Weeds have invaded Paradise this wintry evening. Prickly weeds, those kinds with the fine hairs that get up under your skin and sting and itch like hell. Not much you can do about the sting and itch but wait it out and in the meantime, irritability and annoyance become dominant personality traits. Ahem- extreme irritability and annoyance. Common sense might dictate I should wear gloves but seriously, does everything need to be handled with kid gloves? In ordinary circumstances I’d be using a Ryobi gas-powered weed-whacker; get the suckers cut down quick, spray some weed killer, BAM (!), we’re done.

No, we have to consider somebody else’s witty-bitty feelings and pull those damn weeds by hand.


There comes a point when you have to wonder if it might not be time to reconsider gardening altogether. Call in the cement mixer and pour one huge-ass patio. There are all these words flying around and none of them are pretty: wtf? F-you, kiss my a-, I wanna d-, fine, fine, F-you… It’s like being on a carousel of sound; the words go up and down and round and round but nothing changes. Until someone finally gets off. Too drastic? Just need to work on it, get a hobby and/or take a vacation? If I reply I might ruin more ideas of Paradise than I already have.

My Paradise– my two plastic orange palm trees, a six-pack of near-beer and a couple of little paper umbrellas– is but a shadow of what it once was and it wasn’t exactly seeing a whole lot of sunlight from the get-go. And I have no problems rollin’ up my sleeves and mucking in when necessary. But there is this; it takes two to do a lot of crap. Such as plant weeds, whack the shit out of them, pour concrete and get a goddam hobby!

I’m just getting started.

What about the passive-aggressive, cold-shoulder BS? So sorry if my confrontational attitude offends someone’s sensibilities but the clock’s a tickin’ and dontcha think 2 weeks is a bit excessive? I know the term ball buster and I’m guilty of being one on any number of occasions but hey! How about man up? It can’t be that difficult. You are one.

The whole bitter thing might come into question right about now. It shouldn’t come into question at all. Bitter is like a box of 87% Cocoa chocolate, works for some; others gag and spit it out. It’s all in how you spin it. I haven’t worn anything even remotely rose-tinted in a long time but I’m downright wicked in fire engine red… where is the bitterness in that? No, bitter is one of those words that make me roll my eyes or wrinkle my nose in disdain. A LOT of relationship words do that. Utter hogwash for the most part, cop-out for the other. I repeat- COP. OUT.

Mixing Metaphors

Insert your favorite “testicle” phrase here. Really, if people would just grab on to the ones they have in reassurance or grow a metaphorical pair and OWN their actions and reactions then, damn, think what might be accomplished! But it ain’t gonna happen. Not until Hell freezes over, the geo-magnetic poles shift and they find liquid water and life still kicking it on the Moon. And remember that phrase be careful what you wish for? Sometimes that will come back, bite you in the ass and haunt you for the rest of your life. I’m sayin’ even if you only wish it to yourself. There are little birdies everywhere and, unless you can literally trust them with your life in a knife fight, I wouldn’t bet the bank on what you’re doing or two words of what you’re saying not making its way down the party line.

Are we at Stalemate? King to King and neither Bishop can outflank the other to bring back a Queen? How about we try this one instead since I’m over all the weedy bullshit already—get your head out of your ass dumbf-!

The waves are all gnarly in Paradise tonight. And I’m pissed off.


7 thoughts on “PISSED OFF IN PARADISE: #1

  1. I hate to garden. I just let it look scary and bad until I can convince someone to work on it for me. That doesn’t really work so then I pay someone.

    Big hairy balls. Nothing like the ones that were so big they moved from between my legs and up to my chest.

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