the real farmville, or, why the frau is on my shit list

okay, it's official. until further notice, the old girl is on my shit list. the other night we return home to half a rabbit convention on the side yard. 20 minutes later, i'm sure it would have been a full blown orgy.

normally, like during hunting season, i wouldn't mind, but i just busted my ass a couple weeks ago putting in the garden. that shit ain't easy, and i'm just starting to see the beans and corn come up nice. beets and carrots are looking good as well. the other day whilst depositing the hound in her kennel, i amble over to to examine the fruits o' my labor, and their sits peter, chewing on a bean plant. that and the fact that they put their nest in the damnedest places, like the middle of the front lawn, really pisses me off.

art fucking imitating my fucked up reality

i sort of lost it, and began to chase the little shit, until it can find a way out of the yard. i promptly go in, find the slingshot, and begin practicing. no sweat, i leave the trusty harbinger of death where i can quickly employ it to maximum effect, and wait for fate to open opportunity's door.

well that was the other night and guess what? somebody relocated the varmint slayer, without authorization. that person, who shall remain nameless, has yet to re-materialize said implement of destruction.

i know this because tonight, as i was roasting bovine, i got reconned by a cottontail. encumbered by a lack of a slingshot, i was reduced to throwing rocks at his ass. i can't even say i truly scared him, as when i went back inside he followed me. i had to send the kids out to run him off as i searched for the slingshot myself.

i understand on that fucking farmville, which the wife has taken to playing, you people trade all types of shit, including domestic live stock and pets. well let me tell you, when i catch that rabbit, he won't be fit for fertilizer.

It's on, Bitches!!