The Cursed Orange Ant's Challenge Of Death

Oh lordy my garden is a disaster area. Its a mess. I cannot believe it.
One year of partial neglect is all it took and I've got freaking giant buttercups with crowns as big around as my wrist everywhere.

Val, the woman with the most gorgeous garden in town stopped by the other day and wanted to take a wander around, so we did, and I was appalled, and so was she. We are good enough friends that there isn't any competition, but she's a woman that knows her stuff. Her yard should be in a gardening book; its that gorgeous and tasteful. And here's mine with last years' old stems all sticking up and tufts of grass like discarded fright wigs all over the place.
Time for Danger Muk to spring into action.

I did my first real mowing of the year yesterday. This means that after a few high mowings I finally set the deck down and give the grass a good shearing. That leaves a lot of raking to be done; fine. (Thats the only raking it will get until probably late June-I mulch.) Then I started in weeding my largest streetside front bed. Oh Christ. Monster dandelions and canary grass and aw fuck, y'all.

I decided to run the mower over this stuff so that I could rake it all up together and put it all into the compost immediately and not have to worry about having it grow.
Which stalled out the mower. Repeatedly.
There I was fighting with the mower in front of God and everyone as the manure tankers went blasting past, cursing at the mower, tugging on the mower, cleaning out the chute, running the starter, dicking with the choke, getting covered with green yechh, this is such a genteel and ladylike hobby; gardening.

Another thing I noticed ( as did half the rural population of Whatcom County) is that there parts of me in vigorous jiggerous action as the mower chugs along that hithero have not been. I hesitate to imagine what this much look like as I whiz around my bumpy yard on the second highest speed setting. I've always been bountifully boobed...but I've never had those flubby hip dojobbies before and I've never had a bottom at all. It's always been a straight run down the back from the shoulderblades to the calves. Now, suddenly, I have an ass. And it feels STRANGE. It wibbles. I have never felt this before. I keep stopping in the supermarket and looking around like a farting dog.

Am I painting too vivid a picture here?

Well, nothing is going to get the lard off me like gardening will, and I'll get a tan, too.
So thats my weekend all lined out.

this one fo my bitch CB: HE'S ALIVE!!! and filming turtle porn!

I was given a request. Adam and Eve and the fall and all that. Here it all is pretty much in a nutshell...
One day in the bonsai forest, a mysterious french gothic structure appeared. Its' purpose was unclear. A tree-dwelling herpmaid provided tennis balls to a pregnant naked woman, who attempted to make Perspective Butt Guy eat them. "Here", she said, despite his warding gesture " Eat this before I bonk you with it." A man in a blue bathrobe demostrated elocution. Then something big and red with way more wings than were entirely necessary admonished them through a french gothic gate while they clutched fig leaves to their groinal regions and looked as bemused by the whole experience as I am. Perhaps because they had suddenly found themselves standing in the middle of a prarie dog village.

Ok fine. I'll tell it right. God creates the world. Then he creates things to run around on the world. Then he creates Adam. I guess kind of to be the boss of things and rake up the leaves and pick up poo and whatnot. Heres Adam:

Now see, he looks like a ready for anything kinda guy, right?

(This is NOT DENDROPHILIA. This is a bible story. Maybe Eden was really breezy or he had shrinkage issues. Don't judge. You don't know him.)

He lived in this great garden that God had made full of animals and every kind of plant, and oceans and whales and leviathans and stuff they don't even have anymore.
Heres Eden:
No, thats not Eden. I know the caption says it is, but it isn't. Like I am so sure they had folding lawn chairs in Eden. Ha! I say. You could just sit on the grass. There weren't any fire ants or ticks or poky grass or sticks or anything like that.
Although if you look really really hard you will notice that a lot of the people in this picture are kind of naked. Bermuda shorts lady? That ain't no bandeau. Airbrush. Yup.





Ok, this is a little closer. See what I mean by biodiversity back then? Lambs, German Shepards, Liono Thundercat, an aurochs, colonial children, miniature asiatic waiters and riparian Quakers. And a canoe.





