Great pacific garbage patch

Main article: Great pacific garbage patch

Note: The garbage patch has no relation to the cabbage patch, nor the invasive species of baby spawned from it.

Where does the world go when it needs to take a dump? As a smart reader, one who’s already read the article title, you already know I must be talking about the oceans.

As the world’s repositories of water, it goes without saying that they’re sort of like the world’s toilets. I mean, since they swirl around and don’t really “flush” to anywhere, I guess the analogy would be more akin to a clogged public restroom toilet. One that makes you regret eating all that Chinese last night, but from which you can walk away with absolutely no share in the responsibility for your disgusting actions.

Inordinately large amounts of human fecal material aside, one does have to wonder, where does all that crap we put into the oceans actually go? Well, to oversimplify a complicated oceanic system, it all eventually gets stuck in big cyclical currents called gyres. These currents congregate all of the accrued waste into giant patches, like the abovementioned one in the middle of the pacific ocean.

Since you’re probably only skimming this text, like usual, you likely didn’t notice I said “patches” plural, as in more then one. I’m sure you’ll be happy to know there's more then one of these monstrosities, such as the freshly discovered north atlantic garbage patch. They’re everywhere, as we always have more waste then we know what to do with.

Perhaps the reader can recall a time when they were personally responsible for their own great garbage patch.

Did one or more people declare it the “Great [insert your name here] garbage patch”?

Was it later designated a superfund site by the EPA?  The reader should feel ashamed for such actions.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Given the epic name "great pacific garbage patch", you’re probably picturing a vast flotsam of refuse like you would see in a landfill, only stretching out across the isolated mid-pacific like some Waterworld-esque, post-apocalyptic landscape. A few rag-clad garbage-pickers listlessly shift through the junk on their jury-rigged flotation devices, their scarred faces a reminder of the occasional violence that boils over under a merciless sun. You may have even envisioned that they’re ruled by a cruel and iron-fisted, half-man, half-fish warlord who, maddened from a lifetime exposure to pelagic chemicals, demands absolute fealty from his wretched peoples, but who will eventually be challenged and deposed by a lone man who rises up in an impossible bid for freedom...

...But no, it’s not actually like that at all. Most of the garbage comes in the form of tiny pieces of plastic that accumulate near the surface waters. The swirling material has been described by observers as sort of like confetti, which, as you know, makes everything more festive, if not a little gayer. So as you can imagine, having millions of tons of it floating around in the ocean makes the ocean much more fun. Oceanographers have estimated 5-10% more fun. Keep in mind though, that it’s generally considered inappropriate to refer to this substance as “funfetti” in front of a marine biologists, and, in doing so, they're permitted under maritime law to punch you in the face.

Remember the little mermaid? a full three-fourths of 5-8 year old girls surveyed agree that her undersea kingdom would be noticeably more “pretty” were it subject to an endless bedazzlement of confetti. Only one of those girls has any awareness that the little mermaid is laden with subliminal phallic imagery. She will grow up to be a hooker.

While this environmental abomination is probably (yet another) unparalleled tragedy for mother nature and the sustainability of life as we know it, what’s obviously more important is how this mess affects us personally, in an impulsive, short-term way. In that sense, I think you’ll agree that the real tragedy here is that any time that humans F up the environment, other humans, whose passion is matched only by their ability to annoy, try to cajole us to do actually do something about it.

This menace can come in many easily ignorable forms, such as direct mail, commercials, posters, and billboards. But by far the most insufferably inconveniencing comes in the form of the clipboard wielding signer monkeys, informally known by the portmanteau “chuggers” for "charity muggers", and formally known by the deceptively benign title "street fundraisers". God I hate those guys. Hate em, hate em, hate em…*

*For those of you who are blessed enough to not know what I’m talking about, clipboard signers are the gibbering hyena of the urban jungle. Glorified panhandlers, they often stake out particular street corners or sidewalks in a populated area, bringing down larger prey in small packs or pairs. They're much more sophisticated then panhandlers however, equiped with the ability to take multiple forms of payment and occasionally maintaining some limited personal hygiene. Like both hyenas and panhandlers, they cull the herd of pedestrians, bringing down the weak, slow, gullible, and touristy. This is nature's way.

 When walking downtown, there are few things the author fears more then seeing one of these.

I mean, when’s the last time a representative for a large chemical conglomerate asked for your signature on anything? In fact, he’d probably pay you to not only not talk to him, but any authority figures that may be concerned about what he’s doing.

You can try politely saying "No, thank you". You can try pointing and saying “NO” like a forceful pet owner. You can hold your breath, pound your fists, and throw a temper tantrum on the sidewalk. You can try diplomatically negotiating your support with the semi-attractive ones in exchange for their personal phone number. You can try apologizing and telling them that you're late for your seal hunt. Nothing will save you, and nothing will be able to compensate you for the humiliation you'll feel as a grown adult running away from a skinny, bandana-wearing, white-guy-dreadlock-sporting, clipboard signer as he follows you shouting “Hey bro!” as if he were a bully on the playground.

So, as you can see, the problem with the great pacific garbage patch, and maybe all environmental problems, has less to do with the environment directly and more to do with how we mere humans approach these issues. The only two options available are to submit to the clipboard signers and capitulate in their diabolic scheme to restore the environment to its natural order or we can stand up and fight back by declaring war against vulnerable natural wonders, like the oceans. Perhaps if we fuck them up bad enough clipboard signers will be so disheartened they'll disappear altogether and we may make our luxurious Starbucks sojourns in peace. Perhaps even in a coal burning SUV, or a sled being pulled by endangered and exotic animals, as both those options sound fun.

Another tragic loss of a classic car.

If you feel me on this, drop me a line and you can help me dump four metric tons of soiled baby diapers off the coast this weekend. :D

Awesomeness tip: Screwing the ocean doesn't always mean putting something into it. For doing the reverse, check out the dead zone page.