Which is definitely not a metaphor for anything

Today, friends, I’d like to talk to you about an issue very near and dear to my heart.

Rotting garbage.

Seen here: A bag of rotting garbage (not an agitated rock with bunny ears).

Because you know what really reeks?

Rotting garbage. Rotting garbage really reeks.

I hate it, for example, when I’m walking down the street and people are standing there along the sidewalk wafting rotting garbage stink at me.

(High quality artist’s rendering.)

Or when someone walking ahead of me is taking their rotting garbage out for a stroll and I either have to endure the stink or sprint past them and pray the wind doesn’t change.


Or when I’m in my house or a car or something and somebody’s like, “You don’t mind if I bring this rotting garbage in with me, do you? I’ll crack a window and you’ll hardly smell it.”


Or when somebody sits down next to me on the bus or the train and it’s clear they’ve just been rolling around in a big, juicy pile of trash, because that’s all I can smell on them.


And I sit there (and cover my nose with my sleeve) and wonder, “Why is this okay? And why am I the rude one if I show any outward sign that the waves of stink pouring off this person bother me?”

And hey, I’m all for freedom. Freedom is awesome. Breathing in putrid garbage stink all day probably isn’t great for your health, but if rational and logical adults decide that that’s what makes them happy, then it’s great that they have the freedom to do it.


I do sort of wish, however, that there was some way to preserve their fundamental right to wallow in stink while at the same time preserving my right not to have to smell it all the time.

I am so very tired of smelling it. So very tired.

So, please, garbage lovers of the world, if someone happens to complain/cough/vomit out their insides/etc. when you send a mushroom cloud of stench in their direction, maybe try to think about a smell that you find utterly repulsive and imagine how you’d feel if people were blowing it into your face each and every time you walked outside.

For instance.

And if, after a great deal of pondering, you come to the conclusion that you wouldn’t like that at all, you might also want to ponder what your rotting garbage habit is costing you, and how your life might actually be better without it. And, of course, don’t forget the fact that you not carrying around rotting garbage all the time would make a lot of people very happy, myself included.

And really, what better reward is there than knowing you’ve made me very happy?


The correct answer is: None.  Think about it.

This post was written regarding the very real practice of grown men and women carrying around sacks of rotting garbage and should not be construed as a metaphor for anything, particularly the author’s daily struggle to walk down the streets of Chicago without asphyxiating on the billowing clouds of cigarette smoke. Just so that’s perfectly clear.


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