- Peter Watson – God and Lawn Care
GOD to ST. FRANCIS :
Frank , You know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there on the planet? What happened to the dandelions, violets, milkweeds and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon.
The nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honey bees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colors by now. But, all I see are these green rectangles.
It’s the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites.
They started calling your flowers ‘weeds’ and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.
Grass? But, it’s so boring. It’s not colorful. It doesn’t attract butterflies, birds and bees; only grubs and worms. It’s sensitive to temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?
Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.
The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy.
Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it-sometimes twice a week.
They cut it? Do they then bale it like hay?
Not exactly, Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.
They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?
No, Sir, just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.
Now, let me get this straight. They fertilize grass so it will grow. And, when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?
These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.
You aren’t going to believe this, Lord. When the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it, so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.
What nonsense. At least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the
summer. In the autumn, they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. It’s a natural cycle of life.
You better sit down, Lord. The Suburbanites have drawn a new circle. As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.
No!? What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter to keep the soil moist and loose?
After throwing away the leaves, they go out and buy something which they call mulch. They haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves.
And where do they get this mulch?
They cut down trees and grind them up to make the mulch.
Enough! I don’t want to think about this anymore.
St. Catherine, you’re in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?
‘Dumb and Dumber’, Lord. It’s a story about…
Never mind, I think I just heard the whole story from St. Francis.
- Some essential New Year Reading
Peter Watson has kindly submitted a pointer to something we should all read. We should read this because it illustrates beautifully the ability of the bureaucratic mind to squander our tax pounds liberally to produce output that is utterly impenetrable to most reasonably literate anglophones.
Click on the image to download the full document (it is, as you might imagine, a big-ish download and you’ll need to click on it to view it once downloaded)
- Peter Watson – “What I seen in that there Lunnun”
Four old retired guys from Todenham are walking down a street in London. They turn a corner and see a sign that says, “Old Timer’s Bar – All drinks 10p.” They look at each other and then go in, thinking this is too good to be true.
The old bartender says in a voice that carries across the room, “Come on in and let me pour one for you! What’ll it be, gentlemen?”
There’s a fully stocked bar, so each of the men orders a pint of best bitter. In no time the bartender serves up four superb pints with perfect heads and says, “That’ll be 10p each, please.”
The four guys stare at the bartender for a moment, then at each other. They can’t believe their good luck. They pay the 40p, finish their pints, and order another round, this time large scotches with soda.
Four excellent scotches are produced in lovely cut-glass tumblers, with the bartender again saying, “That’s 40p, please.”
They pay the 40p, but their curiosity gets the better of them. They’ve each had two drinks and haven’t even spent a £1 yet.
Finally one of them says, “How can you afford to serve drinks as good as these for a 10p a piece?”
“I’m a retired tailor,” the bartender says, “and I always wanted to own a bar. Last year I won a Lottery Jackpot of £25 million and decided to open this place. Every drink costs 10p. wine, spirits, beer, it’s all the same.”
“Wow! That’s some story!” one of the men says.
As the four of them drink their scotches, they can’t help noticing seven other people at the far end of the bar who don’t have any drinks in front of them and haven’t ordered anything the whole time they’ve been there. Nodding at the group at the end of the bar, one of the men asks the bartender, “What’s with them?”
The bartender says, “They’re retired people from Great Wolford. They’re waiting for Happy Hour when drinks are half-price”Continue reading →