We are all hoarders

I moved out of my condo a few months back, but just moved the important stuff at first.  Now, my buddy is moving in and the clock is ticking, so I spent a good part of the week getting the rest of the stuff out.  Holy shit, did I accumulate some BS in just under a decade.  Here’s things I found.

– I had 12 towels.  I don’t I had ever used nine of them.  In fact, other than the shame of people knowing, I would’ve used the same one until it disintegrated on my body in an act of fabric suicide.

– I had three sleeping bags.  I’ve camped maybe four times in my life, excluding a four day country concert I go to frequently.  Three?  Apparently I liked to get black out drunk and go to Gander Mountain.

– I had three trash bags full of Christmas decorations to pitch.  This is strange to me, as I have never once put up any Christmas crap ever.  Other than a wreath, and technically my mom put that up.  One more bag and I could have opened a holiday store as a side business.

– Most interesting to me was the cupboard of lost and forgotten liquor from the ghost of Halloween parties past.  I had a whole bottle of vermouth.  I would rather drink monkey piss than vermouth.  I also found a bottle of drive-through gin with a $4.25 sticker on it.  I’ll see you at rock bottom, friend.  It will be a dark day indeed when the knock off gin is poured.

Long story short, most of the crap I used to value is in a dumpster on the west side.  I would tell you to pick it up, but I have no doubt hordes of white trash have already descended upon the scratched up TV stand and uneven kitchen table like a stray dog covets a fresh bone.  Luckily, I was able to find a lot of important stuff.  I can practically hear my girlfriend squeal with joy when I show her the huge box of collectibles I can display in her house.  Would the George Washington bobblehead look better next to the bald eagle stuffed animal or the Captain America replica shield?