Garbage. The word has a certain ring to it. Kind of like a piano that is horribly out of tune. All week long we dump nasty stuff into our garbage bins. Chicken bones, dirty diapers, used razor blades, bacon grease, cat puke, empty spaghetti cans, used kitty litter, rotten tomatoes, moldy bread, used dental floss, dog poop, eggshells, used ear swabs . . . well, you get the picture.

Throughout the week this “stew” brews in the garbage can out in the garage. If it’s summer the “stew” becomes superheated causing bizarre mutations that emit foul and noxious gases. If your car keys accidentally fell into this concoction it would be much more plausible to have new keys made than to try and fish them out. Ironically they probably fell down inside the putrified swollen dead goldfish that you extracted from your aquarium and inserted into the trash.

Finally trash pick-up day arrives. Holding your nose you drag the trash can out to the curb and pray that the trash haulers will be gentle. But this will not be the case. These guys have a sadistic streak that runs through every inch of their bodies. You watch them out the window as they pull the lid off the trash receptacle and fling it onto the ground. Then they sling the trash can over their shoulder and aim its contents in the general direction of the garbage truck. And in one fluid motion they fling the trash can back onto your driveway or lawn and head on down the street.

So what is left in the aftermath? A trash can lid that is separated from the trash can by half a city block. A used tampon lies helplessly in the middle of the street. Paper towels of varying shades of color and caked consistency are strewn about. Most of the “used” part of the kitty litter lurks along the curb. And then there is a puddle of mysterious looking goop that is bubbling and steaming. You are quite confident that you did not deposit this stuff into the trash can. And you are even more confident that you do not want to know how it got there. Calling the sanitation department will have no impact other than to piss off your garbage collectors. After all, no one wants to go near these guys. There must be a method to this madness.