It's a planned event. There's no escaping it. Now is the time. Today is the day.  I've put on an old t-shirt, jeans, and boots in preparation. Lets poison some weeds. I go outside, stand on the decking, stretch, and have a final look around before I kill everything. I go to the shed and look around for my old faithful bottle of roundup. I've become pretty accustomed to using roundup. I know exactly how much is required to accomplish  the desired effect, but where is it?? Shit!! I can't find it. Shit!!! Now I remember. It's all gone. I used it up in the last garden conquest. 

Then I remember about the 4 litre container in the corner. I'm not sure about this one. It was left here by the landlord and looks to be a more industrial poison. Something used more by farmers than gardening illiterates. Meh. Reading the bottle I find an instruction that says "See mixture ratios in booklet attached". I guess that little booklet was originally attached somewhere near that big tear line. Looks like I'll have to wing it. What could go wrong?

She's all mixed up and ready to go. I walk to the fence line and observe the mess in front of me. Oh boy are you going to cop it. In my mind I can hear the tiny screams of fear being emitted from my soon to be victims. As I look down the fence line I swear that I see some greenery already browning off in anticipation of the vegetation domination that's about to take place.

I work my way around the yard with my wand of destruction. Indiscriminately striking at all that's in my way. Like He-Man (and in a reference that will only be understood by people between the ages of may 30 to 40 years of age) I HAVE THE POOOWAAAH!!!! 

I pause for a minute to get my bearings. Yep,it's all going well. I've had the occasional failure in delivery,but that's quickly been repaired with a quick re-fill. Not long now and it'll all be done. I feel a tingle develop in my lips. A slight buzzing that leaves me licking and pouting. "Probably not related, i'll continue spraying my agricultural grade herbicide".  

I go back to the decking where I started, and with another mighty stretch review my handiwork. The jobs done and I finish up. Even though I can't tell straight away I know that the yard is now a better place.......hopefully......depending on if I got the mixture right. 

© 2013 Dutchy's Stuff

This is the sort of rubbish I'm capable of. Lifted from an old Facebook status.

The idea comes up to see what's going on at the local club. My partner for the night (a female who is far to bubbly for this hour) and myself enter. A noise instantly pollutes the air. It's foul, it burns, and it makes me sick to my stomach. I draw a comparison to the time I ate an ass load of burritos and nearly died when I "dutch ovened" myself camping in my swag. Mother of god ........... it's One Direction.

The bubbly female partner begins a not so subtle dance in front of me, taunting me, all too aware that I'm already on the verge of loosing my shit. "STOP IT!!" My plea is acknowledged and complied with, but only temporarily enough to lull me into a short lived sense of satisfaction before she starts again ........... shit. 

We get to a point where we can observe the dance floor, and I mostly see what can only be expected when this sort of ........ noise, this ....... abomination of audible tones is painfully reverberated through the air. Young, drunk, rabid, females. All bopping together in some sort of brainless trance. But there is something else, something sinister, something worse, far worse.

It can't be. Please lord, help me from this evil. It's got the men as well. They're singing, and dancing. I smell the air in the hope that perhaps is some sort of gas leak. I look around praying to spot something that will excuse these, blokes(?) from their behaviour. Say it isn't so. Please don't have them doing this at their own will. But it's obvious from the look on their faces, and the enthusiasm they display that is voluntary.

My god, look at yourselves. You there, the guido with the tight top, gold bling and overly tanned skin, MAN UP!! You over there, in the flannel! Your a mullet away from the classic Aussie AC/DC yobo, but your meaningly pulling the air in front of your chest like your in a Rick Astley power ballad music video. I vomit a little in my mouth.

I'm frozen, horrified. I close my eyes momentarily in the hope that it's all a nightmare, and that I'll'll wake up safe and sound in front of the computer I was previously working on. I open them again, but there is no relief. It's obvious to me now. I realise what has happened. I look up towards the roof, but not at it. More through it, praying to god that I promise I'll do my best to behave and live and honest life more than ever from this moment on, because tonight, in this place, at this time, I've learnt what hell is.

© 2013 Dutchy's Stuff