The Landscaper's Folly
Once again, a beautiful Alaskan sunny day, and a good time to cut
the overgrown grass in the yard, as I have the day off. I put my
headphones on, in order to hear my Spanish lessons, over the noise
of the edge trimmer. (Is that wrong, or am I just discovering another
career path? Okay, a career path.) I fire up the weed whacker, and
head toward the taller grass on the knoll by the fence, only to
encounter something more unbelievable than JFK's second gunman.
It was a steaming pile of dog poop at the base of the 1.5 foot tall
patch of grass. Too late, because it just sprayed all over my legs,
glasses, and probably in my hair, like it was an ad for a late-night
My Dad always said, "And Keep your mouth shut!" Well, now it
was finally applicable. And who Sh!ts in the tall grass, other than
lions and snipers? You would think that it would tickle.
History repeats itself, so I press onward. At that point, I just don't
care anymore, because I know that the Lady selling makeup walking
by, ain't coming through La Puerta anytime soon, after watching my
scent sense. At least I was wearing a shirt, because I don't look like
Hugh Jackman. I feel more like a scarecrow, soiled by birds, named
Jack Human. I am also thankful that I was wearing clean underwear.
From the fallout,
"Live each day as if it was your laughs." - - R. Machismo
|Sample of Chapter 14) Alaska