I watched you on Sunday walking down the street with your two cute kids skipping along beside you. It was a warm spring day – the warmest yet this season – and everyone was out and about enjoying the sun and the fresh breeze. I watched you sip the last of your iced-coffee before tossing the plastic cup to the ground between two garbage cans.

I watched you watch the cup land on the ground. I watched you do nothing. And I thought: What the fuck? Who the fuck litters anymore? What kind of backwoods, redneck, hillbilly, under-a-rock-living inbred son of a bitch litters anymore?

You do. You with the two kids and the minivan majority sweater set and the excess income. You who threw your garbage on the street and walked into a goddamn jewelry store because sure it’s okay for the street to look like a filthy piece of shit, but momma's gotta get her bling.

And you. You with your bus fare jingling in your pocket as you struggle to peel the wrapper away from your prized ice-cream cone. You who shoved the icy treat into your mouth like it was your first French kiss. You who stood beside the garbage bin on an otherwise clean street and let the wrapper drift from your fingers to the ground like nothing happened. You, you piece of lazy, thoughtless shit, you.

And you. You with your finished cigarette remains flicked to the ground as you walk away not caring one tiny little bit about the dog that might eat it or that it can take up to 10 years for a cigarette butt to decompose. You who force your cigarette stench into our shared air, terrorize our medical care system with your sickliness, and still don’t have the decency to throw your debris into the garbage.  You, you smelly, inconsiderate bastard, you.

And you. You fast food eater. You who mash disgusting quasi-foodstuff into your mouth, wipe your slimy hands on your jeans, take a slug from your oversize soda and then let it all fall to your feet as you drift away into a caloric dream state where you don’t have Type 2 Diabetes. You, you fatty-artery-building future stroke victim, you.

For all of you, I wish that I could go take a steaming dump on your living room floor while you watch, and when you complain about what a pig I am, I’ll say: “What? It’s job creation.”

If you care so little for the outside world, dear litterbug, stay the fuck home. You are not welcome anywhere else.

Love, Shannon. 



Image credit: http://www.zerowasteeurope.eu/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/Sea-litter-620x350.png


 


Comments

Craig
06/03/2014 10:44am

Haha, “What? It’s job creation.”

Littering makes me want to kill.

But lay off the fast food! It's delicious poison and I love it!

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