So I'm talking to my buddy, Stick Figure Don't Litter Man, about how much I hate my job and how I'm thinking about quiting the business.

"What would you do?" he asks me.

"I don't know. You've got a pretty sweet gig, maybe you could set me up with a Don't Litter job or something," I replied.

So he tells me he'll think about it. The next day he calls me and tells me he thinks maybe I should just get out and have some fun - relax and clear my head - and he invites me to go golfing with him.

So we play the first couple holes, things are going well, I'm actually feeling a little better about things and all of a sudden Stick Figure Don't Little Man starts driving the cart like a freaking maniac. The bags go flying out of the cart, my beer goes flying out of the cart, and then I go flying out of the damn cart!

And, as I do, I hear the familiar flash of a camera.

Turns out the whole golf outing was just a set-up to get me to do another warning sign shoot!

My "friend" tells me he just did it for my own good, that I needed to get back on the horse.

Creep. In real life he litters like crazy, too!