Now this is just stupid. The name of this is "Garden of Eden' but theres way too many people there, folks. And NO FURNITURE; HELLO!
Please tell me whats going on in the corner there on the lower right? You have a man in a corset hiding a dead cat behind him, who is to all appearances just flat boring the crap out of an angel. Yeah: shes heard it aaaaall before.


God decided to create a companion for Adam; Eve.


Eve: "Listen, thanks, God. You have no idea what it was like in there. I mean, the guys been a vegetarian his whole life, do you UNDERSTAND what I'm getting at here?"

There is something so self-satisfied, so arch, so sneering about the way Klimt portrayed his women. You see here no exception. Ladies and gentlemen, I present Aryan Eve. Just the way God would have made her...naiive, blonde and virginal: yes, she's the PERFECT woman, is our Eve.

Grrrrr.










Anyway, they had a nice life, Adam And Eve. He kept an eye on the llamas while Eve grilled up vegetables on the barbecue.

"Hey look! Here comes Raphael! He tells the best stories. Funny, funny guy."
"Yeah, funny how he's always in time for dinner. Goes through the Gardenburgers like Linda McCartney too."

When all the chores were done they would merrily romp through the poppy fields, tend the cannibis plot, prune the datura forest and harvestthe magic mushroom lawn, then race each other across the vodka lake.

All that activity makes a person hungry.

And the hamburger tree had been picked clean by javelinas.

" Why not have a nice refreshing Apple", said the representative from the Wenatchee Valley Apple Growers Association.

Ha ha, no, I mean the serpent. The SERPENT told Eve. Eve told Adam. Both of them had a nice refreshing apple.

And a strategically placed branch.

And boy oh boy. God was not pleased.

The angels were not pleased.

The flying baby heads were not pleased.

"It was her, man, I swear it. She made me do it. Totally. It was her idea. I mean, I was just sitting there and she completely made me eat that, that, I don't even know what it was even. She just crammed it in my mouth and then started forcing me to chew. Yeah, and then she did that finger thing on my neck, you know? like how you make a dog swallow a pill? and I had to swallow it. I had no choice! I'm not lying! I swear! May God strike me dead if...um.

"...Yeah, well, fine. Just kick us out. But what about that other lady? Does she have to go too? I bet she gets to stay. unFAIR"

God had no answer for this, and so this exchange appears nowhere in the bible. Well, and because it never happened. Because it was a serpent, not a lady, and not even Adam and Eve were that damned dumb.
Who was this mystery woman?
Ask any medieval monk. He'll be MORE THAN HAPPY to tell you.
Whoops! Too late! They're all DEAD!
Too BAD.




All right, get marching. No you cannot take your pajamas. Listen, I am not joking around here.

"You know, don't make me whack you with this. Because I will do it. Honestly. You do not want to piss off a flying person with a sword. You think I'll get in trouble? Because I so will not. Dare me. Come on."

And this is how it ends, pretty much:

The Evil Blue Buffalo Sets A Trap

My father-in-law, The playboy of the western world is coming home from the nursing facility today. I found a qualified caregiver who suits him, and that was a huge victory, let me tell you. And I did it all myself! Dang!

Spoiling this victory somewhat is that the final decision was put off until the last possible minute, so now I can't get ahold of the woman, and somebody else had to volunteer for Playboy-sitting duty as a result.

Between the yummy biker and his father you have a condition of avoidance that rivals the effect of heroin. Now I don't mean to say that these are inneffectual men; that they are most certainly not. What it is , is they both come from that german school of 'discussing money is not very nice.' Similarly, needing assistance in making important decisions is also not very nice and constitutes an imposition, and rather fall down a flight of stairs and starve to death in pain rather than impose, oh my God.

Now, I do not have this problem with the Playboy. We talk, and I make repeated stabs at the issue in question until I get a solid yes or no answer, then I make arrangements. When my husband or any of the Playboys' older buddies get in on the issue it becomes something on the order of the Marriage of fucking Figaro-four hours of yodelling with nothing to show for it but a sore ass. (That came out wrong but I'm leaving it in.) There were five people in on the interview of the caregiver, for example. Me, the yummy biker, the estate administrator, some painter guy with a tupperware container full of cheese that he kept passing around, and the playboy of the western world. and two orderlies who kept popping in to flirt. and the playboy's roomate, a drooly man in a wheelchair who watched these proceedings with evident amusement. and various nurses aides.

