Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Battlefield: Sprinkler.

Why is it that every summer I have to be faced with the tiring task of darting in and out of the street to avoid getting sopping wet all because you want a fabulous lawn similiar to that of one in the latest issue of Home and Garden magazine? No one asides from me and possum walk within 10 feet of your front yard to begin with. No one cares about your wonderful grass and no one cares about whatever flower it is that's growing from out of your wonderful grass. Also, why must you feel the need to water the sidewalk? That's where the major problem lies. One day, I'm going to come home from Dunkin Donuts munching on my happy, little multi grain bagel, thinking about bunnies, ponytails and/or Scott Weiland, where from out of nowhere, your oscillating fountain will rapidly shoot gallons upon gallons of water into my path leaving me with no choice but to dive into the street head first, where I will then get pulverized by a Hyundai Accent and be left with one and half legs and a smushed face. All because you HAD TO tend to your stupid garden of shit that's only going to wither away come November. Fuckers.