THE POTTED MEAT BYPRODUCTS COMPANY

By Mike Colin
A while back I happened to be downtown when I ran into a friend of mine called Mr. Giltman. He and I were roomies back when I was homeless and had to live under a bridge. He taught me a lot about survival when you fall on hard times. It seems Mr. Giltman had fallen on hard times after he had gotten out of the army way back in the 1960’s. He said he had seen some really bad stuff in some war. I think it was the Vermont War or some war that begins with the letter “V”. My history teacher in high school had to skip over the 1960’s period because it was too controversial. All I was taught in school about history is that we had a war against the communists and we won and now we are at war with terrorist because they do not like us because of our superior way of life.

When I ran into my friend Mr. Giltman he said he was still living under a bridge but, he was no longer feeling very well. He told me he did not have money for a funeral but, he had found out that he could have his body picked up and disposed of for free. He then asked me to do something really weird. He said that he would be going down to the “Habitat for the Hopeless”. That is a place homeless people go to, in Mr. Giltman’s words, “cash in their last sack of cans”. Mr. Giltman said that after he had passed, if I followed his remains I would find out something really interesting. Mr. Giltman said that because I was a legitimate investigative reporter I could get a really be scoop. I did not ask what the “scoop” was made of; I just hoped it did not rhyme with “scoop” and begin with the letter “P”.

A week went by before I got a call from the home where Mr. Giltman went to pass over into the next world or into some alternative dimension like Goth World or Toronto. I rushed over to the home but, Mr. Giltman had already cashed in his last sack of cans and received his bottle deposit slip which, they tied to his big toe.

I waited around for a while then, two men dressed in dark coveralls showed up and took Mr. Giltman out to a large dump truck. The men placed Mr. Giltman in a bucket which was attached to a hydraulic lift at the back of the truck. The lift raised the bucket up and then dumped Mr. Giltman into the back of the truck. It was like watching a garbage truck dump a dumpster.

The two men dressed in dark coveralls climbed into their truck and sped off with me close behind them. They had driven about ten miles out of town when they suddenly turned into a factory. There was a sign in front of the factory which read “The Potted Meat Byproducts Corporation”. The men backed their truck up to a large shoot and dumped the contents. They pulled their truck out away from the shoot and then parked it in front of the factory. I parked my car and got out. I was about ready to go into the back of the building to follow the path of the shoot when suddenly one of the men shouted “Hey fella! Are you following us?”

“Yeah, I guess you caught me,” I replied.

Then the one guy said “We noticed you following us a ways back. You know it’s close to lunch time so why don’t you come inside and try out our commissary. The food is free to employees and visitors.”

I decided that since I had been caught I had better comply with these guys. I figured that getting a free meal was better than being arrested for trespassing. I also figured that at least I’d get inside the factory and that I still had a chance to find out what Mr. Giltman wanted me to know.

The two guys waited for me to catch up with them so we all walked inside the building together. We crossed a large reception area and entered what appeared to be a large cafeteria. I followed my two new acquaintances up to a long food bar. We each grabbed a tray and some silverware then, we walked along the food bar picking up whatever we wanted to eat. There were rice dishes, tacos, pizza and macaroni items all made using potted meat products made right there at the factory. There were so many dishes that I commented that it would take a week to sample everything. One of the guys said” Don’t worry; you can come back here any time to eat. The reputation of our products is based largely on word of mouth so; just say good things about us. That’s all that we ask.”

These were really great guys. In addition, the food was really great too. I guess that what Mr. Giltman wanted me to find out was that The Meat Byproducts Company produced some really outstanding food. Of course not only is the food really good but, The Meat Byproducts Company practices good citizenship by volunteering to dispose of the bodies of people who can’t afford the expense of either burial or cremation. I was also informed that on the other side of the building The Meat Byproducts Company also disposed of road kill found along area roadways thus, helping to keep Northern Michigan looking beautiful for visitors and locals alike.

FROG LEGS DELIGHT

By Mike Collin
Recently, I and my older brother Tim went out to get some bull frog legs for dinner. We haven’t had to eat frog legs since we were kids but, Michigan is in some tough times right now. It’s like our dad is in charge of the entire economy and just like when we were kids, everyone is starving.

Don’t get me wrong. Just because poor people eat frog legs does not mean they don’t taste good. In fact, they are excellent. They really do taste like chicken. There just is not a lot of meat on each leg. It’s like eating buffalo wings. You need a mess of frog legs to get a meal.

My brother picked me up from under the bridge where I am currently living and we went to our secret frog leg pond way back in the woods. We parked near the “Exploit Chemicals” chemical dumping site at Quagmire Lake. There we found an old two track road that we walked down until we got to the old frog pond about a mile from Quagmire Lake. There were lots of bullfrogs and my brother and I each got six frogs which amounts to twelve legs for each of us. They were feisty little fighters. We caught each one with a homemade butterfly net then stuck them in a burlap sack.

