Monday, November 17, 2003

Room 101

An occasional series on things that get right up my arse.

No.4: Other People’s Crap

Beer cans, endless cigarette butts, a Mars a day, “Have a Nice Day” pizza boxes, the face of Colonel Sanders smiling up from the gutter, caring little for the damage that he and his friend the red-haired clown have done. Wherever you go, someone else has been there before you, and has left something poisonous, non-biodegradable or plain old ugly behind them. Is this the world we want to live in?

You drive at night, from the car in front an explosion of sparks sends you into buttock-clenching fright as a cigarette butt flies from the window and hits the road in a cascade of fire. You want to pull them over, you want to throw it back at them with an “Excuse me, I believe you’ve dropped something”, but they’re also built like a brick shithouse, and you’re far, far too English for that kind of thing.

After spending an entire weekend with myneighbours clearing litter and dog shit off the Rodwell Trail (a picturesque former railway line that runs round the edge of Portland Harbour), I was dismayed to see some teenage oaf throwing his chip wraper into the bushes while walking the dog. Despite the fact he looked like he’d just got out of one of Portland’s three prisons, I finally cracked and let the bastard have it with a mouthful of abuse until he was embarrassed enough to bin his rubbish and flee from the mad fat bloke with the comedy dog.

I’ll probably end up stabbed in a gutter somewhere at this rate.

Last week, somebody dumped a sofa on the trail. A sofa! Don’t people set fire to things any more? I did, however, earn myself three pounds fifty by turning it upside-down and getting the loose change out of the bottom. Council? Moi?

Fast food, slow brains, too lazy to care, too selfish to consider it anything but somebody else’s problem. Society is doomed.

Hang on while I finish off these Hula-Hoops. Shite. No bin.

The Scaryduck Archive

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