The F Plus - 120: Treat Me Like Garbage (But Really Nice Garbage)

Episode Date: December 20, 2013

Living in the 21st century means living in a disposable world. And as human interaction becomes as cheap as the products we use to emulate that interaction, you start to think about love as a disposable commodity, ready to be thrown in the trash at a moment's notice. And then you notice you have a boner because you read the word "trash". We're looking at trash fetishists - people turned on bythe bins, the bags, and of course the filth. This week, The F Plus considers a new kind of Sharia law.

Oh, that's what your dick looks like. All right. And the truck comes by on Friday and carts it all away. A thousand trucks just like it are converging on the bay. Oh, garbage, garbage, garbage, garbage, garbage. We're filling up the seas with garbage. What will we do when there's no place left to put all the garbage? Hey there, this is the F Plus Podcast. Terrible things read with enthusiasm.

My name's Lemon. I'm Boots Reingear. And Boots, how you doing this week? Pretty good. It's been a real cold early winter so far. Good lord it has. Yeah, it was like minus 15 degrees below like below freezing here that's canada degrees pardon that's that's that's well canada degrees non-america degrees i guess i should say yeah yeah yeah well they're getting close to the point where they're gonna cross really good lord

yeah yeah so i've been wearing all this warm clothes i got you know a few layers on sure wearing some warm pants but i was thinking what were you thinking i was thinking what if i was not wearing my my like denim pants and my my hoodie okay so you're talking about nudism what if instead i was wearing just a bunch of garbage bags uh-huh well you'd look like an idiot is that what you're like do you just suppose. Like an idiot? I suppose. But you know, you know what? What? What doesn't get cold when you, when it's outside?

What's that? Garbage. That's not true! That's not, Boots, are you trying to tell me that you have a garbage fetish? Yeah, I'm just trying to, I'm trying to, like, just, you know. trying to lead me into it yeah just yeah yeah you were looking for me to approve i don't but the internet uh will approve your fetish because that's what the internet's good at uh this uh we're going to talk today about

trash fetishes um we're going to spend some time on trashcanstories.net. Uh, we are of course going to spend some time on, uh, FetLife because you can't get away from there. Of course we are. It's going to be some live journal. There might be some experience projects, although I might've cut that out. Um, but yeah, this is, uh, it's about the fetish of being in a trash can, being covered by garbage, being used as refuse by others. Being thrown out by people. Yeah.

Yeah. So what we know is it's going to get creepy and Montress submitted it. All right. Readers, assemble. In the room tonight, we have Jack Chick. I really want to be taken in the backpuff of a garbage truck where all the garbage is being held in a dumpster and dumped in the front loader,

but I don't want to get any hernay tips. Kumquats up! I got something for this problem. Get a hefty bag. Boots, rain gear! I was wondering if anyone in this group was going to dress up for Halloween using garbage bags. The owner, operator, proprietor, chief technical officer, and

voice of Lou Reads the Internet for You, King Lou Fernandez. My partner and I really enjoy playing with really well-worn gloves worn by garbage collectors. They're usually gray split leather type, but the palms have been totally blackened by grime and dirt. They smell totally rancid.

And lemon. Hello! I was wondering if anyone could do me a favor. The contact is either Hefty or Glad Companies and suggested them to sell clothing made out of garbage bags. I'd appreciate it, thanks. Slavery and nukes and all their knavery to history's dustbin, they're consigned to bent like any other kinds of garbage.

Hey, Boots, do you have a question that you wanted to ask? Yeah, just give me a second. Let's go to the Yahoo Answers, or as I call it, the beginning of the Internet. This is basically Internet level one right here. This is the left margin of the Internet. Okay. I've got a question. My name is Aaron S.

All right, good. Has anyone heard of someone having a garbage fetish or fascination? No. I know it sounds weird, but I love watching the garbage truck crush stuff, like TVs, furniture, toys, or anything big where I can see and hear it being smashed with all the rotten garbage. I fantasize about being inside the truck, and I actually like the smell of the truck when it's coming down the street. Okay. So validate the idea that I'm not fucked up, because...

Yes. Jack Chick, answer him, will you? Absolutely. What a nice fetish! Oh, thank you, J. Yes, it is possible to have a preoccupation with pollution or garbage. If you like to see things trashed or cover yourself and other people in trash, then you have Salaromania. You have Geo-Saromania. You have

Geo-Salaromania. No way! Was there a Latin phrase for this? You have Geo-Salaromania if you think these things are provocative. Garbage being dumped into rivers, syringes washing up on beaches, or

a local nature park being raised to make a landfill you're describing monty burns a fetish is a pattern of erratic and erotic preoccupations that a person has without choosing to have it so a fetish is usually not a set or not usually a set of true values. Here are some of the fetishes which I consider mysterious. Being amputated, being eaten, bloodletting, starting fires, being taken to a hospital, sexual relations with an automobile, sexual relations with a ghost, tree cutting, crashing cars, nose picking, reversion to being a child. Well, we've done about half of those topics.

How many have you done, Lou? Oh, yeah, probably a third of those. I think it's more than half, man. Oh, we're winning. We really need to get on the tree cutting now. So we're going to be spending a fair amount of time on a site called Trash Can Stories. The sort of graphic design

of the website is about as bad as you imagine it to be. But there's a lovely MS Paint drawing about with a discarded woman in a dumpster being surprised at her fate. Oh my god.

Anyway, so there's a fact which we're not going to go completely through because some of it is like dealing with some sort of basic concepts as well as concepts we could already understand. What's a trash fetish exactly? A trash fetish. Sexual fetishism or erotic fetish. Sexual fetishism or erotic

fetishism is the sexual arousal a person receives from a physical object or from a specific situation. That's a bit broad if you're talking about trash fetish. You might want to narrow that down just a little bit.

Maybe they're just talking about fetishes that other people think you can just throw away. Can you explain what trash is also? The object or situation of interest is called the fetish. What the fuck are you talking about, Starman? is called the fetish. What the fuck are you talking about, Starman? The person, a fetishist, who has a fetish for that object-slash-situation.

In this case, the appeal of being enclosed inside a trash bag, or several, dumped with rubbish, or have rubbish dumped in, with them, and or, just left, sometimes, just inside the bags themselves, or disposed of inside a dumpster. Trash fetish could be described as a paraphilia, a term used to describe sexual arousal to objects, situations, or individuals, like Oscar the Grouch, and involves sexual arousal to objects, situations, or individuals, like Oscar the Grouch, and devolves sexual arousal and gratification towards

sexual behavior that is atypical or extreme? I wonder if there's any overlap between the people who like to fuck cars and the trash fetishists, so they, like, go to, you know, like, a broken-down junk yard and... No, what you do is you find a bro to double-team

with. So you want to fuck trash. Your bro wants to fuck cars. So you both go to the waste management depot. So you just end up waving your dick around in the back of a garbage truck

opening, like, yeah! Exactly. It would make it really hard to high-five, though. All right. So there is quite a bit of erotic fiction that we're going to tackle. But first, my name's Kimberly. I'm a newbie here at Grommet's Plaza.

