Right. Listen up my little interweb predators. Here is how NOT to dispose of spoiled milk:
So I am on the phone with a friend who lives in another state, aka “America’s Wang”. A state that is filled with crocagators, exploding glass and people who bite, but I digress as that is a story for another time. Anyway, so I am on the phone with my friend when all of a sudden she tells me someone is banging at her apartment door. Turns out it is her super-crazy downstairs neighbor. Immediately upon hearing the door banging, my friend barricades herself in her teeny tiny bathroom like a scared shih-tzu (she may have peed on the floor a little in grand shih-tzu style as well) and then proceeds to tell me why her crazy-ass-and-possibly-a-serial-killing-schizo downstairs neighbor is knock-knock-knocking on her apartment door …
Apparently, last night, my friend threw out a pretty much empty container (or carton or whatever – I am not really sure about the size) of dated milk and then put her trash bag on her outside balcony until she was ready to take it down to the dumpster when it was light outside this afternoon. Well, at some point during the night Spider-Man (or perhaps a chupacabra) climbed up to her second floor balcony and nibbled a hole in the trash bag and the little bit of milk that was left in the container began to drip down onto crazy-ass-schizo-possibly-son-of-sam-voice-hearing-neighbor’s porch.
Fast forward to today again. My friend and I are on the phone as David Berkowitz continues his screaming and pounding on her door because three minuscule drops of sour milk floated down onto his porch. He said, “Look at it! It’s all fuzzy!” Anyway, I knew it was time for me to fix things as I have done many, MANY times in the past for my friend which only added to my pure dislike for her wretched assbag of a state.
I will skip through the numerous threatening phone calls I made to my friend’s apartment manager and security personnel. Suffice it to say I was able to convince them that my friend did not purposely pepper her neighbor’s porch with spoiled milk and that she would bring in her trash bag right away so long that they note that they are harboring the .44 Caliber Killer in one of their apartments. I was assured that this information was noted and went back to my friend to instruct her on how to retrieve and properly dispose of the dripping trash bag:
- Put on clothes, a hat and big sunglasses so no one sees that you really are the crypt-keeper without your face on.
- Get a reaching stick or one of those “hooks” they use to yank the bad acts off the stage at the Apollo Theater.
- DO NOT bring out the huge dagger that is in your apartment.
- Open the balcony door quietly and grab the trash bag.
- Scuttle quickly back into the apartment and lock the balcony door.
- Done and done.
Right. So my friend completes all the above steps and now has the vile and foul-smelling trash bag back in her apartment. It is at this point when she starts to gag. And it is at this point when I cannot contain my laughter any longer. You see, faithful readers, I take pleasure in my friend’s pain just as she totally gets off on annoying me. It’s all good, really. It’s just what we do.*
Anywho, I tell my friend she must now place the drippy trash bag inside a new, non nibbled on, trash bag. But she takes it much further. First she wraps a bandanna around her face and nose like she is going to rob the next stagecoach that comes through her apartment. Next she puts the foul smelling, dirty stay out, trash bag in a new trash bag. Then she puts the double bagged trash into yet another trash bag. Finally, she puts the triple bagged trash into a FOURTH trash bag. Now, with the spoiled milk safely encapsulated within a quadruple layer of durable plastic, my friend shoves the bloated trash bag in a trash bag in a trash bag in a trash bag under her sink and shuts the cabinet door like she is closing the door to hell until her brother comes tonight to escort her to the dumpster so that the offensive trash can be disposed of properly.
The moral here? Well duh! Don’t cry over spilled milk. And don’t fuck with a bitch who owns a dagger.
Huh? What about cleaning up the milk that spilled down on the neighbor’s porch? Well, my bloggeratti faithful, my friend is not domestic whatsoever. So she just prayed for rain.
*SEE ALSO:
Dear UPS: Now You Officially Suck
There Are Many Colorful Ways To Kill Yourself: Here’s One More
The Wretched Assbaggery That Is Western Union – PART ONE
The Wretched Assbaggery That Is Western Union – CONCLUSION
