To jail with you, Sir Bottle Bum

I sort my recycling to make it easier for you, Sir Bottle Bum. Deposit bearing containers in one bag, the rest in another. This weekend I left them outside my door, in my back yard, on private property. Out of sight of the road. Under a deck, in fact. My collection day had not yet come, so I did not put them out. I came home from work today to find that they had been stolen, and random other recyclables from other people had been dumped in my garbage can. In my back yard. Inside my fence. This is private property. You stole from me. I could call the cops. If I ever catch you, I will. And I will have you charged out of principle. When those bottles are on the street, give'er. But take them from my yard and I will see you right to jail. I will do absolutely everything in my power to ensure that you go. Don't steal my shit. Don't violate my private boundaries. You are not entitled to those bottles. And you do not get to root around my house looking for shit to steal. I think from now on I will collect my own deposits. Fuck you, Sir Bottle Bum. —Done Helping You Out

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