Superior Lawn Care Tips (are not found in this post)

Ok, a new low in home-ownership has been achieved, and it has been achieved by me alone. This is my victory and you are merely a hanger-on, a witness to my descension. If you thought the bacteria I was breeding in the kitchen sink last month was impressive, you are more naive than I thought. No my friends, this milestone is on an entirely different level--and if you're patient, we will go behind the scenes and take an inside look.

Like all my stories, this one has a beginning, then I get distracted, and pretty soon, it's hard to even tell what I'm talking about. Nevertheless, I will start from the beginning. Not the beginning of the xbox era (circa 2001), but the beginning of my time in this house. I've never kept my yard in top-notch condition, but that's okay, because I don't care about it. To me, more important things must be accomplished in this life than raking up some leaves, then watching them fall, then raking them up, and if you are even marginally competent at pattern recognition, you would understand that the leaves are very incessant, and I hate them. Anyway, if you think it's tedious to read this post, which is apparently about leaves, think about how I feel when I don't ever rake them, but society wants me to. Luckily, there is a larger and more compelling issue at hand here, my lawn.

My lawn, which isn't exactly what you'd call "alive", has been on the wrong track for some time now. The shame of the neighborhood? Sure. Repugnant to look upon? That seems about right. Yet, in remission for the winter months, it is now attempting a comeback, in its sad little way. The distasteful thing, is that it somehow expects sympathy from me in its struggle for survival. Doing this whole martyrdom thing, like poor me, poor me, but in reality, I just wish it would die. I already know my neighbors hate me because of my lawn, I don't need to hear the individual blades of grass talking out loud in that weird voice. You know the one? No? I take it back, then. My point is, even though my lawn is still an ugly brown color, it's all tall again, and has taken on something of an arrogant tone with me. If lawns could be cocky, mine would be Tom Cruise.

So last night I return home, (Sidenote to the Ladies: I was increasing the size of my various muscle structures at the gym. My body is now very much reminiscent of a hard steel slab. Of steel. With pheromones emanating from it. Call me.), and can you guess what I saw? A totally mowed lawn. One of my neighbors had evidently seen enough, and took matters into his own hands. You might think I'd be pleased, but mostly, I was ashamed. I mean, that's kind of like having to drive your wife to some other guy's house when it's time for the lovemaking, because you can't get the job done. How humiliating would that be? I don't know. To this point I've only had to do that with girlfriends. But when I have a wife, I'm sure it will happen with her, too, because I can't even keep a lawn satisfied. And if you've been around a girl for more than 1 second, you know that girls are like 10 simultaneous lawns. With those jumping bean mines in the soil that hop up to waist level and then blow your intestines out.

But let's get back on track. Or rather, let me lay down ON the track, so the train can run me over and end this already. My lawn was mowed by another, and now I must take sleeping pills and submit to the eternal slumber. Good-bye.