Pretty Pretty Pain Cave

The sounds, oh the sounds. They've started again. That horrible, gut wrenching sound. Madness lies within that sound. Madness and death. From that sound, no escape is possible. Wait, it's coming from next door. They must not have gotten out in time. To late to run. No matter what I do...I'm next.

I'm speaking of course of a lawnmower. And here I sit, with a lawn that needs mowing.

The horror.

Aesthetics are all well and good, don't get me wrong. I enjoy a terrific mountain vista, starry skies at night, and the shapely feminine form as much as the next guy. An immaculately groomed lawn, however, does not excite my senses. Who thought of lawns, anyway? Probably someone who didn't have to mow one. I understand that mowing builds character for our youth (i.e. Drew), but I've got character in spades when it comes to mowing, if that's the case.

Why not let our lawns go back to the natural Prarie grasslands they used to be? I'm sure my sister would approve.

Sadly, failing that, I must:
A) Diligently wait for someone to bio-engineer a species of grass that does not grow over 3 inches tall.
B) Become fantastically wealthy and get my own Jeebes or Coolie John.
C) Get really drunk and mix green food coloring with cement.

I'll get right on that.