Would you just look at all of this shit:
All of this shit, at one campsite.
Old tin cans, less-old aluminum cans, tinfoil aplenty, bent and rusty wire, piles of cigarettes, plastic scraps like they're going out of style, spare change, bottle caps, shattered glass, silverware, apparently an entire roll's worth of toilet paper, one tennis ball, one used condom, and one perfectly good hammer with some fresh bloodstains I'm not gonna bother explaining cause what I did with that hammer to those assholes I caught red-handed, that ain't matter.
I hate people.
'Twas a lovely sunny Friday in Buena Vista, Colorado, and for some reason every other vehicle in town was a Ford Bronco. I don't know why all these Ford Broncos decided to show up on this particular weekend but I'm too angry at the world right now to bother with trying to figure it out.
Me and my sad and madly exasperated little Subie, Yolo McFukitol, we the two of us we might just be done with Campsite Cleanups for good after this one.
For never have we ever found so much trash at a single campsite.
This is starting to get a bit depressing, to be honest.
Normally at this point in the story we are both of us just absolutely trashed out of our minds and having a grand old time picking up the litter of campers past, but on this particular occasion we both of us were somehow,
unbelievably,
surprisingly,
sober.
Literally so pissed off by the sheer volume of trash, that we quit drinking right on the spot.
How does writing work when you're sober?
Is it really possible to put words on paper in a way that makes any sort of sense, without some kind of influencing substance banging around in your brain?
Guess I'm about to find out.
Well that's enough rambling nonsense;
let's have a look at all the trash photos from Cleanup #6 now.
Edit: SELECT trash photos. I quickly gave up trying to photograph everything as I found it here, so thickly was it layered upon the land. I would have come away with hundreds of pics, and attempting to upload them all would certainly have crashed the entire Hive blockchain and we'd have certainly all been forced to return to the "decentralized" social media hell that is S*****t.
So thickly was it layered here that it was even hanging from the trees.
Hooray, an old tin can and the distal extremity of human femur.
Rusty old shot of lightning.
Kangaroo butt plug.
Empty bag of actual crap, in this case Jimmy's crap. I guess shit tastes good if you flavor it with salt and vinegar?
Goddammit Werther's. If you take the sugar out of it, it's no longer Original, is it now?
A sticker of… a pig, maybe? Wait. A pig with horns? And a neck purse? Is that you, Satan? Jesus Christ sobriety's brutal.
Blurry shot of a different sticker pig Satan.
Foot mitten full of holes.
Face mitten full of covid.
Some kind of ancient scraping tool? Who knows.
Anyhow, let's wind things down now with a few more shots of the whole haul. Here's the NW quadrant.
Whole haul, SW quadrant.
Whole haul, SE quadrant.
Whole haul, NE quadrant.
In conclusion,
I just figured out why every other vehicle in town was a Ford Bronco by accidentally overhearing a conversation about American football in the bar I'm definitely not drinking Crank Yanker in right now.
Evidently the men in orange are at it again…
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