Yeah.

I gave up and let the poor woman take it all in, because it certainly represented a Taste of Things to Come. To her credit, she held up well. Of course now that doesn't matter because she could be in freaking Istanbul weaving goat fur into MiG parts or something for all I know.
But goddammit, I did my part. And I did it exceedingly well.

Some years ago this would have infuriated me, and I would have gone off on multiple rants about MEN and RESPONSIBILITY and THINGS ARE ONLY MADE WORSE THE LONGER YOU DITHER and like that. And I would have leapt right into the middle of this situation with full combat gear and the pin of a grenade clenched between my lovely straight teeth and TAKEN OVER FOR THESE INCOMPETENTS and FIXED EVERYTHING. And done it well, and pissed everyone off.

But you know what? Fuck 'em. There aren't any issues of diminished capacity here. I've done my part. If the playboy of the western world wants to die halfway between the dvd player and the couch with a copy of 'Back Entrance, Please' clutched in his hand because he forgot once again that he can't stand up fast, well thats his damn choice.

Yes, I'm worried. That never stops.





UPDATE!!
a super secret eyes only private message for frobisher:
regardez your email......
this could be the start of something big, baby.

hey jude

I went looking for pictures of women named Mary, as I've said. And you've seen what happened when my brain got all in a bunch and I typed in 'hairy' instead of 'Mary'.
But damn; it was such a great idea that I really put some effort into recapturing it; and so the search was once again on.
There are some really nasty women named Mary out there, ladies and gentlemen.
Returning to the search for Marys-sounds like an evening on Castro Street, doesn't it?-I continued to come up no tits on the images I wanted no matter what search engines I tried. But what I did come up with, in spades?
The Story Of Judith and Holofernes.
Now to my recollection there is nobody named Mary in the story of Judith and Holofernes. Judith and Holofernes is the story of how one of the few women in the entire Bible who wasn't a complete throw pillow defeated an enemy of her people; she went to his tent, got him completely passed out drunk and then took his sword, hacked his head off and brought it back to show the folks at home. Anyway, since I was having absolutely no luck with the whole 'Mary' thing, I decided 'Well, when life hands you a severed head, make lemonade.'
These pictures fall into distinct categories, I found. But before I get started on that, just to let the gentlemen know that I love them all (call me) heres a good solid shot for your team:

'Ha ha!!! Take that, Julia Louise Dreyfuss! Seinfeld sucked!!! Haahahahahahaha!!!!"

Ok. Like I was saying, the pictures of the Judith and Holefernes story tend to fall into categories-comtemplation of the deed, the act itself, and the aftermath. Within these categories are some distinct subsets: eww, bigass head, and nice fish.

CONTEMPLATION OF THE DEED:
" Half a bottle and you're passed out like a little bitch? Man, my uncle Methuselah is like 310 and he blows through the vino like it's Koolaid. What a puke. If I didn't have to do this I'd just walk right out of here. I mean it. "

Judith: I know this is going to be really disgusting and gross and sick, God, and I'm probably going to barf everywhere and probably cry and get hysterical, and totally just lose it and freak out, God, and maybe faint and..." Servant: Oh SUCK it UP already.

THE DIRTY DEED IS DONE:

...For all the distress it seems to be causing her, Judith may as well be slicing a hunk off a salami. Meanwhile, the servant holding the candle obviously does not like this man at all; while Judith saws away she's dripping hot wax on the guy.


Old Testament CSI. Notice the blood spray? You take a couple hacks at a guys jugular and you bet theres gonna be some damn blood. Judith is mildly distressed by this, but she has obviously given some throught to the act and is keeping her nice blouse clean. The servant is ready with a bag. Holofernes is reacting about how you'd expect a drunk to act while his head is being severed...'Wha' th'FUCK, man, I uaaaaaghlllak, gurglegurgleackgagsplut" My nomination for best picture of the bunch.

