So, apparently, some gentle soul with a lust for life and a pretty spiffy time machine, has whisked himself out of the Roman Age straight to the Midwest...and in his disorientation (because really, cars and McDonald's would freak anyone out) he believes that the side yard of my apartment building is a vomitorium for his purging pleasure.
Every morning I take my dog out to do his "business", and I'm very conscientious with my little plastic bag hanging over my hand ready to scoop up any mess that may be generated. So why do I have to see, at least once a week, a putrid pile of puke? It's hard to miss, especially when the dog makes a bee-line for it. It's surprising how much power a little dog can generate when you're trying to desperately to keep him from chowing down on some one's recycled lunch. It's happened so often now that I've found myself actually searching for it, as the actual location varies by a yard or two each time, and evaluating it. Things like:
Why is puke usually pink, no matter what you eat?
Why is this person eating so many pineapple chunks?
Is there some sort of sign in the area saying "puke here"? or perhaps a poster at the local bar?
...go through my head. People. Come on. I mean, I give you props, because obviously you are not drinking and driving, but please puke in the privacy of your own home.
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