Late Night Typing is back. Come on, you know you missed these posts where we bring the collective IQ of FTTW down about 50 points and up the vulgarity about 80%. Tonight, we're talking about yardwork. Hard, backbreaking yardwork.

Turtle digs in:

We were working in the yard last weekend and I started thinking. Working here is like some kind of gift given to mankind. Not only can you get your lawn and yard looking better than anyone else's in the neighborhood, you can have an excuse to watch hours upon hours of home and gardening shows on TV without anyone thinking you are a wimp. Cause cool yards are cool.

Working in the yard is like living some kind of weird sex dream. You get dirty and sweaty and sometimes you find something to eat. If you have some friends around, it's like some kind of Grecian Roman He Man thing where you have the alpha males lifting the heaviest stuff whilst the womenfolk and childrens stay out of the way. Charles Ingalls worked in the yard. Charles Ingalls was a man. His family were a bunch of weak, blind breeders. Not farmers. When Charles worked on the farm, you knew he knew how to fuck. You could see it in his Mormon eyes. When I lifted cement blocks last weekend, the neighborhood knew I could fuck. And isn't that what makes a happy neighborhood anyways? I have to do it again this weekend and I am inches away from doing it naked to show Zeus and the other gods that not only can I fuck, I am ready to fuck. Fucking or pulling weeds, makes no difference to me. As long as the gods know, and by the cries I know they know, that I can mow a lawn or split a pussy with the best of them. The gods will be satisfied. Grab my shaft and feel my testicles shake as I start the Garden Weasel. Feel my heaving buttocks as I adjust my weed whacker. My penis will point the way to a clean and freshly mowed lawn. When I urinate on my newly mowed lawn, the gods will know that I felt like urinating instead of fucking. And they will respect me. For the gods will see that I can fuck, but I choose to pee instead.

Cause I can do that.

My god, I want to eat a small animal. -T

Michele tears it up:

We were supposed to be writing about back breaking yardwork. At least, that's what I was told. Instead there's a diatribe about fucking and penises up there and who knows what else.

I mean, does he think Zeus really cares if he fucks or pees?

You know what Zeus likes?

He likes tits.

And I have those.

So next weekend when we are out in the yard again and Turtle tells me to go do some womanfolk thing while HE gets to drive the backhoe that I want to drive, I'm just gonna whip off my shirt and bare my tits.

I have no idea what that will prove. But I know that Zeus will approve. And he'll throw a lightning bolt down on that backhoe and one turtle will be thrown from it and while he's on the ground moaning like a little bitch, I'm gonna hop in that backhoe and drive it like I'm Mario Andretti gunning for the finish line. I'll take out every inch of crabgrass and knock down that rotted fence while I'm at it and tie some rope to those damn ugly bushes and pull them right out of the ground, all while belting out some Slayer song. Topless.

The power of a topless woman wrecking things with a backhoe is infinitely more powerful than that of some guy whipping out his penis and peeing on dead grass. That shit will make Charles Fucking Ingalls start jacking off right in the fields while Mrs. Ingalls watches on in horror.

We'll get this yard finished yet. Even if we end up unwittingly making some weird yardwork fetish porn while we're at it.

Hey, we have to pay for all this crap somehow.

Now, how much have you missed Late Night Typing? -M

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