It's 3:36 am and I am about to head to work.

I've scored a gig babysitting (that is managing) a friend's junkyard all this week while he and his 2 managers fly out to Las Vegas under the pretext of attending some convention or another. While they see the sights and sounds I get to wrangle Engines, Transmissions, Door Panels and Gas Caps. I get to jockey a whole fleet of wrench and torch wielding rednecks. I get to listen to sad stories and bust hustles. I get to appease angry customer's whose cars have been towed because they just stepped into the club for a minute but were just about to move their car away from the fire hydrant. I get to resist the amorous advances of lonely housewives who wanna trade for some work to their old Tin Lizzies.

I get to feed the junk yard... roosters.

Yeah, there are no dogs at the junkyard. Just 3 roosters. They serve as alarm clock, watch dogs and as frequent comic relief. Anyone who has been around barnyard wild life know that roosters like to challenge other living or moving things for right of way. It's fun to watch one of these birds actually think about it before running out of the way of a big John Deere front end loader, or do a dance and shuffle at a tow truck trying to intimidate it before giving way.

Too bad I'm not a writer. I think I'll see enough drama and adventure this week, I mean the kind you can only imagine, to fill volumes. Or at least to script a few seasons of the next big hit soap. "Days of Inbred Hijinx". I brought my camera along and if I can figure out what category to post them under, I'll but up some pics of my journey.

You guys enjoy your jobs serving mocha lattes, or selling people books they'll never understand, or arguing the kerning on a web page with a client... I'm off to do some man work and rock out with my cock out.

or cocks.