THE AFTERMATH
Subset: eew
Subset: bigass head

Judith: " Yeah, mess with the Jews NOW, Holofernes.
Thats RIGHT. You CAN'T. Know why? Because I cut off your huge stupid HEAD, you stupid bastard."
Servant: "EEEEEew! His hairs' dirty! "

Goya knew his women.

" Did I mess up my hair? Really. Look at my hair. Is it coming undone in back? Because it feels like its coming undone in back. Just take a look."
"Judith, your hair is fine. Honest to God. Theres like one little piece coming out but thats it. It looks good. Really. It's cute. It's like that 'Belle Sauvage' look."
" Oh God, I have eighties hair? Are you kidding? I have eighties hair now? Well thats just great."

"Oh just DO something with it."

" Hey. Come here. You wanna see something really sick?
It's a head. A cut off head. Come check it out.
You want to touch it? You can if you want. It's still warm.
Lookit...I can make him talk. 'Would you like a sandwich Holofernes?'
Uh huh, Uh, huh...see, he's saying yes. Lookit his tongue. "

I found at least five pictures chronicling Holofernes' hydrocephalic melon but this one takes the cake.
This is one bigass head.
Poor Judith and her servant seem to be about the size of first graders. Holofernes legs are like fricken telephone poles with feet.








You cannot tell me that this painting is about anything else than sweater steaks. You see how they reflect the glow given off by Judith's elbow? These, the painter is saying, are the boobs of an angel.
Servant" Damn, Judith, that is one bigass head. Lookit this thing; its like a watermelon with a nose! "








See, this plumb eludes me. My search returned 45 pages and here this was on page 24.




Aftermath subset: nice fish
bait: silver daredevil on 20lb. test

"My God," thought Judith's servant "I've known her since she was a little child...but I never really knew her at all until now."

One of the very few Judiths who manage to look the least bit Middle Eastern. She has a great attitude.
"Hell yes it's a head. I cut it off, too. Damn right."




So, I was walking down the road, right, and I see this chick with something over her shoulder? So I stop, you know because I want to be friendly, and I said 'Would you like some help with that?' But then I saw that it's a sword, right? Anyway, so she looks at me and, you know, she seems nice, she smiles and says "No thanks, I've got it" and that's when I look down and see, like, I thought she was carrying one of those wooly 'Sixties-type purses, like that vest that Sonny Bono used to wear? Except its not, man. It was a fuckin little head.
A guy's head.
A real one.
Dude, I booked.

See, this is just wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
First we have this gross, gross woman who's grossness defeats all attempts at description, who TOOK OFF HER SHOE to oog her TOES around on the face of this decapitated head
Next we have Queen Elizabeths Hat woman displaying her prizewinning entry...taken on natural bait using a split cane pole and silk line.
Fianlly we have Julia Child and her blue ribbon entree', taken with a #6 brass spoon on a treble hook.

"I don't want to carry the head anymore. You carry the head. Come on. Please?"

"Hey, I'm not the servant here; you are. You carry the head."

"But the head stinks."

"So? It's a warm day. It's not a basket of roses, it's a head."

"But it's heavy. And it's leaking down my back."

" Oh right, and now I'm going to carry it after you just said that?"

" Oh come on. carry the head, please?"

"All right, yes, we said bring the thing back but I thought you'd have enough sense not to go waving it in peoples faces like a Hermes bag. Now look at poor Rabbi Jackman; he's passed out. For the love of Mike, Judith, you know the man has a heart condition."

"I got a head! A dead ol head! A head on a Stick! A pointy ol stick! I can make this head twiiiiirl like a propeller! Whee!
Hey Mr. Head, lets go look over this hedge! What do you see? oh, I see a girl sitting on a bench! Oh wow, Mr. Head!
Lets look through this second story window! What do you see? oh, I see a lady screaming! Oh wow, Mr. Head!
I can wave! this! head! Back! and! forth! Like! a! flag! Back! and! forth! Like! a! f...whoopsie...."