Dear Mr Singal,
Stop shitting in my bins. I’ve told you before, you do not use people’s bins as toilets. I do not accept your claim that “it is where all the waste goes, and so, and therefore, hmmmmm yes”. I don’t care how many times you repeat that exact sentence to me, fucked up syntax and all, as I chase you down the road yet again. Stop shitting in my bins.
I have informed the local council about this, and they are looking into the matter. I am meeting my local MP in the New Year to see if she can do anything to stop you shitting in my fucking bins. And also if she can see to it that you are always clothed in public.
Let me make it clear that I don’t know what this trans rights thing is about, or what this stuff about puberty blockers is. I just want you to stop shitting in my fucking bins.
My bins are for a) household waste, b) garden waste, and c) selected recycable materials as decided by the local council. They are not for an American man to drop his American man’s turds in. The binmen are refusing to take my bins because you keep shitting in the fucking things, and I can’t blame them. I cannot emphasise enough that I really, really want you to STOP SHITTING IN MY BINS.
I do not condone violence, but if this goes carries on I am prepared to get my grandad’s harpoon, sit inside the main bin and lie in wait. You know what would happen next.
But of course, we don’t have to go through this. We do not have to go through the rigmarole of you receiving a harpoon right up the anus just as you start shitting, and you lying unintentionally prostrate on the ground screaming while I scream different things at you, and the subsquent trip to the hospital, and me getting arrested, and the months-long trial and media circus where Julie pissing Bindel talks to some bellend about how you had every right to shit in my bin.
STOP. SHITTING. IN. MY. BINS.
Yours, giving you ample warning,
DaveP.S. And let me tell you, your shit certainly does stink. I keep thinking a fox has died.
