This goddam lady needs to get out of here. I swear, if she says one more word about my plants, I’ll break a pot over her face! I’ll push her headlong into a mirror without even batting an eye! I’m about to explode here! I am about to shit myself.
This tramp walks in here — uninvited! — then goes on to give this unsolicited advice about how I keep my plants. It’s my own goddam business. I can shove ‘em straight up my ass if I want to! As long as it’s not in front of people, why should they care?!
She gets on this tirade about the “best ways” to water, ways to tell when they’re dry, and how plants shouldn’t have tap water because of the minerals or some horseshit. I’m so sick of this crap!!
“Of course, some people view calcium deposits on terra cotta as a sort of sign of distinction.” What the hell are you talking about?! Why are you even here?! What did I do to receive this kind of treatment? ‘Cause if I knew, I would get down on my knees and repent right now. Holy crap.
Look, just ‘cause you’re a woman, doesn’t mean you know more about plants than me, you stupid skank. Men can know about gardening just as well as you, just as well as that douche down the street with the rhododendrons (or whatever he drones on about every time I get my mail), just as much as anyone! So give it a rest! I’m about to put your head through my windshield, lady! I’m about to lay into you like a side of beef.
I’m just tired of it. Leave me the hell alone. Don’t worry about stuff that’s not yours to worry about. Give me a goddam break!!
by Abraham “Able Abe” Aenstograafik | Residential Life Magazine