And I just have a complaint. So, most of the stories on the trashcanstories.net focus entirely on the trash play. If a plot is involved, it is usually

nothing more than a short lead-in to the bagging scene. Yep. Why can't we have a story that takes place on garbage day but doesn't involve the garbage? Just subtle references, you know. Well, no, just, you know, you want an hour of buildup to, like, you know, scenes with, like, you know, people, like, taking their Dorito bags, putting them in the trash, noticing the Dorito bag falls off the trash, pushing it down for a while. Like, you know, paragraph after paragraph of that.

pushing it down for a while. Like, you know, paragraph after paragraph of that. Anyway, this is similar to a lot of pornography, and I think it's kind of a shame. Why can't there be well-written stories with exciting trash elements? From a literary perspective, most of these stories are, well, garbage. Which is a good thing, right?

I don't know what she wants. Good writer. Can anyone understand what I'm saying? It may seem odd, but I'd love to read a story where, and I got some bullet points for you. So, you know, like, authors, take note. Okay, bullet point number one. Garbage play is not the only thing that happens.

Garbage number two. Garbage number two. Garbage thought number two. The plot cannot be summarized as, because of X, he is thrown away. So nobody's allowed to do ecstasy and then be disposed of behind the rave. Okay, bullet point number three.

The parts of the story that do not involve any garbage are still enjoyable to read. I don't know how that's possible. Wait a minute. This person's asking for the world in a garbage, erotic garbage story. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, and then I was bagged and thrown away. Number four, for bonus points,

a plot that somebody with no particular interest in trash play could actually enjoy. I know that story you were reading that you were enjoying so much caught your interest, but did you know it was garbage erotica? Oh, it turns out I'm a garbage... Well, let me look at the fact and see what a fetish is so that I know whether or not I'm a garbage fetishist.

Okay. How come when Nancy peeled that banana we focused on the peel, not the banana? Basically, I would love for there to be more stories that are actually good stories. I agree with that point. Yep. Boots, you're Mollus Infantia. Hmm. Alright.

I understand what you're saying. What? Okay. Sorry. Apparently I do. I understand what you're saying. I just don't think it's all that liable to happen. Let's not use the word. Yep. Or happen with any degree of frequency.

That's the kind of problem with writing that comes from a base fetish. Inclusion of these elements is the drive to write the story. So generally, a lot of stories end up being just those elements. to write the story. So generally, a lot of stories end up being just those elements. I gotta say, a base fetish would be a fetish that's, like, people fucking. That would be a base fetish.

Or a fetish where, like, you wanted somebody to, like, cook for you. That would be a base fetish. You would jump off a building with a parachute. That would be a base jumping fetish. A fetish set in a very expensive G.I. Joe toy.

No. A base fetish. The love affair between a hitter and the first baseman. Wouldn't a base fetish just have a really high pH? There's another one. It's, you know, someone who likes smoking crack. Does anyone want to deal with the other spelling of bass?

Oh, yeah. It could be a person who plays a guitar that plays really good. Okay, since this is a pretty niche kink, there's a smaller pool of writers, and as such, a smaller chance of having a writer that is willing and able from a time, skill, and circumstance aspect to create such a smaller chance of having a writer that is willing and able from a time, skill and circumstance aspect to create such a tale.

Malice Infante is a real buzzkill. Shitting on this person's dream. She's just trying to make the community better. It's like any good critic. They love the medium. They just want to see it grow into, like, an intellectually respectable art form.

That's all. It's fair. Uh, Kumquat, you're Teaser. T-E-A-S-E-R. You're loosely tied. Yep. Yep, my name is T-Sear. Mm-hmm.

Yep, my name is T. Sir First, let me say it's fun to see Chocolata as a newbie After reading her story on Grommets for years Second, I do support the quest here To create a good story Which contains garbage And bagging and stuff. Well, as the target audience here,

it's very clear that he cares about all the other things that aren't related to garbage and bagging. But which doesn't focus on this. Now, how would such a story go? Please comment on this rudimentary plot. Maybe it will inspire someone. Uh, the NaNoWriMo episode was a couple weeks ago.

You might want to... Don't worry, they're all garbage themed. Okay, good. Somebody having a fun evening in town. Maybe it's raining when they are to go home. And they slip in some mud.

So instead of just being dumped in garbage, they slip into it. Wait, how does that happen? Dumpsters have really tall walls. They were walking on top of a dumpster in some mud. Whoa, I fell on this gravity reversal button. And then fell on another one. Just above a dumpster. Getting all messed up.

This means, of course, they need to walk home as no cab will allow them in. Sure. At home, they dump the party clothes in a bin and goes to the apartment in just briefs.

What? Yep. Now we're. What? Yep. Now we're getting somewhere. Party clothes. Good writing. That's what we need. Next day, they discover some other lost thing. A mobile, perhaps.

Which must have been dumped with the wasted clothes. This is the stuff part. Or the town. Is this going to be a murder mystery? Yep, it already is. So they have to return to the dumpster area to try to get it back. So they fell in one dumpster and then walked home and then put their clothes in another dumpster area to try to get it back. So they fell in one

dumpster and then walked home and then put their clothes in another dumpster, so now they have to go back to that dumpster? This is pretty hot. A double dumpster story? I'm in. And of course, the garbage in there is soaking.

So searching for the thing really isn't very pleasant. In my story, the girl would go there in the early evening and be unable to get out of the bin. Oh.

Is that the hot part? Yep. No. Okay. Not yet. Okay. Great. Besides being this dirty, she would like the neighbors to see her. Yep. So she would need to wait for the lover

slash flatmate to rescue her after dark. Yep. Sure, I'm still with you. Yeah, absolutely. We could of course have neighbors filling the bin even further making her need to duck deep to hide to get back to her the flat he might have to put her in a bag to keep her from staining the stairs we could set it in the most conscientious of all cities, New York City. Back in the flat, they will, of course, shower together and maybe make love?

Would this be a line that could fill the need for a story? If properly written, of course. No. Nope. Nope. I mean, that was confusing. So, is that a good thing? I'm not sure.

Okay. Yeah. All right. Let's get to the fucking sexy story, shall we? Yeah. That wasn't sexy? Well, no, it was just an idea. It was a sexy premise.

