WTF, over? In all your infinite wisdom you never saw that falling leaves and friggin’ rain don’t mix?
OK. Leaves’re pretty on the trees. And I can kinda get into that Autumnal scent of fresh decay. I can even enjoy the crunch of them under my feet when I take a lazy Saturday jaunt through the park. But the key to enjoying your fallen leaves is – you may want to take a few notes here – they must be dry!
And you don’t just sprinkle a few drops on ‘em do you? Naw, that’s be too easy for the Chief, right? You gotta let a few leaves fall, add a drizzle overnight and – before they can dry the following day – let some more fall! Hey, jerky, whaddabout giving me a day to square away the lawn before you start over? But no, you continue – f-ing rain, f-ing leaves, f-ing rain, f-ing leaves – over the next several days until there is a solid, multi-ply mat of leaves incapable of being raked or blown! And then you spin up the wife for good measure! You must be really yucking it up with the Seraphim, eh?
And I don’t see you fixing this mess any time soon, either. And that’s why I’m writing. How about you coming down off that high-horse of yours Saturday and cleaning off my lawn before the township makes their single annual appearance to pick ‘em up? Hell, you sent your Son to die for our sins, how about sending him back to help rake a few leaves?! I’ll expect him no later 11 a.m., there’s football on at 1, as you well know!
Oh, I see through your little sham, you fuckwad. Made a side bet with St. Peter about how many years my brand-new, Black and Decker leaf blower will sit idle in the garage, did ya? Big man aren’t you? What’re you still pissed off at the Communion wafer incident of 1973? Well, “Waa-fuckin’-waa!” Grow up, get a life and fix this shit now!
How about no rain in the fall? That’d work wouldn’t it? What, the big ol’ dunder-headed Creator of Heaven and Earth couldn’t figure that out?
This is the last year I tolerate this shit, oh great and omnipitant cretin! You have 1 – count it – 1 week to fix this, you swollen, puss-filled wildebeast vaginal canker! You better shape up or – so help me You – you won’t be seeing another six-day work week for the next millennium!
p.s. – And you had better hop to it, too. I’m sure we’ll be having a little discussion about half-melted snow and overnight freezes here in a couple of weeks.