Garbage Man
06/15/2001
Strauss Home / Humor Channel / Bullz-Eye Home
Let's cut to the chase, because I've got stuff to throw out my window.
I love littering.
That's correct. I love littering.
I love throwing stuff on the ground.
I love walking down the street and dropping things wherever and whenever I feel like it.
Just like you, I like to pretend that I'm playing basketball when I throw garbage into garbage cans.
The only difference is, when you miss, you pick it up and throw it in.
When I miss, I say, "Screw it." Then I walk away.
That's me. Larry Litter.
To me, there's nothing more pleasurable than rolling down your car window, feeling the wind brush against your arm, and then tossing a big, honking wad of some piece of crap into the air.
A Whopper wrapper. An apple core. A Loverboy tape you found stuck under the driver's seat.
Anything.
Whatever it is that I choose to litter with, the sensation of releasing that glorious piece of garbage into the air and watching it lie amongst the flora and fauna is remarkably satisfying.
Sometimes I'm afraid I might get into an accident because I love watching my litter bounce along the road in my rearview mirror.
Maybe a little longer than I should, y'know?
The weird thing is, everybody seems to disagree with me about my litter fetish. But the other weird thing is, gee, I don't remember throwing ALL those pieces of garbage on the side of the road, either.
Hmmm, could it be that you -- or someone you know -- do it, too? But you just won't admit it?
Kinda like masturbating, isn't it?
Here's the bottom line: All you lying granola freaks can have your anti-littering campaigns. Your "Keep My City Clean" Slogans. Your industrial-sized garbage cans on every corner.
Listen, and listen good: Nothing's going to stop me.
Not your begging. Your pleading. Your groveling.
I.
LOVE.
LITTERING.
Sorry Mr. Indian guy in the headdress with the tear in your eye. Like you weren't really crying because your "Vegas or Bust" sign just blew away.
You're not going to stop me. And if anybody really thought about it, they wouldn't really want to stop me, anyway.
Because the truth is, beyond the hardcore exterior, behind my macho façade, past the seething testosterone, I'm not just littering for the sake of littering.
No, I believe I've been put on this earth to litter with a higher purpose.
While you conservationalists out there may think you're doing something noble with your annoying putting-things-in-garbage-cans habit, you're not.
You may say, "Well, I'm doing my part to help the environment."
I say, "Like that Doublemint foil in the grass is going to wreck the world. It's even green, for chrissakes. It matches!"
You may say, "Littering is ruining the earth for our children."
I say, "Yeah? Well, we had asbestos. And Pong. They'll learn to deal with it."
Fact is, I say that I'm helping something far greater than the grass and the water and this crappy little planet we live on.
I believe my littering is helping mankind.
No, not Mick Foley. Mankind mankind.
You see, my friends, the world is all about checks and balances. Ying and yang.
For every force, there needs to be an equal or greater opposite force.
And when it comes to wads of gum on the sidewalk, I am the greatest force that ever was.
Somebody needs to keep the world aligned. And so, to compensate for the plethora of do-gooders in this non-littering society we live in, there's me.
Some people spread joy.
Some people spread happiness.
I spread cans of Diet Coke. Anywhere I damn well please.
For every person I see going out of their way to throw something in a garbage can, I know I have to litter at least three items on I-90 to balance their thoughtless act.
I also know that for every Kleenex that lands in a Metropark, I've done my part to promote commerce and keep the economy stable throughout Northeast Ohio.
I don't mean to brag, but there are a lot of people out there who owe me a debt of gratitude for the work I do on a daily basis.
I don't mean to brag, but if it weren't for me thousands of people would be standing in unemployment lines, collecting welfare checks and saying, "Hurry up! C'mon man, hurry up! The Price is Right is on. And Janice is hot!"
I don't mean to brag, but thanks to me and my empty Cheez Whiz containers, the following people set their alarms, get their fat, lazy asses out of bed, and have someplace to go and something to do everyday.
You people all owe me, like, 20 bucks apiece.
Minimum.
*THE GUYS WHO MAKE THE "DO NOT LITTER" SIGNS:
I seriously doubt the government would be willing to pay guys to come in to make signs that said "THANK YOU FOR NOT DUMPING YOUR CRAP ON THE GROUND." Signs are never made to acknowledge good behavior. They're simply made to tell us what to do.
STOP. MERGE LEFT. CAUTION. SPEED LIMIT.
I never though about this before, but signs are like two-dimensional wives.
So without me and my "bad habit," these guys would have nothing to do, because they'd have nothing to warn anybody -- and by "anybody," I mean me -- about.
Thank You For Littering. And Putting Food On My Table.
That's what the sign should say.
*THE PEOPLE IN CORRECTIONAL FACILITIES WHO HAVE TO PICK STUFF UP ON THE SIDE OF THE HIGHWAY WITH THOSE WOODEN STICKS WITH THE SHARP, POINTY ENDS IN THOSE PRETTY ORANGE JUMPSUITS.
Even in prison you can't get out of work.
Don't you hate that about prison?
At any rate, a lot of those guys spend their time walking the grass by the highways picking up garbage. Now if I didn't throw things out my car window, they wouldn't have anything to pick up. And if they didn't have anything to pick up, they'd sit their sorry caught asses in their cells all day, figuring out how they were going to escape. And then probably rob your house tomorrow night.
Hey, I'm just looking out for you, buddy.
*THE GUYS WHO MAKE THOSE WOODEN STICKS WITH THE SHARP POINTY ENDS THAT THE PEOPLE IN CORRECTIONAL FACILITIES USE TO PICK STUFF UP WITH ON THE SIDE OF THE HIGHWAY.
So if I didn't throw the garbage out my window, and the guys in the orange jumpers didn't have garbage to pick up, there'd be no need for the Acme Wooden Sticks With Pointy Ends Company to make their wooden sticks with pointy ends. Other than for the gangs of East L.A. who would use them for street warfare and variety of other acts of urban violence.
Suddenly, I believe my Pop Tart box and I are eligible for the Nobel Peace Prize.
As you can see, there's a whole cottage industry that exists around my litter.
You probably never thought of garbage in that way before. But I have.
And that's why I'm me. And you're not.
Lucky you.
My goal today was not to brag about how smart I am. Nor was it a chance to make you aware of the fact that I have a vision that can only be described as extraordinary.
Quite honestly, you get tired of hearing things like that day in and day out.
Rather, today my goal was simple: To change one person.
To make one person realize what a good, positive, energetic effort littering can be. Both for you and others.
My goal today was to touch one person's soul, so the next time that one person was holding some foil from their tuna salad sandwich, they'll think, "Is there a garbage can around here? Who cares!"
Together men, we can all make a difference. I'll do my part. The question is, will you do yours?
And so…gentlemen, start your engines.
Roll down your windows.
And let the throwing begin.
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