Good morning from somewhere that isn't New Mexico, it's me 
Anyway, recently me and my ably unstable and agelessly shady Subaru, Yolo McFukitol, were camping in the Manzanita Mountains near Tijeras, New Mexico up along 462 in one of the area's designated dispersed campsites. It was actually a double campsite, with not one but two firepits and camping areas adjacent to each other, and I was worried that some other annoying nomadic vagabond like me would have the balls to come wandering along and claim the site next door and actually be my neighbor. Fortunately such unwanted encounter did not occur. Several vehicles did in fact grumble by with the clear intention of stopping and camping but as soon as they saw me and YMF staggering around yelling at the sky surrounded by piles of empty 99 Brand shooters and STP octane boosters they left which is exactly what we wanted them to do. The hellish stench YMF emanates whenever he senses an intruder upon his territory might also have contributed to their rapid departure. I of course am unable to detect this stench so it works out very well for me in these sorts of circumstances.
This particular Cleanup was not particularly exciting as far as the litter itself goes. Mainly a few rolls' worth of used toilet paper and a couple dozen empty beer and booze bottles; I was so bored that I hardly remembered to take pictures. Of course the dull quality of our findings was more than made up for by a certain unwelcome surprise hanging in a tree nearby, which has already been given away in the title so I won't bother repeating here that it was a trailcam.
I am not sure that "a flavor frenzy" is something I would ever want to experience especially if it's delivered by the contents of a small plastic bottle from Kentucky with a pineapple on it. Unless the experience is literally turning into a Viking berserker and going on a rampage through the produce section at the local grocery store, in which case sign me up. Will need to do more research into this.
Looks like cotton, smells like cotton, screams like cotton when I stab it, but it isn't cotton. It doesn't feel quite right. It's got a tougher, more plasticky texture than any cotton I've ever caressed. 'Tis a mystery I guess, and one that I don't care enough about to solve.
Here is one single toilet paper exhibit to represent the dozens I could have overwhelmed you with but didn't.
Remnants of red onion. I feel like there's some sort of layered joke buried here just waiting to unwrap itself and land the kind of punch that brings tears to your eyes but I don't feel like wasting any more of my day peeling away at it.
Don't see anything out of the ordinary here. Nature is so beautiful. Moving along now.
Above please find pictured The Whole Haul from Campsite Cleanup #18. As a subtle tribute to its relative banality I opted to photograph it in extremely poor light and then not even bother to make any improvements in editing. Don't tell me what to do, I'm a Viking berserker and none can stop me from strewing this old linoleum floor with the corpses of grapes and tomatoes and blood oranges.
Dear Diary: Today while wandering around looking for trash to pick up like a completely normal person and feeling unfathomably lonely I discovered that in fact I was not alone at all, for a trailcam had been right here keeping me company and casting a watchful eye on my campsite the whole time. I can't begin to describe the waves of joy and relief that washed over me when I suddenly found myself staring face to face with a live video recorder in a place where I'd foolishly expected privacy and solitude. Will have to remember to return here if I'm ever feeling lonely again in the future.
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