Yeah, it was a sexy premise, by the way. Thank you for really selling it. So, this story, again, we are on trashcannedstories.net. This story is called Trash! Good grief. It's by Herb. Trash by Herb. Thanks, Herb.

Lou, will you bring us Trash, please? Trash by Herb. The car bounces down the deserted lane. It is evening, and its lights wobbly as the car slowly... Okay, its lights wobbly as the car slowly makes its way into the gathering gloom. A cold wind blows, and it is threatening to rain. The vehicle stops, and a man gets out. He opens the boot and looks around. The vehicle stops and a man gets out.

He opens the boot and looks around. Although a lot of people do use this track for jogging, for transit from the new estate half a mile away to the old estate, there is no one in sight tonight. The weather, which has started to spit a cold drizzle, has driven most folk indoors. The path is slightly raised here, and it is bordered by thick grass. It is the favorite dumping ground, and

is littered by all the things that inevitably end up at places like this. The old freezers, garden cuttings, destroyed machinery. Can we just skip to the part where somebody says Candyman three times in a mirror? The man struggles

with several large black trash bags, dumping them down the slope. He laughs quietly as the last and largest rolls twice down the slope, coming to a rest against the other ones. It is black and obviously several bags in one and taped strongly at the top. You would have to look closely to see a clear tube sticking out above the tape. But in this weather, in the gathering dark, who is going to look closely at the top of a trash bag?

At the top of a bag of trash? The man stares at the garbage. See ya, trash! He quietly speaks out. Another laugh. And then he drives away. And now it is dark and rainy. And the trash does what all trash does. It remains behind, abandoned,

abandoned. The rain falls on the plastic. It patters. The wind blows. All is dark. Holy shit. I just imagine this guy, like, working in the office. It's like a Friday afternoon.

People walk by, like, thank God it's Friday. He's like, I wish it was Tuesday. Do you want me to keep reading this story? Yeah, absolutely. All right, so now... Absolutely, I need to know what happens to the trash. Now, do I need to set the stage

that this is now the person inside the garbage bag? Okay. Okay. The rain patters on the plastic around me. All is dark, and I am cold. Occasionally, the wind blows the plastic against my face, and it makes it harder to suck through the tube. Are you sure this is the person?

Or is this just garbage? A trash bag. A discarded Pepsi can. Why would the trash bag need to breathe air through a tube, Lemon? Because it's an animated Pixar trash bag. It just wants to make

friends. It is so quiet out here. It just wants to make friends. No. So, it is so quiet out here, abandoned, trash, dumped. Again, I wonder, will he come back? I'm not going anywhere. Hands bound to ankles in front, arms thrust between knees, breasts crushed. My entire lower body and limbs under miles of tape. I can't even move or even start to think about poking a hole in the bag.

My limbs are going numb. Will anyone know I am here? What if someone sees me? Impossible. Who's going to open this bag of trash? Okay. Is this the part where I jerk off or are you leaning into it? It's far later into the night.

The bag of trash does what all bags of trash do. Nothing. It remains abandoned, forgotten. Inside, I shiver, shake. I want out. I'm going nowhere. The tube that once seemed so tightly taped to my mouth is now a little loose. What if it comes out?

What if it gets blocked? Why did I ever suggest this to him? I know I can normally trust him. Trust him enough to surrender all control. Quote, unquote, I want to be used, discarded. So he has. Oh, okay. So he was teaching his girlfriend a lesson.

Well, she asked for it. Yeah. All right. Look, would you shut up with that shit? I'll fucking do it. Later still, a car drives up. A boot like, all right. Look, would you shut up with that shit? I'll fucking do it. Later still, a car drives up. A boot opens. I freeze.

I can hear it above me. Then the rustle of more plastic and more bags fall about me. It's not him. Just more trash adding to the trash already here. The car drives away. This is a terrible place to live. Everyone throws their garbage in this field. Oh, wow. Dawn, I awake.

Will he keep his word? Did we have a word? I need to move. Limbs scream to be released. Stomach cramps at being bent over for so long, but I can't. Joggers, I hear them. Thud, thud, thud. I want to be found. Fat joggers, I hear them. I don't want to be found. My face jerks

against the plastic, pressing against it. The thudding fades. Mid-morning, the trash lies in a pool of sweat. The sun beats down on the shiny black bags indifferently. One, if you listen closely, is moaning. The wind blows. The trash bags rustle. It is quiet and

quiet and quiet. Yay! Oh, she died? That is the end of that story, and it was once again trash by herb. Trash by herb. I feel

like this is the story of somebody realizing that this fetish isn't a good idea. Like, I want to be used as Oh, fuck, wait, no, I totally don't! Jesus Christ Christ it's a terrible idea And the guy was just like The boyfriend is like this is the best idea

I'm going to throw you in a trash bag And then I'm going to leave And that'll be And then we're good She's like yeah that's what I want What about a safe word Yeah sure you can have a safe word. Yeah, you just use it whenever you want.

I will have been long gone. All right, great. Terrific. So, wonderful. Shit. Oh, Kumquat is finding terrible, terrible things. Yes, he is. This is really good. This is...

Alright, Kumquat, you are PlasticBagger23. PlasticBagger23, I'm on your live journal. What's your story called? Hi, guys. Hey, what's your story called? Hi, guys. Hey, what's your story called? I wrote this story. It's called Story I Wrote, Hope It's Okay. So do I!

Hey, you want to know what the first paragraph of my story is? Sure. It might be a subtitle. No, the first paragraph is Trash Story. That's the first paragraph. Insert trash story here. From here on out, every sentence is a paragraph. Also, there are no periods at the ends of them.

Hey, hey guys. You're home in your apartment and you're watching TV. It's early and your flatmates haven't returned from work. You're flipping trough canannels, finding it boring when you decide you're going to try a little fun before your housemates haven't returned from work. You're flipping trough canannels, finding it boring when you decide you're going to try a little fun before your housemates return. You go to your bedroom and stip off your clothes down to bra and panties,

and you retrieve your favoite vibrator from your drawer. You walk over to your wardrobe and get out your favorite knee-high boots. You take out your handcuffs, and you get the few coils of rope you keep under your bed. You re-tie your favoite ball gag. You go into the main

and place everything on the coffee table. You feel the exitment as your finger the coils of rope and you get to work. You start wondering why your masturbation habits got this complicated. Coiling the rope around your booted legs and you tighten it as tight as you can. You make sure to leave a good coil with a bit of slack.

