My neighbors on both sides seem to be farming dandelions.  They have to be, as there is no other explanation of how every square inch of their yards are covered with the cancerous weed.  Is there some sort of market for them that I am oblivious to? I don’t think it would be too neighborly of me to mow their yards or spray gallons of Round Up or burn their grass from sidewalk to steps so that they can start over…  No, that might be seen as pushy/controlling/crazy and there might be some legal/state mental hospital sort of repercussions.  I am going to have to just keep weeding and patrolling Casa d’ Talley and let the neighbors cultivate what they will – even if it does eventually drive me insane.

I hate Dandelions – HATE!  Seeing one of the little bastards pop up in my yard is like finding a zit on prom night, a dent in a new car, or balls on your hot new girlfriend.  I take it is as a personal affront when one of their little flowers spring open within the boundary of my fence.  They don’t try to hide under the hedge or behind a rhododendron, oh no, the fvckers make sure to sprout right at the gate or next to the steps where they know it will affect me the most – sacrificing one of their brethren Taraxacum officinal in hope that I get so pissed that my blood pressure pops a vain and I keel over in the yard, my last sight being their spiky green leaves.  I know in my heart of hearts that when I pass from this earth there is a good chance that my own personal Hell will have be carpeted with them and there will be a significant populations of soul eating pigeons as well.

I am going to formally change my address to “The house with the red door marooned in a continent of dandelions, Seattle, WA, 98XXX.”  Fvcking weeds!