News & Articles

DULUTH, MN - Multiple sources have confirmed this morning that Raymond Garrison of 1270 West Fourth Street isn’t going to pick up his dog’s poo anymore. When the proverbial dog clock strikes deuce, Garrison is going to casually look around for witnesses, pretend to be engrossed by an important text on his phone, and simply walk away.

If local buzzkills call him on it, he’ll claim to be out of bags and offer them a hearty, “But I got you next time, bro.” Garrison made the official announcement to his neighborhood this morning.

“I’ve reached a point in my life where I’m frustrated and things aren’t going that great, so from now on I’m just going to leave my dog’s turds wherever,” said Garrison, shocking onlookers. “I know it’s gross. I know I’m an asshole. I just don’t care. Fuck all of you. I’m living the rest of my life just for me. Feel free to use the hose in my yard to wash off your shoes.”

When the crowd grew angry and abusive, Garrison turned things up a notch, revealing his true self.

“I will cover this entire neighborhood in dog shit!” screamed Garrison, revealing a fire not seen in him since the TV show The Adventures of Briscoe County Jr was cancelled in 1994. “Your yard, your sidewalks, inside your mailboxes, in the hood of the sweatshirts your children wear to school. My dog and I now only exist to destroy everything around you. Long live anarchy! Harambe sucks!”

Garrison is part of a growing movement called suburban anarchists. Like dentists who ride motorcycles on weekends, suburban anarchists have steady jobs and no plausible reason to rebel against anything, but maybe saw a movie about rebellion once that made them wish they were a more exciting person.

While Garrison won’t create chaos, organize others or do anything at all to harm the societal system that has worked extremely well for him his entire life, he will contribute a small bit of unrest by leaving his dog’s business rolling through the streets like tiny land mines.

“I fully support anarchy!” said Garrison, neatly folding a napkin into equal quarters. “I’m doing pretty poorly in our current society. I mean, I have a house and a car and I don’t have gonorrhea, but I’m not the rhythm guitarist for Def Leppard or a celebrity, so I kinda feel like I got shorted. Life just isn’t very fair, so I’m punishing everyone around me by filling every inch of their lives with dog feces.”

Before ditching the poop scoop, Garrison didn’t take his dog for walks at all. He instead laid training pads on the floor of his apartment. Each time his dog did its business, he took the used pad into the hallway, carefully carried it up three flights of stairs and chucked it onto the roof.

Garrison estimates there are currently 1,437 soiled dog diapers on the roof of his building. He said fourth floor residents only notice on warmer days in the summer. If it becomes too much of a problem, he believes his landlord will push the shart pads onto the sidewalk with an old broom in the middle of the night.

“No se puede filmar porno aqui,” said landlord Gary Rodriguez, waving away reporters asking for comment. “Tengo que estar en ellos si quieres grabar gratis.”

Garrison also spent a brief period stuffing dog poo into mailing envelopes and tossing them out his car window on the way to work. This plan failed because Duluth residents, believing mail to be exciting and pure in nature, actually opened the poovelopes.

“Mail is just so exciting,” said Paul Ryan, a local newspaper columnist who recently won Best Columnist of the Northland for his incredibly important work as one of the most brilliant authors of the modern times in which we live. “It’s just so fun to open a letter. What’s inside?! Maybe someone mailed you drugs or your grandma sent a check for ten dollars. How could I not open that? Goddamn it, I love the mail so much! Please stop putting your dog’s poop in there, mister! It’s killing us! We’re dying over here!”

It was Garrison’s girlfriend of eight years, Sandy Duncan, who finally put the kibosh on his revolutionary dog waste disposal methods.

“Holy shit Garrison, just take the goddamn dog outside!” said Duncan, slapping him hard across the face. “It takes 15 minutes, you dildo! God, this place smells like Steve Harvey’s dressing room. Are you trying to cover it up with Ben-Gay? Sweet Christ man, I’m gonna suffocate.”

Garrison says not cleaning up after his dog at all is simpler and far more satisfying.

“Why are people walking in the grass anyway?” said Garrison, undoing his belt and dropping his pants near an oak tree outside the local elementary school. “Are we all just walking on grass now? Is that a thing? Stay on the sidewalk, losers. This grass is for gettin’ your stank on. I will see you all in hell!”