After dinner last night, I sat out on my porch with my best friend and the best listener in my life – my dog Harry. I often share my troubles and thoughts with him and last night was no different. I had an issue to deal with and I was at wits end, which is not difficult feat. Below is a reenactment of our conversation.

Harry, I am an avid recycler for several reasons. First and foremost; it’s because it saves space in the trash barrel. RE: I purchase less trash bags and I have to empty the trash barrel less often. So, ironically, my frugality and slothful tendencies is saving the planet.

Nevertheless, I have a quagmire. One of my recycle bins is cracked in several places and it is useless. On recycle day, I put it out front so I can recycle it, but they never take it. I tried this several times to no avail.

This week I put a sign on it that said, “Recycle Please” but that did not help. I heard the truck this morning and looked out my window. The guy looked in the bin, cussed, and kicked it away. So far, I have tried signs that said, “Please Recycle”, “Recycle This”, “Recycle Me”, and “Please Recycle This.”

I fear I am stuck with this bin for the rest of my life. Next week the sign will read, “If you don’t recycle this ******* recycle bin, I will personally recycle YOU in the most heinously disgusting manner I can possibly think of, you ******* unfathomable moron!”

Harry’s ears lifted as if he was looking forward to my described fisticuffs…

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