Fuck your garden
Howdy, neighbor. How are things? Good to see you and the wife are still living with your mother. Why is that good? Oh, the guys and I down at the pub have got a bet going to see how long before you either move out or get a divorce. I heard some screaming coming from here last night, that was you guys, right? Cool, that's awesome.
Anyways, neighbor, I didn't come over here to check up on my sure thing. I came over here because I've quite honestly been a little pissed off at you lately. I know you have no idea why, so I'm going to fucking tell you, and you're going to listen, because that's what people who piss me off do. They listen. These are my rules. I make 'em.
It's about your back yard.[edit | edit source]
No, not your wife's back yard. Although I believe the term they're using nowadays is "back door" or some such. I don't fucking know. At any rate, believe me, there is nothing wrong with your wife's ass. In fact, I'd much rather your back yard consisted of nothing but a giant version of your wife's naked ass, protruding upwards from betwixt the fence posts, like some sort of surrealist bouncy-house or something. Your wife has a god damned fine ass. To be perfectly honest, your mother's ass isn't half bad either for a woman of her age. This is all beyond the point though.
I'm getting a little pissed off looking over into your yard with my binoculars every day and seeing that delicious fucking garden of yours, buddy. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. I know you put that garden there to spite me, you asshole. I know you fucking want me to look at your garden every waking moment in jealous agony. You know how much I love freshly grown vegetables, and you know that between my dead-end job at the 7-11 and my copious porn-watching I have no time or energy to grow a garden of my own, harvest the vegetables, and make delicious soups, salads, and savouries with them! God, what kind of asshole fucking grows anise in his home fucking garden, anyway? I'll tell you what kind of asshole. The kind that you are.
Potatoes![edit | edit source]
God! You've got like seventy pounds of fucking potatoes there! Are you going to eat all of those? If you don't, you know they're just gonna spoil, right? It's like you're just constantly taunting me by being such a careless, beer-loving asshole! God, I love your fucking garden, man! Why don't I have it?! WHY?!
How I long to sweetly caress the delicate stalks of that supple cilantro. To put it between my lips and just rub it back and forth before grinding it up and sprinkling it on my garlic bread mix, or minestrone or something! Fucking minestrone! God fucking dammit, you've probably got all of the ingredients in that garden, just waiting to be picked and sexually cooked into some nut-busting wonder-concoction! Man, I should punch you in the face just for growing fucking lentils back there! They're my god damned favorite and you have them right where I can see them from my bed. Asshole! God, I should rip your arms off and plant them in my fucking yard and grow a green-thumbed mutant plant-man or something! I don't know!
Would you take the dick out of your mouth for two seconds and think about this! You've got potatoes, basil, rosemary, twelve different kinds of peppers by my count...
FUCKING HONEYDEW MELONS![edit | edit source]
Are you a fucking sadist?! I'll kill you! I'll buy a fatally poisonous exotic snake, fly it over here at painstaking expense amidst probable legal turmoil, take it out of the box, bring it to your home, and then just to be an ass, I will tape up its mouth and strangle you with it! That's how I feel about your god damn honeydew melons. Man, I wish I could just fuck them! Can you do that for me? Can you give me one out of the poorly grown batch that are no larger than softballs, and just give it to me so that I can fuck it when I'm feeling lonely and gardenless? SOFTBALLS, man! God dammit, those are the perfect size to just open up and chow down into as individual servings or something, like grapefruits. NO! No, you can NOT fucking tell me that you have god damned grapefruits growing back there. Are they even in season? No. No, I'm pretty sure they aren't. Maybe I should rip off your dick, bury it in one of those out-of-season bastard grapefruits, crack your skull open, plant the dickfruit into your exposed fucking brain, and grow some sort of space-grown wonder-cock fruit! How would you like that, you fucking garden-loving green-thumbed cuckold! Do you have ANY idea how many Hawkwind albums I listened to before I got here?! Three! And that ain't no joke, buster. You can disappear in smoke!