Why do you insist upon mowing your fucking lawn at 8 AM? At least once a week I wake up to hear your lawnmower revving away right outside my fucking window. Your whole lawn is shaded by your house and that huge tree, so I have to hear you stall the thing at least 12 times. Here’s an idea…. WAIT UNTIL YOUR FUCKING LAWN IS DRY BEFORE YOU MOW IT!!!!!!!!! I get home from work at 4 AM only to awaken hours later to the sound of a weedwacker coming from next door. Closing the windows doesn’t help. Putting the pillow over my head doesn’t work. You could probably hear your mower in space.
Your lawn looks like ass anyway. Why even mow the damn thing? The potted plants you bought in May are still sitting, unplanted of course, in their original resting place, which appears to be a framed horseshoe pit in the center of your yard. There are a couple of oversized, azure synthetic drums out there that accent the always stylish, black rubber indoor/outdoor mats that tastefully adorn your back porch. For the love of God! The place looks like it belongs in Gummo. The only thing missing is a trailer, four screaming brats, a car up on cinder blocks and a couple mangy animals. If I had enough Round-Up, I would turn the thing into a sandlot myself to save you the trouble when you finally come to your senses and make the switch.
I can’t stand you. I can’t stand your lawnmower. I can’t stand your shitty old man tattoo that looks like a vulture from afar. I can’t stand the way you push around your stalling lawnmower over your wet grass while wearing Jack Daniels pajama pants at 8 in the morning. The last thing I need to see after four hours of sleep is some random old guy next door mowing his lawn without underwear.
I detest you. If I had a dog, I would let it into your lawn to shit.