Despite the fact that I live in a dusty hovel, burrowing ‘mole people’ like myself will never find a
good career path in gardening. Oh sure at our local bum-slumber parties, I can
dish the dirt with the best of them, or carry my share of the water after a
couple of Big Gulps. But sadly, the only way my thumb and other assorted fat n’ hairy
parts will ever turn green is if I DYE ‘em and go to necrosis heaven.
Since I used to help grow and manage plants, ‘Produce’ has
always been in my vocabulary, except in all truthfulness, those places were of
the mechanized variety rather than the organic. As far as floral arrangements, veggies, and
shrubs go though, no matter how hard I’ve tried to learn PISTIL shooting I have
never been good in flower beds. Sadly, even the worms won’t trust me with their
silk plants or sheets until I pony up a capful of Mulberry wine as a worthy bribe
for their time and attention.
You see when I was a kid, my Hillbilly parents’ bad JEANS along
with those silver spoons they gave me as a rattle, obviously made me allergic
to four letter dirty words like ‘hard’, ‘yard’, & ‘work’. Clearly my nicknames of ‘Bull’ and ‘Dozer’,
have more to do with how I lie and snore since making the earth move has never been
my strong suit. I guess I need to call a spade a spayed and accept that regardless
of how many blisters I suffer from shoveling, I’ll never make it as a good
gardener, politician, or veterinarian.
Yeah, digging holes should be left to picky professionals
like nature’s woodpeckers and those brawny top-drawer landscapers with hemorrhoids.
Tan-less larvae like me have an obligation to step-up and make our own sacrifices
for society by testing soft recliners, cool air conditioning, and sweet tea - right? So what if I’m not ‘earthy’ and my
only groundbreaking achievement is pulverizing concrete when I walk across it? At
least this way I can still CRACK something up without trying to be somebody
that I’m not, like a funny crash test dummy or a belt-less portly plumber!
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