Your smug neighbor has planted his annual garden. In the coming months, he will regale you with baskets of fresh vegetables and tales of his horticultural prowess. He will explain to you that his garden has produced so overwhelmingly, that his own family couldn’t possibly consume all the bounty themselves. He will bring jars of homemade pickles and relish. “Everyone in the world loves homemade pickles and relish, especially the way my wife makes them,” he will tell you.
You decide to plant own garden in the corner of your yard. You want fresh tomatoes, zucchini, squash, maybe a few cukes. You have no idea what cukes are, but it’s fun to say so want them. You can imagine the results that will cover your dinner table. You can imagine the praise you are certain to receive from guests, satiated by the efforts of your labor and toiling. You have high hopes.
Unfortunately you run face first into one tiny problem: you are complete shit at growing things. (Except for ear hair–you grow ear hair like a wookie.)
You purchase a progression books as your efforts continuously fail:
- The Beginner’s Guide To Growing A Garden.
- The Idiot’s Guide To Growing A Garden
- The Beginner-Idiot’s Guide To Growing a Garden.
- Grow A Garden Even If You’re A Chimp, (And Not One of Those Clever Chimps That Can Do Sign Language, but One of Those Dopey Chimps That Eats It’s Own Poop).
- The Guide To Growing A Garden if You’re Presence Destroys Life.
- The Giant Catalog Of Plastic Plants.
Those books are now deposited in a bin labeled: things to be shred, burned, and buried in a deep hole.
Note: you purchased a few plastic plants, they inexplicably turn brown and fell apart. You choose to ignore the metaphysical ramifications that you are able to kill plastic.
Undaunted, you redouble your efforts.
After being told Native Americans placed a dead fish with the kernel when they planted corn, you consider raiding the family fish tank, but you don’t want to go through that drama again. Seriously, who gets that attached to fish?
Modifying slightly, you put a fish stick in the ground with every seed you plant. It doesn’t seem to help. You write a nasty letter to Mrs. Paul’s frozen seafood company, making wild accusations about artificial ingredients.
Mrs. Paul, who lives down the street from you accidentally receives the letter. Icy stares ensue.
Stupid Post Office.
Your snarky neighbor comments on how sickly your cukes look, but how your weeds are growing robustly.
You try come up with a clever retort, but you’re not clever.
“You’re a cuke,” you finally yell…five minutes after he’s left.
At last you have some success, only to discover that fresh vegetables are enjoyed by several of nature’s pests: bugs, worms, mice, gophers, and Gerald the neighbor kid.
You also discover that Gerald likes to pee on things. You purchase a taser, but you won’t use it on Gerald–the local authorities have confiscated it.
Stupid local authorities.
Finally, you discover the answer to all your problems; it’s called the farmers market.
Your dinner table now abounds with natures bounty, the fruits of hard labor and toiling, just not yours.