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Useless Thread MMX: Capitals are worthless divers un-appreciation thread

Title: Deputy McRizzy vs. The Trash Conspiracy


It was a damp Thursday morning in Fayetteville, Arkansas, and Roy stood at the edge of his driveway, robe flapping in the wind, cradling a lukewarm mug of coffee that had long since gone cold. Behind him loomed a monument to modern inefficiency: six overstuffed garbage bags, a disassembled Pack ‘n Play, and the broken remains of what once was a Diaper Genie.


The garbage hadn’t been picked up in two weeks.


Roy—known online as Deputy McRizzy, capologist, poster emeritus of HFBoards, and defender of advanced stats—was not a man easily rattled. But this? This was war.


“Unreal,” Roy muttered, kicking a cardboard box labeled ‘Sleep Sack 0-6 Months – Slightly Used.’ It gave way with a soggy squish. “I pay my taxes. I separate the recycling. And yet here I am, living in what can only be described as a suburban landfill.”


He whipped out his phone and toggled to the Fayetteville city services app. The trash pickup schedule, glowing cheerfully on his screen, claimed pickup had occurred yesterday. Roy scoffed aloud. “Fake news.”


Behind him, a neighbor peeked through their blinds, likely wondering why the man who shouted about zone exits at 2 a.m. was now pacing around the trash pile in a Captain America T-shirt.


Back inside, Roy fired up his laptop. HFBoards was already open in a browser tab. He considered starting a new thread: "OT: Fayetteville Sanitation = AHL Caliber at Best?" But he had work to do.


Instead, he opened the Notes app. A fresh entry:


“Garbage Tracker – Vol. 1”
– Missed pickups: 2
– Days since last appearance: 14
– Number of diapers currently fermenting in bag #3: Unknown, likely triple digits
– Theories:
• Strike?
• Budget cuts?
• Sabotage by neighbors who hate the smell of hockey takes?

Roy opened his office window. The breeze carried the faint, unmistakable aroma of baby wipes and composting despair.


He stormed back to the kitchen, plopped into his chair, and began drafting an email to the City of Fayetteville. He kept it polite at first.


Dear Sanitation Department,

I am writing with increasing concern regarding your lack of service on Maple Shade Drive. For two consecutive weeks, no trash pickup has occurred. I now live in a small fortress of garbage. The raccoons are organizing. One of them has claimed our mailbox.

Halfway through the message, Roy paused. His baby monitor buzzed. A twin was crying. He took a deep breath. The garbage could wait ten minutes. The city, apparently, had been fine waiting fourteen days.


As he stood to check on the baby, a sudden sound froze him in place.


A low rumble. A diesel engine. A hydraulic hiss.


He ran to the window and nearly dropped the monitor.


The truck. The truck was here.


He sprinted outside, flailing his arms like a man possessed. “YES! YES, RIGHT HERE!” he shouted, gesturing at the garbage pile like a contestant on The Price Is Right.


The trash men nodded, perhaps too casually for Roy’s taste, and began loading the bags. The truck devoured them with mechanical groans, reclaiming Roy’s dignity one compactor cycle at a time.


One of the sanitation workers gave him a tired thumbs up as they pulled away. Roy stood in his driveway, beaming.


He walked back inside, pulled up HFBoards, and started a new thread after all:


"OT: Fayetteville Sanitation Redeems Themselves – Gritty Performance, Elite Finish"
The boys showed up late, but they showed up strong. No quit in that crew. Just like the '04 Flames. Salute.

Deputy McRizzy lived to post another day—his fortress demolished, his pride restored, and his garbage, at long last, gone.
 
Deputy McRizzy Action Figure Set
 

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