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Weed whacker Mon, Jun 05, 2006
When I was a kid, I always hated helping my dad with outside work.  It seemed so pointless and child-labor-ish.  All I wanted to do was run around and play sports and be a kid. 

But then I reached a point where my soul was crushed.  I no longer liked sports, and all I did all day was sit around doing math problems and IM-ing people I didn't want to talk to.  That was called college.  Sometime near the end of my college career, I developed a desire to do something.  Something cool.  Something manly. 

But then once again, my soul died as I lived my days in an air conditioned office and my nights in a relatively spacious and well-priced apartment.  I was cleanly shaven and took showers regularly.  I drank flavored teas and watched the History Channel.  I liked opera and recited poetry (ok, that's a lie). 

And then it happened.  I walked into the American dream:  Land ownership.  Every event in our nation's history has occurred for this sole purpose, and now I was a member of this elite group. 

And then came the real benefit of land ownership:  Land modification.  After buying billions of dollars worth of power tools from Home Depot, I set to work on what would become the manliest, coolest thing I never would have thought of on my own.  Don't like that stump?  Chop it to death!  That hole is in the way?  Dig some dirt and fill it in!  Don't want poison ivy growing all over the trees?  Rip it down! 

But by far, my most favorite thing to do is use the weed whacker.  Yeah sure mowing the lawn is fun.  But there's just something amazing about being able to control a pair of wildly swinging strings that bring death and destruction wherever they go.  And all this power is at the tip of my index finger.  To feel that little engine roar; to smell the exhaust; to propel grass and leaf clippings all over my face.  It's my dream come true. #psychology

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