🚫 Bathroom Bandit: Confessions of a Spoo
Okay, listen. I’ve recently discovered a new hobby that I’m told is “naughty,” “gross,” and “absolutely not, Tucker.”
It’s called bathroom trash raiding.
I call it recreational recycling.
First of all, the hoomans threw it away. Obviously that means it’s free game. Why else would they put it in an open bin at perfect snoot level? That’s an invitation. A trap-free buffet. A treasure chest.
My favorite loot?
🎯 2-ounce Dixie cups.
Tiny. Crunchy. Portable. They shred like a dream. They make that satisfying krkrkrkrk sound when I chomp them. Chef’s kiss.
Do they taste good?
Absolutely not. They taste like minty danger.
Apparently they were filled with something called Listerine, which burns like dragon breath. But that only proves how brave I am. A warrior. A knight of the crunchy cups.
The hoomans disagree.
They keep saying, “TUCKER. NO.”
And “We do NOT play with bathroom trash.”
And “Why is there confetti all over the hallway again?”
Plus… the bathroom door is now closed.
On purpose.
To keep me out.
I object. Loudly. But no one asked for my opinion.
So for now, the Bathroom Bandit has gone underground.
But mark my words…
If that door ever cracks open even an inch?
The cups won’t stand a chance.
🐾 Nose boops and tail wags,
Tucker