She's Gross, but not gross

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What kind of city is this? I can walk for twenty minutes in any direction from my house and not see anything gross. I'm trying--honest, I am--to update this blog more regularly, to deliver to you, my readers, repulsive photos narrated with imaginary dialogue between inanimate rotting things and me. However, it's hard to keep it rolling here in Denver. Yes, the hot dog in the puddle was gross, and I saw some green vomit the other day (phone was dead, so no photo available), but for the most part this city is uncomfortably clean. So instead, I present you with a photograph of Terry Gross. You're disappointed in me; I can tell. No, it's cool. But I must keep posting. I'm asking you, who is reading this right now, to stop stepping over that human shit on the sidewalk, quit turning your face from the dirty panties lying despondently on your neighbor's lawn, and start photographing! Send to me at grossstuffinlaATgmailDOTcom. Bitte. Por favor. Si vous plait. I beg of you. I need your gross, and I need it bad.

By the way, while writing this post I remembered that somewhere on my phone is a photo of panties. I'll post more soon.