Menstrual Mondays – Hell grows Buffalo grass
So, being too busy to wipe my own ass has meant the Ginge Cave has been in a total state of disrepair lately. Luckily, being back home again has allowed the great cleansing to begin. So far I’ve managed to get the desk clear, the kitchen table is visible again, and I’m able to walk into my room again without needing a tetnus shot.
Unfortunately, our last house inspection was evidence that a tidy living shelter isn’t sufficient to appease the rental overlords – apparently the “garden” needs to be better “maintained” so the place “doesn’t look like a refugee camp”. Bullshit, it’s fashionable.
East African Refugee Camps -This Summer’s must-have addition to your home’s outdoor furniture
However threatened with the disapproving looks from little sour old ladies with nothing left in their lives that they reduced themselves to becoming rental inspectors; the decision was made to try and get the jungle in the front yard sorted out.
Alas I live with an arts and two science students – unless we had a research grant to develop a new biological weapon that selectively eradicates noxious plant species and/or lovable pet hamsters, or were planning a series of lectures on how maintaining a home garden violates the post-modern principles of anti-racist mathematics, the great Ginger one would have to shoulder this burden alone.
So in an act of selfless charity (or possibly because I’m the only one in the house who knows how to use a whipper-snipper), I became -
Possibly the worst film ever made by anyone, ever……. right after Glitter
And taming these beasties means armouring up: combat boots, heavy duty pants, safety glasses, ear muffs, bullet proof vest, the fur of an endangered rhino – the usual. Managed to slip the headphones in past the ear muffs and the mime pants I was wearing on my head, so I could slaughter weeds while rocking out to some QOTSA. Then steeled against the threat of tiny flying chunks of wet grass, I began the great lawn cleansing.
Totally better prepared than this hippyEver wonder why people piss and moan about mowing the lawn? Why they make shitty jokes like “I wish my grass was emo, so it would cut itself”?
After two hours of swinging backwards and forwards on the end of the spinning death stick, the place finally looked habitable from the outside. I walked back inside looking like a fucking green yeti, covered in grass clippings. Don’t ask me to mow your lawn, don’t ask me to refuel your whipper snipper, don’t even talk to me about gardening – after today, I wish Peter Cundall was dead.
Oh, and from now on I’ll be taking the “A-10″ approach to gardening……..
Gardening with the US airforce – fast, efficient and burny
There are 1 Comments to "Menstrual Mondays – Hell grows Buffalo grass"
I’m the only one at mums house who knows how to use a whipper snipper.
I was using dads one day when the joint between the spinny death rope head and the long arm/kneck just decided to beak and suddenly i had a not-so-nice spinning top running around the lawn with death rope chopping into things. Luckily it ran off in the other direction!
So then I went and spent 199 bucks at Bunnings and got a whipper snipper that was built since the turn of the century and it hasn’t tried to kill me – yet.