You then slip the ball gag into your mouth. You tighten the strap around it. You start to feel warm. Okay, sure. Yep. Then you unlock both cuffs and place the key on the coffee table. Wait, that's it? Yep.

Oh, okay. Alright. Yep. You take the vibrator and push is deep into your pussy. You set the timer on it to go off in about five minutes. What? Hey, Plastic Bagger,'s going to happen to it then? Can you describe a vibrator for me?

It's white. It sits on top of like a kitchen counter. It's got a big round dial that you turn. You put popcorn in it. You have to disarm it or the terrorists win. There's a bomb in our pussy! And you place the troller part for it into your panties.

Then you cuff one hand and place the loose coil around the chain and then close the cuff. On the other hand, you shudder a while as you hear the cuffs clicking into place. You're now in a self-made hug tie. You test the bonds and they hold strong. You feel quite happy with yourself. You know the keys are near for when you need them.

You ate a few mins and you start to feel the vibrator kick to life. You roll around on the floor. What? And you make moaning noises into your gag as it pleasures you deeply. You feel so wet and you explored into ogeism on the floor and you shudder and shake as your juices start to flow. Oh, shit!

Wait, they're starting now? Jackshake, pick it up here. I hope it's okay. A short time passes as you enjoy yourself again and again. Suddenly, you hear a noise. You hear something at the lock in the door and you panic. Oh, shit! a noise. You hear something at the lock in the door, and you panic. Oh, shit, you think to yourself, one of the girls are home early.

What the hell will they think if they find you like this? Panic sets in as you start to wriggle your way towards the keys on the table. You hear the door open, and you swing around, expecting to find one of your roommates. Instead, there's two masked men standing in front of you, looking a little bemused. One of them turns to the other and says, wow, what a stroke of luck this bitch saved us the trouble of trying her up.

As he says it, you scream into your gag, and he comes over and grabs you by the hair and pulls you face close and says, don't... The tense of us have completely changed. Don't bother, bitch. It's not worth it. Then he gets his friend to come over, and they both grab you and carry you towards your bedroom.

They dump you on the bed and tell you not to go anywhere. He turns to the other guy, Let's clear this place out before we have our fun. B4 spelled letter B, number four. Any good B&E expert knows, rob first, then rape. Right. With that, they turn their attention

to the draws in the room and start to ransack the place. You watch helplessly as they do so. After taking everything that looked valuable from your room, they leave and proceed to work in the rest of the house. You're left in the room alone on your bed. You try to wriggle free, but as you do, the vibrator acts up again.

You moan again into your gag as you come again. After a short while of getting nowhere with your bonds, the two guys return to the room. The taller guy looks at you and says, Well, sweetie, looks like you've been having fun without us. Wow. The taller guy is menacing. It's the Wicked Witch of the West.

Boots, that's you. Yeah. You can see he has something in his hand. You can see the gleam of silver. He holds up what he's holding. Yep. That's a good thing to do with the thing we are holding. He holds up what he's

holding and you can see it's keys for the cuffs. Guess you were looking for these, eh, bitch? Yeah, see? You make a sort of nude. You make a sort of N-O-O-D nude. It's a small noodle.

He comes over to you and leans over and says, Well, it's time for our fun. He says, in a new quote, I guess. I don't know. I'm going to take off that gag and you're going to suck both our cocks. You better not decide to do anything funny. There's two of us and one bound you. With that, he unzips his pants and then he moves and unstraps the ball gag.

You attempt to plied, but do not. Before you can say anything, he pushes the cock into your mouth. You gag a little, but he grabs your head and forces you to suck the cock. Nope. After a few mins of sucking, he gets ready to come and he pulls out and sprays your face in hot spunk. You feel it dripping down your face

and he says, now for my fire end. With that, he grabs you from behind and holds you in place as his fire end unzips his pants and then repeats what he just did. Good! Yay! With that, they leave. You slump on the bed for a while and one of them goes to the bathroom and gets some clothes. Cloths.

He turns to you and says, we are not total pigs and wipes your face with the worst of the cum. Wow. And then I married him. Wow. And then I married him. Well, he says, it was fun, bitch, but we have to go before your fire ends turn up.

Don't go, you say? But before we're going, I have to do something with you. Hold the key in his hand and see you iron up the small key. Ah, you won't, don't, you slut. Well, it's okay, I'll give it to you. That's pretty much what he wrote, yeah.

With that, he grabs the cloths he used to clean your face and rolls the keys up in it. He then jams it into your mouth. And you gag as he does so. Okay, great. I don't know how these quotes work. It's nested. He's quoting somebody else in the middle. And he calls to his friend who said, get the tape.

He's friend. Oh, we now know how to spell that. He's friend come in holding a roll of duct tape and you watch as the roll is lowered in front of your face and wrapped around it several times. He then wraps more tape around your knees, pinning them together and more around your shoulders. He then turns to his fire end and says, Think we can do more? His friend says,

Well, we can leave her out in the living room floor for her fire ends to find her. Good idea, the other says. That's how they refer to each other. The other agrees. Good idea, the other, says. Criminal Prime says this.

The other says that. But I got something fun to do. With that, you see him whisper something in the other's ear, and he laughs, let's do that, and they leave the room. Are you taking over Lemon? Yes. You give a test of your new bonds, and you can't move much.

The tape has added extra security to the ropes, sure, and to make matters worse, you can feel the shape of the cuff's key in your mouth, and you're powerless to do anything about them. Are we powerless? Oh no! You're right. I'm so sorry.

You're powerless to do anything about them. You under yards of tape. You hear the door open again and you can see the two masked men enter again. They position themselves to carry you.

Try to stuggle to prevent them, but to no use. They carry you to the living room. Where you see... What the fuck? This is actually the opposite of so many other people we read. As this guy

masturbates more and more furiously, he spells better. The middle part had way fewer misspellings. Alright, anyway. Where you see a big garbage bag on the floor. They place you over the bag and lower you onto it. You're a trashy bitch, aren't you, the guy says.

This dialogue is so moving. With that, they pull the bag up to your neck. They grab the roll of tape and tape the open end of the bag to your neck. Well, she looks good, eh? Ha ha, yeah, real trashy. There's three quotes there, so I'm not sure how that works. Anyway,

with that, the smaller guy leaves. The tailor guy then turns to your helpless form. Not your helpful form. Well, gonna leave ya with a going away present, slut. With that, he unzips his pants and starts to jerk off as you struggle in the bag and into the gag.

After a few mins, he blows a load on your face and then picks up his stuff and leaves. That's a weird action. There we go. He doesn't bother to put his dick away or unzip his pants. He's like, well, done now. He grabs a bag of loot. That's what I meant by his stuff. He just walks out the door.

