What up BITCH! Yeah, you heard me. I SAID, What. Up. BITCH.
So we meet again! Another Friday, another chance to scrap with me. That is, if my cousin the Laundry Boulder doesn't get to you first. Get your recyclin' ass over here and take me out. What. You SAID you were gonna take me out, so TAKE. ME. OUT. Come on! Wine and dine me. Say what? If you're gonna try to fuck me in the ass and pull my hair you better take me OUT first!
Do I disgust you? Do I? Oh yeah. I bet I do. Look at me. There's so much abhorrent shit up inside here. Empty soda cans. Sandwich containers from the Breeze-In convenience store. Half-rinsed yogurt and cream cheese receptacles. Partially-squished down cartons of almond milk. Don't smell them. Don't do it. It'll just remind you of how totally vile and lazy you are. I mean, you can't even rinse a peanut butter jar out all the way for fuck's sake! That's it. Turn your head in shame as you carry me away.
Careful! Don't spill any of my contents en route to the main recycling and garbage hutch outside. Enjoy dumping me into that giant, unwieldy City and Borough of Juneau-issued blue bin in there while you try not to get mauled by a bear as you struggle with me in the pouring rain.
Whoopsy Daisy! There I go rolling down the driveway again! Try not to fall down and tear your other ACL while you chase those old crumpled up copies of the Costco coupon circular. A second knee surgery would SUUUUUUUUCK.
Yeah you think you're doing something good for the planet, but deep down you know that's bullshit. The entire municipal recycling system is an institutional racket carefully engineered to placate the masses. A shifting of deck chairs on the Titanic, if you will. With the deck chairs being a few cans of La Croix lime-flavored sparkling water, and the Titanic being the planet that you're robbing from your children every single time you crack open a can of La Croix lime-flavored sparkling water.
Wait wait. Don't forget the glass! That goes to a totally different landfill.