Nasty littering asshats beware

Last night Rooney and I were walking through the neighborhood when a white Toyota Camry drove past us on the corner and turned down our street. As the Roon carefully inhaled the scent of a fresh pile of dog poop, I frowned watching the car speed down the block often teeming with children and pets.

At that moment, the car slowed slightly. The driver's door opened and it occurred to me that perhaps I was about to be shot for giving the stink eye and wouldn't that just be freaking great. But it wasn't a gun, it was a McDonald's bag filled with trash. The greasy paper bag was dropped, casually, the way young flowergirls leave a wake of fragrant petals. The door slammed as the car regained its velocity and shot down our residential street.

ROONEY: I'm gonna eat that bag.

He tossed his head back and lifted his nose to the air to take in the delicious scent of newly dropped garbage.

ME: No you are not, young pup. You are going to help me put an end to the cycle of littering in this community. LET'S ROCK.

I unhooked his leash and together, we ran down the street with the speed of a hornet, unleashed by the rage of men and women filling our streets with candy wrappers, chicken bones, cigarettes, half eaten sandwiches, and empty 40s in brown paper bags.

Rooney reached the car as it paused, briefly, at the stop sign. He threw himself in its path, back bristling, legs spread, teeth bared, a growl erupting like the inner depths of Mount Vesuvius. The driver had no choice. He might be a Nasty Littering Asshat, but he was no dog killer. He opened the door and stepped out as I reached them both.

NASTY LITTERING ASSHAT: Get out my way, puppy.

ROONEY: I shall not be moved. Every time someone like you drops a piece of trash on this street, it inevitably finds its way to my mouth. Have you any idea how many chicken wing bones I have pooped out whole? Have you ever pooped out a whole chicken bone? Do you know what that feels like?

ME: It's not a pretty sight, man.

ROONEY: Have you ever eaten the entire contents of a decaying bag only to puke them back up in a pile of black bile as soon as you get back into your house?

ME: Again, nasty, dude.

NLA put his mouth around the straw sucked the last drop from his McDonald's soda. Without breaking eye contact with the Roon, he flicked the soda defiantly to the street. I watched it fall in slow motion. Heard the ice rattle against the paper cup as it hit the ground, bounced once, rolled, and came to a stop at my feet.

ROONEY: You've just sucked your last straw, mother beep beep beepity beep take your beep beep and beep beep for beep last beep beep in it with my poop all over your face.

Rooney sprung like a jackrabbit and sunk his teeth into NLA's jugular. NLA flailed his arms like a windmill and stumbled backwards into my outstretched leg. He toppled to the ground like a felled tree. His head hit the asphalt next to a twinkee wrapper. His arms and legs scrambled for anything to grab but the only thing within reach was a discarded plastic bag and a few gum wrappers while I wildly smashed his windshield with a deflated basketball. Glass exploded in a crescendo of diamonds. I stopped, panting.

ME: Enough, Roon Goon. I think Nasty Littering Asshat has learned his lesson.

NLA: Gurgleejfkssssssz

We walked home, slightly sweaty, but confident that one less nasty asshat litterer would be blemishing our neighborhood streets. As we passed the original site of defamation, Rooney lunged and swallowed a Big Mac wrapper in a single bite. He coughed once as the paper slid down his throat, then looked happily up at me.

Litterers, man.

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