We started back but took a wrong turn and got lost. Finally, we ended up on the other side of Quagmire Lake. We went up to the trail that went around the lake figuring that the trail would lead us out to the road. When we got to the lake shore we noticed that there were nothing but dead animals all around the shoreline and dead fish floating all over. There were deer and foxes and rabbits and birds all over.

My brother Tim started to panic. He insisted there must be some monster in the lake that is so horrible that it is scarring everything to death. Neither of us wanted to stand around there so we got going down the path until we could see the road and the chemical dump. We noticed that there was a line of trucks at the dump waiting to poor their stuff down a drain in the parking lot. As they poured some green and orange stuff into the drain it immediately came out the end of a pipe and fell like a waterfall into the lake. Tim said they were trying to dye the color of the lake so that they could better see the monster that was scarring all the wildlife to death. The trucks had a lot of foreign writing on them. There were trucks with writing in Italian, Chinese, Spanish, German, Dutch, Portuguese and a couple of trucks with writing neither of us could recognize. We figured they must be from Canada.

Just as we were getting up to the road a DNR (Department of Natural Resources Officer) stepped out of the bushes and asked us “what do you have in the bag?” We told him we had some frogs and opened the bag to show him. The officer then asked us if we had fishing licenses. Tim and I pulled our bill folds out and showed him our licensees. The officer then counted the frogs in our bag and said we had too many. He said we could only have five frogs each in your possession. He then said we were in violation of the law. He then wrote us out a citation for $100 each. He then said if he caught us poaching animals again we were going to be in big trouble.

I asked the officer if he was there to investigate all the dead animals around the lake and if the chemicals being poured into the lake by the trucks might be the problem. He said the chemical company called him and said there were two scruffy guys out poaching frogs in the woods. He also said the chemical company was licensed to dump chemicals from foreign countries in the lake and that the company was a good partner with the DNR. We then received our citations and the DNR officer confiscated our frogs. He then dumped all twelve of the frogs into Quagmire Lake. Within a few seconds the frogs were all floating motionless on top of the lake.

Well, this was not such a good frogging trip. Now I’ve got to pick up a thousand cans and bottles to get enough deposit money to pay my $100.00 fine. My brother still wants to go and pick up crayfish (crawdads) next week but, I think I’m going to cancel.

TROLLING IN NORTHERN MICHIGAN OR LIFE UNDER A BRIDGE

In Northern Michigan jobs are scarce and from time to time you may find yourself without an indoor residence. You can try to go camping in one of the parks or maybe just sleep in bathroom stalls but, the more experienced persons will tell you the best thing to do is to find a bridge and stay under it. Ones that are over rivers and streams are the best because you won't be rolling out into the traffic while you are sleeping. Bridges over steams and rivers also provide a good sourse of water to wash up in or just cool off.

If your bridge home is in a area of heavy foot traffic, you also have a good chance of getting a bite to eat if someone drops or throws their food over the side. Sometimes you can pick up change or cans with deposits on them under the bridge. This is great. In most homes people aren't going to throw money and food off the roof for you to have. I especially like the money because then I can go get a couple of 40 ounce beers to kick back with at night.

Nights are pretty cool under a bridge and you meet a lot of interesting people and animals. I once had a stand-off with a rabid skunk. It was neat how he was all wild eyed, foaming at the mouth and, barring his teeth at me.

People who live under bridges are often thought of as trolls like, in the Billy goat gruff story. In fact, we often call each other troll. When we see each other we might say "hey troll, how's it hanging?", or maybe we'd say "he's my main troll,". Don't ever say "she's my trollfriend," instead of "she's my girlfriend." Girls are a little more sensitive then guys at being called trolls. Of course the most important thing is that if you don't live under a bridge, don't call people who live under bridges trolls. It just isn't cool. It makes you sound like you are racially prejudiced against troll people.

Overall, trolling is an optional life style if you have no place else to go. Most people are on again off again trolls and don't always live under a bridge. You might just hang out there for the summer or, if your wife, girlfriend or parents kick you out of the house. Just remember that if you see a troll, just set that last bit of hot dog or sandwich down with the outside wrapper still on it. If you just drop your leftovers on the ground they get all sandy and gritty. That's bad for the digestive system.

Finally, I'd like to just mention the virtues of dumpster diving. In dumpsters you can pick up some pretty good eats for free but, you might have to fight off the sea gulls. I'd go into dumpster diving more completely but, I don't have the time. Finding your meals in dumpsters is quite a complicated science with what my brother calls a lot of caveats to it. So be good and stay cool troll. Maybe someday we'll be living under the same bridge together.