Cutting Grass like a Mofo

There has to be a better way.

Grass at the compound has exceeded five feet in spots. The mower can hardly keep up. The unforeseen carnage happening under the mower's deck, as the blades spin, hacking grass and all the life taking refuge in it, is unimaginable.

Numerous toads, spiders, crickets, grasshoppers, ticks, and the unseen try to escape the whirring sound of impending destruction. To the unaided eye, I am simply cutting grass, but to the environmentalist fag, I am committing mass genocide. It is sickening to most, when viewed in detail, but to me, the grass must be cut, so I cut it, and cut it well.

As I write this, Beck's "Fighting for a lost cause" is playing in the background. Must be a coincidence. I dedicate that song to all the creatures below the blades.

I wonder how many things are killed throughout the day as a human simply goes about their day? All the bugs splattered and flattened just by driving a car down the street is probably quite a large number, but mowing down a ten acre field of several foot high grass has to be a staggering number. If only a bug's screams were audible.

After all that cutting, I now realize I need a lawn sweeper. There is so much cut grass remaining in the yard, it is possible it might smother the living grass below it, not to mention the surviving bugs.

This is the lamest post I think I have ever written.

Next time maybe I will write about the joys of taking a shit.

I bet you can't wait ...