After you finish stripping the license plate off the car you've just stolen, you douse your hands in hand sanitizer. You read on WebMD that license plates are filthy and carry all sorts of diseases. Eww.
You drop the bottle next to the plate, confident the alcohol will clean any DNA off the bottle.
As you climb back into the car, you catch a glimpse of something yellow behind the gas pedal. You climb back out and duck under the steering column to retrieve it. You grip the object and feel its hard, crusty texture.
You bring the yellow stick to your face, and are horrified to see what must be a two-year-old French fry between your thumb and forefinger. A shudder runs the length of your body as you throw the disgusting potato shard to the ground.
Do people have no respect for themselves? What has this world come to?
Replacing yourself in the driver seat, you jab the screwdriver back into the ignition and start the car. You begin to grip the steering wheel and think better of it. These people are filthy. Eww.
You gingerly touch the wheel with the tips of your fingers as you back out from under the intestate overpass where you and your crew were stripping the car.
Your eyes dart back and forth, up and down, all over the cabin of the car as you drive to the dumping ground. Cat hair, chip crumbs, soda stains- every disgusting thing you can imagine is in this car.
The five-gallon jug of gasoline sloshes as you make the turns to the dead end where you plan to set the car on fire. You blaze the cars to destroy evidence, but you imagine yourself a sanitation crusader as this particular vehicle erupts in flames.
Victims are filthy. Eww.