I hate you, pine straw. I hate everything about your stupid brown desiccated body and that dumb banana stem imitation thing you have at the top of you. People think you look good in flower beds and whatnot but I know that all you do is welcome bugs and weeds. I hope you enjoy the multitude of bug poops that must certainly tumble in your gross midst.
If trees could walk and talk and wear suits, do you think they would go around to barber shops and collect human hair and then dress up their flower beds with it? No, they wouldn’t. First of all, trees are noble, and secondly that is disgusting. Who knows when the last time that hair was washed?
Well, I ask you, pine straw, when was the last time you were washed? Probably sometime on the north side of never. Probably the same day I went cartwheeling down Peachtree Street in a thong made from Sasquatch fur and unicorn nipples. Remember when that was? Well it was never, because unicorns do not have nipples.
You may think you have won an important victory because of the “beautification project” taking place around my apartment building. Some areas that were formerly grass are now covered in you. There’s also some form of dour, industrial green plant sprouting through at regular intervals, and I think they are the plant world’s version of government bureaucrats. Yeah that’s right, plants, you’re on my list too.
This marks the second time that pine straw has been liberally applied to the property. The first time was two summers ago — the same summer in which our entire building was ruthlessly invaded by a teeming horde of fleas. They were everywhere; jumping, landing, appearing, and jumping away again in an tiny, endless, leaping party. I called Maintenance about it. Guess what the guy said, pine straw.
He said I should take my dog to the vet. But I don’t have a dog, pine straw. This is why I hate you. You make me suffer the worst parts of having a pet without the joy of companionship that a real pet would bring.
And it doesn’t stop there. This time the landlord has applied your dumb carcasses all over the flat part of the yard between the sidewalk and the street, a place that is normally just dirt. Mind you, dirt doesn’t look very good, but at least dogs don’t like to poop on bare dirt. Guess what they do like to poop in though.
You guessed it: pine straw! Check out what I have to avoid if I want to walk to my car:
Does that look like a pine cone to you? Well it isn’t. It is a squishy gross turd that is going to slowly turn white and then eventually crumble away only to be replaced by a daily sample of fresh new squishy turds from the neighborhood dogs. None of whom, mind you, live in our building.
That’s right. Not one dog in our building and a minefield of dog turds lurking on the way to our cars. Do the math on that one, pine straw.
I would like nothing better than to gather up every single needle of you in the yard and take you out of the city to a safe area where I could alternately set you on fire, pee the fire out, then set you on fire again. It presents a logistical problem, though, because I don’t want you or the turds in my car and anyway I don’t have to pee that much.
Just know that I hate you and I hope all your needles are uncomfortably poking one another you jerks.