Adam Myerson reports:
Someone stole our @CityOfBoston food waste bin off the curb overnight. Literally took the bag of food waste out of the bin and left it on our trash and made off with the special small green bin we got from the city.
OK, I'll be the one to ask. Never heard said joke, how does it go?
Woman is walking her dog when somebody runs up to her and steals her purse.
Cops arrive and she has an odd smile on her face.
She tells them that whenever she walks her dog, she brings an old purse to put the poo in.
This happened to me too, with my black earth bin but you can fix it
f you need a bin replacement, please call Customer Care at Garbage to Garden at 617-977-4547, or email [email protected]. New bins will be delivered on your following service day.
This sooner reminds me of the old joke about the alien who meets the prostitute. The one where they take the scooter to the party and smoke some weed? Surely you must know that one, it's such a hoot. In fact, it's all over the web, the same way as the old joke about the woman carrying a bag of dog poop is. Not. All this to say, any chance you could enlighten the clueless among us by telling the old joke?
And keep in mind, I didn't say it was a good joke.
Everyone knows that joke, little babies know that joke, but nowadays it's considered to be in bad taste because of the harmful stereotypes of Finns, tax accountants, and left-handed men from Fresno named Bill.
I come from a large family. I enjoy mentioning my family when I teach developmental psych or family systems because, well, we are all high-IQ folks with an easy temperament. Oh, and we seem to get either absolutely no common sense or a standard amount. Nothing in between. People in my family either are successful in our careers and leaders in our communities, or we're dead and/or in jail at any given time. Like, we have plenty of cases where we have kids raised in the same family, close in age, with the same two parents, and the family might have two of each, um, style.
So one time, my cousin's bag somehow ended up the police station via a bar. Not just left at a bar, but apparently someone at a bar stole it, someone else stole it from that person or blackmailed them for it or however that sort of thing is handled among ne'er-do-wells, then it eventually ended up at a police station. If you know my cousin, this doesn't seem at all unusual, except maybe the part about her managing to have lived somewhere long enough she could be easily located. (This was in the early '90s). So, officer friendly asks her to come down to the station, asks her if it's her bag. She says, yes, that's mine. Officer points to some items on the table, including a wallet, some toiletry items, and a bag of crack. Asks if she'll identify all of those as hers. Rather than doing what any other rational human would do, and saying she didn't recognize one particularly item in the array, my cousin instead said that, yes, those were all her items. She was then booked for possession, was assisted in making arrangements for someone to get her vehicle and her things, then when said person arrived, she apparently expressed surprise that not all of the personal items were going to be turned over to the individual.
This never would have happened in old Dot.
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