I pointed out that there is no garbage pickup on Sundays. The answer back, as he huffed out the door, was that it was for Monday morning’s pickup. Since I am living above the garage (with a dead squirrel) I can see right around the house from the back to the front. This is prime sports event seating for any event. But especially Sunday’s event, “Super Garbage Sunday.” Yep, I got to watch John take out a week of newspapers from the inner green recycling bin, fold them and then tie them all neatly before carefully putting them into the outside green recycling bin. Oh, but this was only the first quarter sports fans. The real game started when John struggled to move the big green bin from the back to the front of the house without trying to swear — an impossible feat for someone who’s an honory member of the Olympic Territs syndrome team. Each step consisted of a variation of classic swear words. Ah, fuck. Ah, fuck me. Ah, fucking hell. I counted at least 60 variations of the word fuck which helped me count how many steps he takes to the end of the front driveway. He got it there after repositioning it at least twenty times for the truck to take it. Once satisfied, he marched back to the side of the house, only to utter one last fuck phrase as he caught a dog taking a very satisfying piss on the green bin.