One day, in utter disgust, I bought some Wellington boots from Goodwill, waterproof work gloves and large size trash bags from Harbor Freight. I then spent the rest of the day cleaning a two-mile stretch of creek bed.
I pulled cans and bottles and broken glass and chip bags and candy wrappers and little blue plastic bags of dog shit and discarded school assignments and water logged carpets and shopping carts all out of that poor degraded waterway. I lugged it up the bank to the inadequate city trash collection bins. I pushed the shopping cart, now filled with soggy carpet and tree limbs and large pieces of sun decayed plastic sheeting and rusty bike parts, over a quarter mile to a bike ramp, up the ramp and back over to the trash bin near the bus stop.
I came back the next day to check on my hard work only to find that some asshole had pushed the carpet loaded shopping cart back down the bank and into the creek bed. The little shits from the junior high school had descended leaving candy wrappers, soft drink containers and school assignments in their wake. And the local idiot sub humans had done their part to completely cover the landscape in litter from their meaningless lives. In short, the creek bed looked just the same as it did before my Herculean labors of 12 hours earlier.
This left me only three options:
Litter Bugger: Attack of the Trash Hound