I like to imagine it's a bindle with a big dollar sign on it. Walks out the door. Dee-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da- Hey, Lou, should I say Cy3er Punk? Yeah, that is Cy3er Punk right there. What do you have to say about this? Nice, nice. But, well, I really like this story, but there are a few things I don't really like. At first... Was it human rights abuses? Or, no, not that.

No, at first, there are not enough trash bags into this story. You should write a story that is more about trash bagging. So he's jerking away, jerking away. Wait a minute. Where is the trash bag in this story? And second, I don't like the spelling at some points. Try to correct it, maybe. Besides of this, it is a nice story.

Some points. I don't like the spelling. In the middle, I love the terrible spelling. When the vibrator started acting up again, I was very upset. Lou, you like Clark Gable, right? Sure. You're going with me? See, yeah, you like Clark Gable.

I do. He's a dapper gentleman. Yeah, Victor Fleming. And you also really enjoy trash fetish. So that's why you're going to read the story entitled Gone with the Bin. Gone with the Bin. Hooray! By Restricted.

That is another. Herb was unavailable for this story. Can you read the warning? Okay. Gone with the bin by restricted. Warning. Do not try this at home. This story is presented here as a fantasy only.

To attempt this in real life will result in injury or death. But a good time before that. Yeah, sure. A very erotic, trashy, garbage baggy time Alright You know what a good time is? I forgot who I was talking to We have been using these plastic rubbish bins for some time

Unlike the other people in my area, I like them Oh stop, I already came Unlike the other people in my area, I like them. Oh, stop. I already came. Unlike the other people in my area, I like them. Most people say they are too heavy and want smaller ones. Oh, yeah. They are only used for garden refuse, so I don't see what the problem is. If anything, it would be because the people in the terrace house have to leave them out in front, while I, in my semi-detached house, can leave it in the back garden and

wheel it around when I have to put it out. I have never used it for its intended purpose. Did he send this to a neighborhood planning meeting? But according to the local paper, the council has decided to replace the leaves with smaller bins and empty them every two weeks instead of once every four weeks. The old

bins would be used for business that larger that need larger bins but it didn't say when the change was taking place now i love my bin for a very good reason i hope you agree with me i want to know more about the city council meetings that were involved in the planning process of this that's a different fetish entirely god damn it Why can't we do that one I was introduced into bondage By my ex-boyfriend He would time me up in the most delicious ways And take full advantage of me in my helpless condition

It started one night when we were Rather merry on drink To cut a long story short To cut a long story short He grabbed my hands behind me and tied them together. That is very cut to the chase. I could not stop this content torment of my body. By the time he was finished with me, I was screaming against my gag for him to shag me

to hell. Yep. Shag me right to hell. Over the months, we got more adventurous with the bondage. One night we came home more the the worse for wear through drink. More the worse for wear through drink. And he tied me up and stuck me in the new bin that had been delivered. I knew he had wedged something in the law, Casp, and I could not get the lid open to escape.

Fortunately, the lid is not airtight. I had to spend all night in the bin. Surely everyone recognizes classic Rodney Clay. It was not until the next morning, quite late, that when he realized I was still in the bin. This is when he released me. I had been in the bin

for ten hours at that time when he let me out. I must admit, it was exciting when I thought that I may have been discovered by my neighbors, especially when he lifted me out of the bin. It turned out he had put the television on and fallen asleep, blind drunk. This is like Sid and Nancy erotic fan fiction. That is when it became even more exciting

to think that no one knew I was in the bin and the world was going on around me. Well, we split up, but I still had the bin and would often go and sit in it with my hands cuffed together. I loved it when my next-door neighbors used to come out of the garden and I'd have to wait until they had gone to bed to make sure I couldn't be seen climbing out of the bin with my hands still locked

together. What do you think was the argument that caused them to split up? What do you think predicated this is the final straw? I don't know. it sounds like a great relationship in the first place I say like a printed out excel sheet

she's like you threw me in the garbage can and forgot about me it was the greatest yeah exactly but then the toilet seat you need to be nicer to my mother well when they first mentioned about changing these bins I contacted the council and asked if I could keep mine they agreed as long as I paid 30 quid let's say pounds for it yeah yes I would have paid I would have paid it gladly, but the project

was shelved. Anyway, the council never had the money for the new bins. As I said, I live in a semi-detached house. Oh, happy ending. This story is awful. This is a fucking Ouroboros. Just like

city council, trash, rape. As I said, I live in a semi-detached house. And the only one of the lots of my neighbors can look out on my bin. But that was a while ago. And now the thing has come up about using the smaller bins to help in safety. Oh my fucking God. I was going to write again and ask if I could buy the bin. But you know how it is.

You always mean to write but never get around to it. That was my downfall. Just as a NaNoWriMo tip to any prospective writers out there, if you're on page two and you're using the phrase, as I said, don't. Just fucking start over. Wait. Okay.

Do you really want me to read the rest of this horrible story? Because it is really long. Alright, you want me to? Yeah! Alright. So you mean to write, but you never get it right. Why don't we skip down to later that night. Okay, well that was it.

Alright, so... Because there's a bunch of stuff about council. There's some procedural stuff in here that's terrible. Yeah, there's some more bondage stuff, then it goes back to city council. There's some procedural stuff in here that's terrible. Yeah, there's some more bondage stuff and then it goes back to city council. Later that night, I crept out naked and climbed into the bin. I had opened the rubbish sack

so I could step straight into it. I sat down and closed the lid of the bin and pulled the sack up over my head. I tied the top and folded the top back through itself so the strings could not be seen from the inside. I tied my feet and legs together, put a gag in my mouth, strapped it tight behind my head, and cuffed my hands behind me as usual.

I know I can escape from the bag and bin by standing up, but climbing out of the bin is still difficult. Still, that acts as an excitement. I usually have to wait until the next-door neighbors had gone to bed and caused the bin to topple over. I wish they all go to the window. I settled down in my little prison and pretend my ex-boyfriend has come Left me here and gone off again

No one knows I am here I must have fallen asleep as the noise woke me up I thought there was someone in my garden I am sure I can hear them moving around But this is bad But it went quiet I must be wrong I heard the man next door in the garden say

Already dear, there was no lock. The bin must have forgotten. So I used an old one to lock it. Then I heard the woman telling someone they were off to rile for a few days. Oh, well, that gives me a bit of time to escape. The noise of the day increases and recedes as the day goes on. Eventually, it goes quiet and I feel it is safe to escape now. I try to stand up, but the lid won't open.

