HEY, YOU! GET OFF MY LAWN!

Come this September, I will have lived in this neighborhood for 22 years. And after all those years, I only have one desperate request to make of those who live around me: for the love of Christ, please stay the fuck off my lawn! Time and again, I’ve emerged from my front door only to find some reckless hoodlum traipsing across my fine plot of grass. Day in and day out, folks come from all around to trample my pride and joy: my yard. It’s as if assholes fall from the sky in some miraculous Old Testament display, and they just happen to land on my fabulous blades of emerald green. People give me every excuse possible for this heinous form of trespassing. “We’re just kids, mister,” or “Hey, pal. She couldn’t wait for us to get home,” and, my personal favorite, “It’s a free country.” Well, you know what? Fuck your free country. Your free country begins and ends at the outside edge of my lawn. That goes double for you schmucks with dogs. I don’t care if you pick up little Foo-Foo’s poop with your Petco fecal chopsticks. There’s still gonna be that nasty little crap smear left behind with its inevitable infestation of flies. And guess who gets to deal with that mess? People can yap about me if they want. Maybe I should live in the suburbs if I care so much about my lawn. Maybe I don’t have the right to complain since I pay a migrant worker without a green card to maintain my yard’s beauty. But I’m just a man who wants something to love in his delicate, middle-aged years, and that “something” sure as shit isn’t my wife. Instead, I choose to love the speck of nature’s shag carpet placed so artificially in front of my home, and I will defend my lawn at any cost. I recently joined this keen Army Surplus Rifle Club and am in the process of converting my front porch into an artillery fortification that’ll make Normandy Beach look like Disney World. Yeah. I’m way past the point of kindly asking people to, “Keep off the lawn.” So come on and press your luck, you social butt-plugs. I’ve killed before. I’ll kill again.