Of Morning Glory, Lady Gaga And The Infamous Suburban Nosy Neighbour Shark

Posted: 07/06/2012 by erichblayde in A Different Outlook, Humour, Sarcastic Syntax
Tags: , , , ,

Continuing the wild battle I spoke of in my last post I spent the afternoon wrestling a rather stubborn electric lawnmower and a rather inadequate weed-eater around a rather amazing tangle of grass and weeds loosely described as a lawn. All in all it was a frustrating afternoon filled with flying bits of branch, blade snarls, auto string feeder fails, and hidden surprises.

After about an hour of backbreaking labour I find myself feeling overwhelmed and on the verge of giving up. So, being the fine example of homosexuality that I am I engage the homosexual males first (and last) line of defense in any hostile situation.

I grab my ipod and blast the SHIT out of Lady Gaga.

Now, as mentioned previously I am indeed, a homosexual (eek!! RUN!!!) and unfortunately a side effect of the homosexual condition is the utter inability to maintain composure while one is hearing the dulcet tones of Lady Gaga. So naturally being a good little homosexual who is hearing the mother monster at top volume while wandering through a jungle, my hips begin to wiggle, my head to bob and my fingers to tap along to the beat.

Suddenly the feeling of being watched creeps over me as I happily dance along with my lawn mower between the walls of morning glory plants. Stopping abruptly, I spin round carefully surveying my surroundings. Nothing. Suspicious still, I park the lawnmower and concentrate on removing a few more miles of morning glory while I keep my eyes open for my secret admirer. Seeing nothing my mind begins to drift again and I start nodding my head to the infectiously thumping bass lines of Scheibe.

Before long it’s a regular homo dance party in the flower bed as I revel in having been Born This Way while completely forgetting to maintain my Poker Face because I am thinking about Boys Boys Boys and the beauty of a Bad Romance. As I Just Dance my mind travels along the Highway Unicorn to The Edge of Glory.

As I really start to get into my weeding, the undeniable benefits of Lady Gaga are in full effect. Morning Glory flies helter skelter behind me, trees are being unearthed left and right, garden tools long lost once again see the light of day, rich moist earth is now warmed by the light of the summer sun and in the midst of it all,is a happily dancing me. No longer am I the dejected creature who merely an hour before was trudging drearily up and down with a lawn mower, Now I am the powerful incarnation of the gay, replete with bangin dance moves and utterly unstoppable in all my homo fabulousness.

Then it happens.That feeling again.

Lifting my head, it doesn’t take me long to locate the source of the feeling. From the yard beside me and the yard behind me, two inquisitive pairs of eyes observe my dancing with befuddled amusement and horror. How dare I have fun with my yard work in such a carefree fashion (naughty naughty homosexual!).

Duly chastised I cease dancing and return to the lawnmower while the watching eyes of the infamous suburban nosy neighbour shark (aka bored housewife) slowly submerge beneath the fenceline. Much happier now, I fire up the lawnmower and trundle happily through a tremendous patch of morning glory.


White bits of something fly out from the underside of the lawnmower smacking into my shins and bouncing off a nearby table. Startled I let go of the mower and fall backwards onto my rump. After several moments of stunned silence I carefully creep to the front of the mower and cautiously peer underneath. What I observe therein is certainly a shock to the system. The bottom half of a coffee cup sits precisely in the middle of the mowers blade swath. Slightly worried about what else might be hiding in the thicket I carefully pace out the rest of the area to ensure this loathsome morning glory carries no other hidden weapons. Much to my horror I proceede to locate and remove a shovel, a hose nozzle, two blueberry plants, a hand trowel and something that looked like a horse sweat scraper but was apparently for weeding. That blasted plant! Imagine, the nerve of that tangled mess of cosmetic garden blight trying to kill my parents mower (nevermind the risk oof injury to thee fabulous me).

Furious I leap upon the patch of evil plant in a frenzy, ripping and tearing wildly at the stuff. Exhausted, sweating and feeling somewhat ineffectual I see two pairs of now wide eyes rapidly disappear behind the protective fencing that separates them from the maniacal tranny who has invaded their calm neighbourhood. Cursing, I walk away and settle on the porch to calm down a while.

Returning to the mower, I pop in my headphones, blare the Gaga, fire the idiot machine back up and proceed with extreme caution through the strewn mess of the latest morning glory casualties to the next area of attack.


Yellow pieces of the latest assualt shoot haphazardly through the yard and I end up in an unceremonious heap on my ass again. This time my inspection reveals a much maligned Tonka truck poised at the edge of destruction, now missing a front wheel and a good deal of hood. Cursing mightily I clear the obstruction, check the area and throw a cheery wave to the eyes which have once again reappeared above the fence.

All this leads me to the following affirmations: that this is indeed war, my parents neighbours now believe I am a non-coffee drinking child hating dancing demon, I WILL defeat this cursed plant, and morning glory must REALLY hate Lady Gaga.


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