The man must have meant my bin when he said that he put that old padlock on the bin. All night I struggled to know the deal. Oh, what a hilarious mix-up. A classic bit of tomfoolery. It's pretty much like a Three's Company episode. I was getting cramped when I feel the bin starting to move. Come and lock me in the trash can. I feel myself tip forward and felt every bump

as I've been wheeled out of the road. This one is locked. They can sort it out at the depot. There must be bricks in it. It is heavy. I presumed it was the dust man. They must have come around the back to get my rubbish bin.

What do you think she, like, when she's locked inside of the trash can for a rubbish bin for 20 hours, like, what do you think she does? Because it's clearly not contemplate her own life. There's not much of that going on. She must have just been masturbating furiously. She just got it all the time. She's just got Blendoku on her phone Just like

This is so erotic Yeah so the bin rises in the air And I feel it being shoved forward More bins must have been shoved in behind me I try to call out but with the noise of the lorry And the street noise no one could hear me I felt the lorry as it jolted its way along the road I had no idea where we were headed for

All I know is that we were moving for some time. The lorry stopped. I felt my bin being lowered and bumped across and to the left. More bins crashed into me. I have got... I have not a clue where I am. I tried to scream against my gag. That is why I bought this one.

It is one of the best there is to silence a captive. No one heard me. That is... Now, this ball gag, is it the best to silence a captive? Because I would be disappointed if it's not. Anyway, so if you happen to pass a lot of extra rubbish, large rubbish bins standing in a yard or field,

would you mind doing me a favor? Could you look through them until you find my one? Just tap each bin, and I will give a reply when you find my... find mine. I have no idea how long they're going to leave me standing here. But this is getting uncomfortable.

Is this how garbage is dealt with in England? They just leave it in a field in a bin? The reason that this girl's boyfriend broke up is because she is immortal. He's just died of old age. Yeah. Restricted wrote this story from the bin. I like the sort of eternal reality to it.

It's sort of like the great pumpkin. If you go and stand in a bunch of the rubbish bins, a ball-gagged, freaky, naked lady will appear to you on Halloween. Alright, well, I think we should probably leave trashcannedstories.net and I hear you all breathing a sigh of relief. Good grief.

I don't know, man. It's fucking long. Which is good, because we're leaving trashcannedstories.net and instead we're going to Fetley. Now then! Yay! Okay.

It's genuinely difficult to decide which one I want to read. They're all fucking nasty. Okay. I think I want to go with Summer Garbage. So on page 11 there there's a topic called Summer Garbage.

Jack, if you'll start out as dumpster bag. Sure. Sure. Hey, dumpster bag. Hi. Hi. After a hot day yesterday, I decided to go out dumpster diving. When the Hest penetrates the dumpsters all day, I like to climb in at night as the garbage

bags and garbage is still warm, smiley face. The bags are all sweaty, and the garbage is fermenting well before it's collected by the garbagemen. I went into four dumpsters and got very dirty inside. It was awesome

to strip down and get comfortable with the garbage. After the end of the time inside, I was covered to strip down and get comfortable with the garbage. After the end of the time inside, I was covered in garbage, garbage juice and spunk. Smiley face. Oh my god! Anyone else get comfortable with garbage?

Yeah, that's definitely a FetLife thread, alright. Yep. It certainly is. Boots, you're Po. Yep. It certainly is. Boots, your poo bell. Poo bell. Yeah, poo bell is French for garbage. Very good.

I've been hanging out in my bin a lot lately. Adding nice warm bags of summer trash like you speak of. I used to hate the warmer weather. Sometimes the smell was just too much for me.

I don't know. I guess I have just changed over time because now I love it all right. Been diving into people's bins throughout my neighborhood and stealing their trash bags to take home and add to the pile. You're

right, though. It's all about being comfortable. The more comfortable I am, the more fun I have, and the messier I get, too. You've inspired me to get more juice on myself. It's heaven! You probably don't want to go in there. Listen,

I've been a professional therapist working with hoarders for 15 years. I promise you there's nothing inside that we haven't seen, so if you just open the... This episode is over! This episode is over! Come quad, plastic fetish, please? It's great

when it's warmer, the smell is stronger, and it's not too cold to go sleeping in a dumpster. That is great. Yeah, yeah. It's good to get into your own big bag inside the dumpster, hide yourself beneath all the other garbage, grab a full bag,

empty into your own bag with yourself inside, and wear the empty, dirty bag as a shirt. I didn't see that one coming! Feels great! There might also be something to eat In your bag too Oh no That's wrong

No I get it The erotic dirty bag Don't eat that So guys I really don't think That plastic fetish is actually a garbage Fetishist because he did not mention any fucking dumpster juice in that post. Yeah.

Did he mention the pan dumpster juice? This guy's a poser. Yeah, that's what I'm saying. Fuck you, Plastic Fetish. I hate you. I wonder if that happens. Nobody talked to Pl fetishists. Like, you don't like dumpster juice?

What the hell is wrong with you? You fucking monster. That happens in every fetish community. It's like the people who are like, I can't believe that asshole wanted to wear the plastic bag as its shirt. Everyone knows you wear it over your head. All right. So, we have just a little bit more

But I wanted to start out by just introducing myself Just as My name is Trashbag Lover Hi! I've been looking for an online community For this one, like this one for a long time I'm in my mid-twenties And male I knew I couldn't be the only person who likes to wear bags

But until I stump Stumpled across a link from another site, I never found anything to show otherwise. I started wearing plastic bags as a teenager, and in the past months, I've been able to wear them a lot more than I used to. I find I like 13-gallon Glad drawstring bags the best. Not only are they good for garbage,

they're also good for clothing, too. Oh, too. Oh, boy. Name dropper. This must be a social media somebody had a glad hired. I've been having a hard time. I love the glad bags, but they're so hard to push through because they're reinforced. But they're so hard to push through because they're reinforced. I love wearing many bags at one time, and I make clothing out of bags and duct tape.

Right now, I am wearing all bags unless otherwise noted. And in order from skin out. No subdermal plastic. A shirt, veil with eye holes. Oh, well, I'm a Muslim. But over that, he's wearing an open-face hood, which holds the veil in place and covers my neck. A leotard, a full slip, leotard with attached skirt,

a half slip, skirt tied at the waist using drawstring, socks, bags cut down to be ankle length. Normal stockings rolled down to ankle length. Thigh-high stockings held up with the drawstrings. Normal high-heeled boots. Wait. So far, the only thing normal... The only clothing item is the boots.

Right? The boots are not fashioned out of garbage bags. I mean, obviously they're like... He hasn't figured out how to do that yet. Okay, well that's fair. I don't understand why he's saying normal as though the other things are normal. A long sleeve bag dress and a bag burga.

