Saturday, October 04, 2008

Dear Sweden, thanks for all the glug. We really love glug. Or maybe that's Norway. As if there was a difference.

I mowed my lawn for the last time of the season.  I guess you could say I mowed my lawn for the first time of the season and that would also be true.

I could really use the exercise, I'm afraid I've let myself go.

I used to be sleek and fast like an otter, now mostly I sit and think important things.  And eat.

I've come to look a bit like this fellow but with bigger teefs.

It's a fine time when your neighbors are calling the police on you after you've spent the long, hot months protecting them from evil on the innernets and mediocre online prons all the while at a cool temperature of 68 degrees, never able to suck in the strong humid air or feel the blessed sun on your pale, fleckless sin.  Skin.

A fine thing indeed, an ounce of respect never asked for, nor never given but in come the police with orders to mow my grass and look presentable and I guess I can see their point of view, I guess if I squint hard I can see it but I'm not in a squinting mood.

I used to have a lawn boy.

He used to come once a week, rain or shine.

In Nebraska we mow even when it rains but this was not true in Salt Lake.  In Salt Lake when it rains, it is a rare occasion and we pray.  We also prayed when it didn't rain.  And when the sun was up.  And down.  All we did was pray and I guess you could say that's why I don't live there no more.

I was constantly praying for a legal delivery service of young girls with big boobs carrying pizza and beer and then the bjs.

You can be sure that wish was never granted which is one reason I moved.

I used to have a lawn boy and he came by every now and again to mow my lawn and of course he insisted on my lawn mower.

He used to always bust my chops, though.  Always in my face with lawn complaints the kinds of which I did not want to be bothered.

He was the lawn boy, after all.  Not me.  If I was a lawn boy I would mow my own lawn and complain to myself but I am the man on the innernets restraining most evils and eviscerating various comments on chat rooms what needs eviscerating.

"I'm out of gas," he would constantly tell me.  "Mr. Ho, you need more gas or I can't mow you're lawn."

Even in conversation he was confusing the contraction you are and a possessive your. 

It was maddening.

"Mr. Ho, you're check bounced."

I was empathetic.  "I can certainly understand how a check bounce could be upsetting."

Wait, I was not empathetic.  I was sympathetic.

Wait, I was not sympathetic, either.

What is it when you're neither empathetic nor sympathetic?

I suppose I didn't give much of a fuck about it at all.

Anyway, I used to have a lawn boy.

Now I mow my own lawns.