You and your lid that refuses to fit correctly no matter how tightly I screw it on have dedicated your now short, tragic lives to dribbling sticky pre- and post-workout shakes all over the counters, the floor, my clothes and my car. You suck so much that you don’t even have a recycling logo on your stupid butt. So I’ve unceremoniously thrown you in the gym garbage with the sweat-soaked paper towels I and an army of grungy strangers use to wipe down our equipment when we’re done. You seem to thrive in a damp, drippy environment though, so maybe you’ll enjoy your eternity in some fetid landfill of your own making. But my counters, floor, clothes and car are throwing me a celebration party where nothing will get spilled, so I don’t care.
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