WEEDS

"I appeal to you as a soldier to spare me the humiliation of seeing my regiment march to meet the enemy and I not share its dangers" (George Armstrong Custer)

The ranch hand has toiled in the garden of the ranch pond for nigh on eight years to raise a decent crop of bass, bream, and channel catfish.

Other than a scourge of locusts, most ever thing else has befell that ever so humble endeavor.

We be talkin' drought, turtles, snakes, predatory birds, racoons, and WEEDS!!!!

This annum, the weeds have gone steroidal, rampant, and homicidal as they have gorged on the pond nutrients to the point of fiber explosion.

E'nuff is e'nuff.

The ranch hand oozled off to "town" this fine day and secured some scientifically proven (yeah right?) liquified dynamite to ee-lim-nate the offending party.

Generously "shared" said cocktail with the "guests" this day, said a prayer (for their comfortable, but SWIFT death) and await the final results?

Now join me breathen as we say, "Bless their hearts" (not)