That fraud. Look at him, flying around town like Captain Planet, trying to take pollution down to zero. He loves to brag about the five hand-painted recycling bins he commissioned some random artist to make for his kitchen. He went out to celebrate when the city started recycling cardboard. And he even yelled at the little old man next door when he spotted a Pepsi can in his trash.
But really, instead of taking pollution down to zero, he's just turning his apartment into a fucking landfill. It’s pretty incredible actually. God knows how he managed to balance all those empty milk containers on top of each other in perfect Jenga formation. I’m dying to investigate but the sour milk smell of that bin keeps me 10 feet away at all times.
I had no idea a person could drink so much Gatorade but every time I come over, it’s like a dozen more empty Riptide Rush bottles have been added to the pile. His artsy fartsy recycling bins aren’t even necessary anymore because his collection has started to creep into the rest of the kitchen. Last time I put my beer down on his counter, it took me six tries to find the can that actually had beer in it.
I’m tempted to get him out of the house for an hour, throw it all in a dumpster, and tell him Al Gore stopped by to pick it up but I’m terrified he’ll have a hoarders-style breakdown about losing his precious plastics. I wish that this is the week where he finally takes everything out on trash night, but he'll probably just use his intense TV schedule as an excuse. Again. Or I can find a friendly homeless person who’d be stoked to inherit this holy grail of all recyclables. I mean, it's probably worth a fuck ton of nickels at least.