 | And afternoon wood. Evening wood, even. Yes, it's the last month of summer and that means our thoughts turn to the acquisition of winter fuel. Preferably gratis. Midway through any given January we become obsessive chattering wood monkeys, always looking looking looking for the free stuff. To that end we have been depredating massive rounds of cypress and pinus felled by contractors in an extremely awkward place on public land before xmas. We have to get it over a chainlink fence, up a 45º hill, down the road and into the front yard by wheelbarrow, where we hit it with a log splitter and sledgehammer and stack it, in the hope it will be dry enough for winter. Because every last bit of timber that goes out of control for a millisecond crashes unerringly in one's shins and calves, an unbelievable number of highly impressive bruises mean our legs look like they died three weeks ago. And I was bitten by a fucking big spider yesterday. A few salient principles offset the tiresomeness of this protracted drudgery. |
For instance, we're not in Syria dodging barrel bombs and low-functioning excess males (how galling it must be that so many of them are imported, like there's ever a shortage of local fucktards) with automatic weapons and a sense of universal entitlement- just one of the many, many things that makes old-school manual labour feel like privilege.
Also, we're saving ourselves half a grand (firewood is ridiculously expensive here) with a free gym membership thrown in- all this force majeure is interval training like you wouldn't fucking believe.
Somebody get me a bloody Marvel franchise (but not with a Loki, or that Australian prefrontal lobeless-looking dipshit) because I can kick so much arse right now. With a sledgehammer. My left bewb could smack the shit out of ScarJo with one hand behind its back. I know she's only five-nothing and by all accounts something of a mouthbreathing dullard; I stand by that idle, vainglorious claim.
Somebody get me a bloody Marvel franchise (but not with a Loki, or that Australian prefrontal lobeless-looking dipshit) because I can kick so much arse right now. With a sledgehammer. My left bewb could smack the shit out of ScarJo with one hand behind its back. I know she's only five-nothing and by all accounts something of a mouthbreathing dullard; I stand by that idle, vainglorious claim.
Hard work doesn't make you free, obviously, but we both decided quite a long time ago that we'd rather shovel shit than eat it, to be perfectly frank. Better to be farting on the meringues than paying someone else to dump them on your plate.
< In other news, the domestic potato harvest was pretty shitty (as predicted), with the Purple Hearts dwarfing the other layabout varieties, who might as well have been wearing stained velour trackpants and picking their noses with Grand Theft Auto on pause while their phone vibrates against their genitalia unbeknownst to anyone else in the room instead of leading productive lives.
Exotic potatoes. I know they're going to be the highlight of February 2015 and it's only the 16th, for fuck's sake. Which is probably why I'm this fucking chatty so early in the week.
Groove Armada. Hate the name, only like 2 songs. This one's for drying dishes and chopping wood.
< In other news, the domestic potato harvest was pretty shitty (as predicted), with the Purple Hearts dwarfing the other layabout varieties, who might as well have been wearing stained velour trackpants and picking their noses with Grand Theft Auto on pause while their phone vibrates against their genitalia unbeknownst to anyone else in the room instead of leading productive lives.
Exotic potatoes. I know they're going to be the highlight of February 2015 and it's only the 16th, for fuck's sake. Which is probably why I'm this fucking chatty so early in the week.
Groove Armada. Hate the name, only like 2 songs. This one's for drying dishes and chopping wood.
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