Bin there, done that.

One of the cons of the dark nights – The night before bin day.
Every week I fail to remember what bin it is that goes out on the Tuesday. It’s like I have bin amnesia. So every week I sneak out and stealthily tip toe to the neighbours drive to see what one they have put out, them being a bit more organised than myself, except its so dark I practically have to press my fucking face on the bin to see what colour it is. It’s like watching snooker on a black and white TV. Except instead of balls, its bins, and instead of a snooker player, it’s a forgetful cunt. So the folk across the road either think I’m having an affair with Oscar the fucking grouch, or that times are hard and it’s scraps again for tea.

So if there’s ever a rumour going around that every week disgusting Dave can been seen all over the trash from down the street – It’s not what you think, I’m just a bit rubbish at bin organised.

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