"Trash"
The hot wind blew in Lotso's face and the grill seared his back as the garbage truck he was tied to rumbled along the highway. He clenched his teeth to keep the bugs from flying into his mouth, just as his companions had suggested. His pink fur was starting to deteriorate from constant exposure to the sun and rain, and even his strawberry scent was fading, replaced by the ever present stench of garbage.
Lotso grinned despite his misery. At least he was still alive, unlike Woody and those other foolish toys that had perished in the incinerator. Hadn't he warned them that toys were trash?