Now will you take your garbage out to the dumpster, DAWGS?
My first apartment was in the huge complex of townhouse-styled buildings: my doorway faced another apartment doorway, outside (i.e. there was no inside common hallway like in a hotel). We shared a common sidewalk that led up to our doors. I meet Dawg 1 and Dawg 2 the first day there. They were socal surfer brodawgs who called everyone “dawg”, frequently. It became apparent that these two had the social skills of illiterate 5 year olds. They would throw parties on weeknights, late into the night, blasting music, with the front door open (my bedroom window was right over my doorway). I would dutifully put on underwear and ask them to close the door and lower the music, and they would cheerfully say “sure, dawg.” Eventually I just went over naked to get compliance.
Our apartment complex was apparently built on a massive anthill. I had sealed off the holes in my apartment to keep the things out, kept the place spotless, trash was always sealed off and taken out, etc, and kept the place ant-free. You can guess what the dawgs apartment looked like. So to keep THEIR ants out, they would just put the trash outside their door. Not take it to the dumpster, just leave it outside for days on end until they decided to stop being lazy. Of course, millions of ants would get into the bags and then where did they go? MY APARTMENT, but of course! I would ask them to take the trash to the dumpster, they’d say “no problem, dawg!” but forget to do it. I’d ask again, “oh, sorry dawg!” etc.
Finally one morning I reached my last straw. Knowing that these two dicks were sleeping after yet another party, I proceeded to rip open ALL of their garbage bags before I headed to work. These things had set out festering in the socal sun for a week. They were fucking rancid. I spread the trash EVERYWHERE. I covered the entire entrance and made it so that the dawgs couldn’t step over it, nor jump over it. When I came home I would just blame the racoon or skunk that we sometimes saw outside.
Came home that day, the walkway is spotless. The guys had just finished sweeping it all up and were actually scrubbing the sidewalk with cleaner and a mop. I was surprised to see they actually had these products, but no, it turns out they stole them from work. “Dawg, you won’t believe it! A racoon got into our trash and went crazy, this place was shithoused! We’re not leaving our trash out anymore!”