I don't know what a burga is. And I don't know how you're putting a burga on over your burka. Yeah, he's got three head pieces on. All told, I'm wearing over 25 bags and I'm fully covered. Nothing but plastic is touching my skin. The veil, hood, and burga are held in place by caps made of bags and duct tape. Made of bags. Why would he say that?

Actually, I have two veils, both part of the same cap. The first has eye holes, and the second has no holes, so I can only see barely shit. What the fuck? Then I have horse blinders

that are made out of bags. He must be an excellent touch typist if he's writing this while he's wearing it. I wish I was a gitmo. Where the fuck was I? Okay, I use the hood to hold the second veil out of the way when I need

to see it. The burga is made real loose by taping two bags together width-wise, and has an eye slit, a smaller mouth slit, that's not a burga then, and, oh never mind, it's a burga. And two slits for my arms, all held

open and prevented from ripping by tape. Sometimes I like to relax by laying back in my recliner with the outer veil down so all I see is white. Quite nice sometimes. Depending on my room, on my mood, I won't leave my room without the outer veil down at times. And then everyone says, go back in your room, go back in your room. The stockings are the newest additions as I wanted

something to keep my legs warmer during the winter. All this gets quite warm, as I'm sure you can imagine. I was hoping it would cool down more than it did last night so I could turn off my AC and open my windows to save electricity and be more comfortable. Comfort is apparently a big concern of

mine, but it hasn't. It was a good bit cooler the night before when I couldn't wear any bags due to work early this morning. At least it has started cooling off. I'm in Florida, so I can't wear to my bags as much during the summer with even the AC on. To bed, I wore a shirt, leotard, but without the shoulder straps on, held in place at the woist with a big hairband, a short dress and big socks, full bags held at the ankle with hairbands, and then the top folded down and tied using the drawstrings.

I get way too warm in the full outfit to wear to bed. When I got up this morning, I took a shower to wash off last night's sweat and put my many layers back on. Yay! Put back on last night's sweat? Yep. Trash has never really interested me.

But trash doesn't interest him. Just wearing garbage bags does. But after reading through this community, I'm thinking of trying it out sometime. Don't worry about the veil and the hood. There's enough space around them to let in plenty of air. Suffocation is not a thing for me.

And that man was Tom Bosley. Jack, check your chocolata in the comments there. Oh, chocolocolata's back. Welcome! It's so nice to

meet someone else into making the trash bag clothes. I wear black 33-gallon tunics and leotards all the time, and I used to make

trousers and slips and dresses like yours. I love to go to sleep in them, but I usually end up looking comfortably sweaty after the

night's over. I looked at your pictures. I can only guess you're a little smaller than me, as I can't get the coverage you do

from the 13-gallon bags. Oh, Jesus. I can only guess you're a little smaller than me, as I can't get the coverage you do from the 13-gallon bags. Oh, Jesus. I hope you enjoy the community and the stories. Feel free to contribute anything you like. Do you have a trash bag for a plus-size woman? This trash bag is far too restrictive

of a thing. So, Boots, you are what I think must be an FBI plant. Your name is Trashy Trash Bag. Welcome. You're definitely not alone in loving trash bags. As for trash, please try it out. If you don't like it, fair enough. Give it a try. I don't play it, fair enough. But give it a try.

I don't play in smelly, grimy garbage myself. But I love the dry stuff. Dry trash isn't disgusting. It's just loads of fun. They kicked you out for that comment. Oh, what have you done with me? You threw me in the trash? The live journal trash? The LiveJournal trash?

I don't mind that. The LiveJournal trash. All right. What I think is probably the last thing we're reading here. Kumquat. I'm sorry. I meant to say NightOwl702. What did you do last night?

Can you tell me about your night? Hello? Hey, NightOl 702. I had a night of just me and my bags. Me and my bags. Just me and my bags.

Hey, hey, where is everyone? Anyways. Holy shit! hey where is everyone anyways holy shit holy shit that was just a question into the void fuck okay great anyways

me and my girl have has some problems and decided to take a break from each other for a little while. Yeah, I'm sure the girl has problems. Yeah. Prony face. They're mutual problems. Yeah. Well, I am sure it is only temporary.

I really do miss her. So I put on the show. Yeah. Yeah. So I have been trying to do things around the house. I have been trying to do things to my house to help keep my mind off her. I haven't been in the mood for anything for a little while now. But last night I felt a little frisky and figured I would try something new since she isn't here and tried to enjoy myself.

Yeah, yeah. I have managed to come across an almost full box of drawstring trash bags I found out on the street. Holy shit! Yeah! Oh my god! Must have fallen off someone's

vehicle because people keep them on their vehicle. Their loss is my... I'm not locked up in a safe like me. Their loss is my gain I'm not locked up in a safe like me. Their loss is my gain. I can't imagine why this guy wouldn't have the money to just go out and buy his own trash bags. I can't imagine why that would be the case.

It contained 90 bags. Wow. And the box was just about full. So since I have so many, and no lady to share them with right now. This, by the way, the sentence is following

him taking a picture of an open box of trash bags. That is on a trash bag. The box of trash bags is sitting on a trash bag. The box of trash bags is sitting on a trash bag. I decided that I would just completely cover my bed with them, including the pillows,

and just lay on it. Okay, yeah, whatever. Fuck my life. He's just doing things around the house to try and keep busy, make sure that, you know, he can keep his mind off his girlfriend. So when she does come back, she'll... Yeah, it's nice that, you know, after a breakup, you gotta keep your spirits up. Yeah, so when she comes back, then she won't be incredibly creeped out by the state of the house.

So I put each of my pillows in a bag and then took six more and ripped them into large flat sheets and covered the bed with them. Sure. Okay. And then, of course, it would just not be complete without me getting completely naked and jumping on the bed

to feel the wonderful bale of the bags all over me! No, I'd be fine without that. It'd be okay. It'd be no problem. I then took a couple more and covered myself with them before rolling around in the

bed again. Jesus Christ! Come on, guys. That does look like fun. Oh, shit. He's one of them. Get him. You'll never turn us into you, Fernandez. You are. You don't know it.

You'll see. No, no, no. Fucking tie him up. Put him in a trash bag. Oh, shit. It's so tight in a trash bag! Ah, shit! It's so tight in here, guys! Oh my god! Hold on.

Alright, finish your super sexy story. It was absolutely wonderful. Oh! I almost had an orgasm without even having to touch myself. Yay.

And the cleanup was really easy. That's one advantage I can see. Yep. I can see that. I poked a hole through the bag for my penis. So you're a cynic? Fuck! Okay, and then what?

