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After careful scrutiny of four different cans, I came to the conclusion that humans are not genetically predisposed to be trashcans, simply because we have no place to hold the garbage. One man can only eat so much trash before he becomes useless in this field. To counteract my genetic inferiority, I created a special trashcan simulator, the A.S.C.O.T. (Apparatus Simulating Can Of Trash). The parts of the A.S.C.O.T. are as follows:

A.S.C.O.T. Diagram

1. Plastic Trash Bag
The trash can lining, which prevents the grossification of the trash can from discarded solids, liquids, and gels.
2. Folding Chair
This simulates the relative height and width of the standard city trashcan, as well as prevents the human subject from quitting early due to muscle and joint fatigue.
3. Hat Labeled "Trash Can"
The hat is needed to complete the camouflage.
4. Ascot
My way of celebrating the fact that I thought of a clever acronym on my first try.

Sitting inside the A.S.C.O.T., I began to feel the euphoria that a trashcan must feel. This euphoria was short-lived. The folding chair tipped over due to an advanced seating technique I was employing called "leaning." The tumble I experienced as a result caused the A.S.C.O.T. to be damaged at the folding chair, which was now bent beyond the point of buttock support, and the hat, which I couldn't find.

I allowed myself to shed a tear of loss for the damaged A.S.C.O.T., and then began to create the simulator I would eventually use in the day's event. This simulator, the N.O.V.A.S.C.O.T.I.A. (New Ortho-Vecto Apparatus Simulating Can Of Trash, I Assume), differed from the A.S.C.O.T. in four ways: I used a new folding chair, created a new hat, invented the term "Ortho-Vecto" to create another cool acronym, and replaced the ascot with a map of the Atlantic Provinces of Canada. After numerous tests (the exact numerous of tests being three) proved the stability of the N.O.V.A.S.C.O.T.I.A., I finally was ready for the day's great journey.

Once the apparatus was ready, I decided to find an assistant for my day. Although I knew that trashcans didn't have assistants, I also came upon the realization that if I didn't take someone with me, I would never accomplish my task, seeing as how I suffer from what doctors describe as a "lazy body." I called the nicest member of the Van Gogh-Goghs, Galen Black, and asked him if he would help me record my day as a trashcan. He asked me if there were any way for him to weasel out of this. I said no. He said he'd gladly do it then.

But where to be a trashcan?


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