🦝 Gremlin Risitas — “The Trash Can Invitation”

19 Jan, 2026

So I get home, right? Second day after the health scare. Body still buffering. Brain on low power mode.

House greets me like:

“Hey champ 😌 we didn’t do shit.”

Cool. Dishes? Done. Trash can? Full enough to qualify as a structural hazard. I compress that thing like I’m vacuum-sealing regret, triple-bag it, press the air out like I’m exorcising demons, and park it outside next to the undumped bin like a silent protest art piece.

Then I open the closet.

Ah yes. The community landfill.

• The shoes from jobs I don’t work.
• The backpacks that remember trauma.
• The towels that have seen things.
• The blankets nobody claims.

And somehow — mysteriously — everyone needs something from in here.

What? What sacred artifact is buried in my closet that requires repeated excavation?

Because at this point, I’m looking at the pile thinking:

“Y’all can lick the inside of a dirty trash can.”

Not yelling. Not mad. Just… offering an option.

Like a suggestion menu.

And the funny part? That’s the polite version.

I could’ve gone explicit. I could’ve gone nuclear. I could’ve written a whole dissertation on boundaries, respect, entropy, and shared living failure points.

But nah.

One sentence. Visceral. Cartoon-gross.

The kind of line that makes people blink and go,

“…okay damn.”

Because I’m not here to argue. I’m here to survive the evening and keep my heart rate down.

I don’t even care about the stuff anymore.

• Throw it.
• Donate it.
• Delete it from existence.

Physical objects mean nothing when the environment is hostile. That’s why I emulate now. Digital space. No hands in my pockets. No “lemme just grab something real quick.”

So yeah.

Chaos showed up tonight.

• I clocked it.
• I cleaned it.
• I compressed trash like a pro.
• I chose humor over homicide.

And if anyone’s confused about the vibe?

They can lick the inside of a dirty trash can. 😌

Gremlin exits, tail flick, house still bullshit.