Saturday, May 1, 2010

The grass needed cutting at least a week ago.  Hell, it needed cutting nearly a month ago.

But I'm a traditionalist.  And I saved the chore until today.

Because no matter how fucked up the seasons get; despite global warming and the vagaries of mother nature; and regardless of the actions of my candy-ass, anal retentive neighbours, I will never, ever, cut my lawn for the first time in a new year -- before the first day of bloody May.

To mine own self, I be true.

Llewellen: Put the machine in the shed and fetch us both a pint.  Fuck it.  Make it a couple of pints.  The smell of freshly coiffed grass gives me a thirst.


Omar said...

Due to frequent coiffing, our lawns are the the most sexually frustrated plant-life on the planet.
Let. Them. Grow.

Doctorboogaloo said...

Ha. The grass is frustrated; I'm frustrated having to cut it. The only party not frustrated is the City. They fine you for not keeping the grass below a certain height.