As the resident environmentalist at Bunny Ears, it should be no surprise to anyone that I’m absolutely disgusted by everyone and everything. From the wasteful scourge that loves to punish Mother Earth with their repugnant, neverending consumption to the phonies who think that recycling plastics and buying hybrids make them eco-friendly, I’ve been on my last nerve for as long as I can remember with this damned world. I’d say it makes me want to puke, but that implies I haven’t been puking this whole time.
Nowhere has the evidence of Caligula-level excess been more clear than here at Bunny Ears HQ, a den of sin offensive enough to strike fear into the blackest of hearts. Shawn and Tom have been fiercely locked in competition to see who can use the most water and electricity on a daily basis, Elijah has flat-out refused to use trash cans for his disturbing amount of leftover Arby’s, and it seems that a new statue of Daniel O’Brien made of tusk ivory and blood diamonds pops up in the employee’s lounge with each passing week. Even Mack has removed the solar panels from the roof in order to accommodate the new industrial coal furnace, apparently purely out of spite.
Seeing all the rancid, inhumane bullshit running rampant around me, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. I have decided to give the middle finger to the wasteful wastes wasting away and injecting Mother Nature with the putrid poison of environmental indifference. You all make me sick, and the only way I can feel better is if I pay tribute to the great native citizens of this country by eating every part of my meals going forward.
That’s right: The world will no longer face the wrath of society’s pro-garbage mentality at my hands. If I decided I’m going to enjoy a night of hearty, nutritious buffalo wings, I will force those chicken bones down my throat one-by-one until my plate is clean. Then, I will eat my plate. For dessert, I’ll scarf down my used napkins, sanitary wipes, and anything else that touched my greasy, despicable hands.
Bad news, fascist agents of anti-nature: I’m not stopping there. From here on out, not a single day will go by in which I drink a beverage without eating the bottle (glass, plastic, or otherwise). Not only will I consume my takeout, I will consume the takeout container. My organs, which have had it too good for too long, will become my personal recycling center, and nothing will stop me from giving back to planet Earth, not even a ruptured colon.
In fact, I’ve pledged my life to becoming the one-man roadblock to all environmental hazards in my periphery. I shall act as a human vacuum, sucking crumbs from the fibers of my carpet. Where I used to see clothes with grease and sauce stains as a burden, I now see them as a delicious opportunity. From birthday candles to shot glasses, I will go above and beyond to ensure the chance of potential ecological harm from my person is an absolute, unmovable zero.
If you are reading this and you care even an iota about the future of our children, grandchildren, and their inevitable robot successors, you will join me in becoming a new environmental warrior. By telling The Man to shove their corporate swill down their gaping maw by literally doing the same thing, you too can turn yourself into a nature-friendly sentient junkyard. Plus, your body will burn so many calories trying to recognize and rid itself of these toxic materials that you’ll be able to fight the system in peak physical condition. If worst comes to worst and you happen to die, you’ll do it knowing that you’re just returning the Earth’s garbage back to itself in an easily-digestible form. In green America, resources consume you.