My Lawn

I have a very green, well-watered lawn. I have spent many hours grooming it with my large mower, the kind that you can ride. I also have four sprinklers so not an inch of grass goes without a drink. I do not have a garden, for I am not interested in such things.

Now welts have shown up all over my face and thighs. Why?

It is for these reasons that I feel "why me?" I have a smear of reddish hair on my chin, getting longer, almost four inches now that has become a receptacle for cereal.

I am going to, later today, serrate my tongue with a letter opener. Then I may knock myself over the head with a brick. If that doesn't work then I will undo my zipper and pee on my feet, pointing my penis directly at my naked toes (I will not have shoes on). Then, for the finale, I will hurl myself down the stairs and simply wait for the end to come. I suspect it may take a while, I look forward to the lengthy suffering.

Who will water my lawn? I hardly care anymore. But I care just enough to call my mother and request that she keep it green and healthy in my long-awaited absence. Good-bye mother. I read your diary so I know you don't want me to live. Take care of my grass, mother.