the Magnolia tree couldn’t compete, because after half a bag the YellowJackets started buzzing around me and Spike. I grew up in the country amongst snakes, spiders, bees, and all sorts of varmints, so a Yeller Jacket ain’t nothing but a thing. But Spike got right nervous and started wind milling his arms. That just stirred up the wasps, and they called in reinforcements. I got stung on the hand and Spike smacked it with the brick. Not the best way to kill a wasp, and I couldn’t tell where the YellowJackets blood left off and my began, but the numbness did kill the sting.
Spike got stung on the ass a couple of times, seeing as how that’s the part of his self he showed the wasps, but I gotta give the boy credit; for a brain tumor, he sure can run.

I mixed us up a poultice of wet tobacco and we managed to draw most of the stingers out. We sold the cans for ten bucks, bought another six pack of Busch, and had enough left over to buy Spike a can of Raid.