Back when I was just a young guy with no wife and no furniture, I lived here. First day I moved in, I met my “neighbor” Rubbish James Garbagetruck III, who swore to me he wasn’t a rat, he was just a small person who’d gone prematurely gray (all over his body). He convinced me to throw him a pizza party, which raged for 24 hours, at the end of which he declared, “I’m moving in!”
Ahhh, those were the days. A simpler time. Long before we had a running tab at Maria’s Pizza shop and owing all those various favors around town. Before we burnt all of those bridges with people that we swore were boring enemies and WAY before we had a ghost haunting us on a thing called Instagram. It’s been a long and strange trip, but I’ll always remember the smell of quatro formaggi pizza farts and playing poker for peanuts. We didn’t have much then, but I could have sworn there were times I thought that quaint little green shack was a mansion. Hey, but I’m a screwy rat who wears half a tuxedo… so what do I know?!
Rubbish doesnt wear any pants………
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