What did you do then? Came! Of course. And then just balled up all the bags and tossed them out. You tossed them up like garbage. All right, sure. Yeah. Of course.

This can't ever replace my girl. Sure. Sure. And I wouldn't want it to, but this was a chance that was just too good to pass up. Sure. Too good to pass up.

Uh-huh. Yeah. Finish it up. Come on. Mm-hmm. Well, she will put a trash bag on with me and have sex, she will never go through all this with me, no matter how much I ask her. That's quite the mystery, why they broke up. And that is okay.

Yeah. Just what she does now is more than I could ever ask for. I just wish she was here again with me. You're okay. I'm wrapped in trash bags. Okay, so we heard a lot in that post. I know that we were going to quit there, and we probably should, but because in that post we heard a fair amount about Night Owl702's girlfriend.

And I went back through his live journal. I found out some more about his girlfriend. And I wonder if we can figure out what might have went wrong in their relationship. Uh-oh. Boots, if you'll take this post, please.

Okay. Alright, so this is before or after the last one? This is before. So the thing that Kumquat read was on the 20th of April, 2013. This is from the 16th of October, 2012. Okay, I'm Night Owl 702. Yep. Also, is she getting into it?

Hello? Is there anyone out there? No. He has to check first. Really? So you just start out every fucking post like a Pink Floyd song? Like I Am Legend. Not if you can...

So me and my girl have come up with a little arrangement that I am loving. Okay, good. Every Friday is my day, or should I say, my bag day. Good. Every Friday we have sex dressed in plastic bags. Good. Now, now, now, now, that sounds awesome, I know.

It does sound super awesome! Continue. It sounds awesome. Now, she has made it clear on several occasions that she awesome, I know. It does sound super awesome. Continue. It sounds awesome. Now, she has made it clear on several occasions that she is not into it. And does it because she loves me so much. I'm not forcing this on her. She is the one who came up with it. She.

Yep. Yep. Yep. She's not always in the mood on Fridays, so sometimes she jacks me off. Oh, no. Other times we'll lie side by side and play with each other,

and then, of course, there's the regular good old sex when she's feeling good. Ew. Ew. Ew. That's gross. Yeah, I know.

We kind of have a routine now where we go to the bedroom and she decides what we're doing and then we get the bags and get started. So she decides what we're doing, but then we just end up getting the bags and me getting a handjob. Then we get the bags. If it says something for me or both of us, I'm happy either way. But I have noticed something that got my attention. The last three times we've gone into the room, she told me that it was just me getting something tonight.

I've noticed her watching me tear the holes in the bag. And then when she tears holes in hers and puts it on, she changes her mind, decides she wants some too. Is it possible that this can grow on someone and that she's getting into it? Or am I just misreading it? Oh, you know, yeah, you're totally not misreading nothing. She's super into this. Great, thanks. Yeah, I mean, the only thing that she's more into than fucking giving you a

handjob while you're both wearing trash bags is your fat belly that you keep taking pictures of. That's the only thing sexier than trash bag handjobs. Great. Incidentally, stop taking

pictures of your fat belly, you fucking perverted shithead. What? I had you at trash bag hand jobs, but then you said mean things to me. There we go. We're out about an hour of trash. Just pick it up and put it in the podcast. Boots, what did you learn this week? Just pick it up and put it in the podcast. Boots, what did you learn this week?

This is one of those fetishes that is actually remarkably dangerous if one were to enact most of these fantasies involved. Isn't that pretty common, though? I mean, you know, like, if you get eaten alive by a giantess, you know, you will be digested, and that won't work out so well for you. Yeah, but these are things that people could realistically do. And, you know, danger can happen in a bunch of different ways here. Like, you could suffocate yourself on the bag if you're, like, you know, a baby or something. There's, you know, all sorts of diseases you can get from a dumpster.

Or the really common fantasy of, you know, being taken out and collected by garbage sanitation workers and placed in a garbage truck and left at a landfill and crushed to death is, well, kind of hot, I guess. Yeah. That is the weird thing that felt like we touched on a number of times in the in the episode was that like people have these like complicated trash fantasies and then the moment they had their fantasies met they die and that's that's a weird thing i feel like that's not something we've incarnated a lot of other fantasies like Like, I want to fuck bugs. Oh, I'm dead now. I guess it makes sense.

It's like, well, that's done. Nothing left. Fair enough, yeah. Just pack it in. Yeah, I feel like this is one where I get a little bit. I kind of, kind of, kind of get where they're entering in from it. It feels like it's a thing about self-worth and wanting to be thrown away, coupled with the aesthetics of the trash bag.

Yeah, the dangers of being found. Gross PVC thing. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Like, it butts up against sort of more common fetishes, which makes it make a little bit more sense. But then people are wallowing around in trash cans covered in dumpster juice, and then it stops making sense again. Just like they all do. Yeah. So, I want to say we hope you enjoyed the WikiHow episode last week, serving as a lovely break.

Yeah, we're right back in the thick of it. Thanks, Montrish. Yeah, exactly. Yeah, so we're right back into it. And if you want to submit stuff, you should go to thefpl.us. There's instructions on how to do so. There's a running spreadsheet of the things that have been submitted so you know kind of

what we're looking for and what we're looking at. Yeah, and if you want to talk about your favorite garbage bags, come to Ball Pit. That's ballp.it and communicate with other fans of the podcast who also have... I'm sure they have opinions on their favorite garbage bags. I'm sure they have opinions on their favorite garbage bags.

I'm sure they do. Ball Pit, by the way, just made mobile responsive. So if you like going to sites on your phone, both VF Plus and Ball Pit are phone friendly at this point. You can do that. And if you're one of those people that's been listening to the podcast for years and you haven't signed up for Ball Pit because you don't like, I i don't know you don't want to like enter into a new forum i i understand that i understand that a new forum's a thing but just fucking do it

you know just like it's not like it's not we're not expecting a huge commitment from you we don't need you to make a thousand posts you know maybe you just show up and just and just post a couple things bulb a couple yeah everybody else Yeah, everybody else is doing it. It's real cool. Exactly. Alright, talk to you next time. Bye-bye. So in response to what happened to the Christ trash bag, the site owner says,

Sorry, I was pretty busy the last few weeks. So I just saw yesterday the website was frozen. There's two messages I got from webs.com. First of all, we reached the bandwidth limit. First of all. First of all. Those are delicious. First of all, we reached the bandwidth limit.

And the second thing is, apparently the website doesn't respect the terms of service. That's okay, nobody reads terms of service anyways, it's fine. Oh, that's so gross. I delete the photo where we can see pussy, dick, and stuff like that, but my website is not a porn website. Certainly not, sir.