The grass needs a little love, but hey it is not easy to work, blog, party like you're 20, plant stuff and keep the lawn all suburb glorious.
This morning I was watering the new bush, planting some old bushes that outgrew their pots and treating the lemon tree for bugs.
Well I guess this little fellow, (and I say little with a sarcastic tone that alludes to my dislike 
for bugs that are bigger than a dollar and fly), didn't like the liquid soap bath and dislodged himself from my tree. PS the lemon tree has a little (literally little) lemon and 2 buds, but I'm not braggin.
And so I was brutally attacked and beaten by Jiminy Cricket as I innocently tried to enter my home. Worse yet, he levied this attack with nary a blow. His strategy, beautifully carried out, was to crawl on my screen door and lie in wait. Upon my approach to said door I spotted the cunning locast. I began a scream that would have summoned the fire department but stopped before completing even half a note. It seems that screams can alarm even the hardiest of grasshoppers, and it looked like he might take flight.
I think that with proper sedation and rehabilitation, I could recover to some semblance of a normal life if a bug of that proportion flew in my hair. But not in my mouth.
My poorly executed retreat was shortened by the hastily discarded hose, causing me to slip, tumble and roll down the hill. That damn Jiminy Cricket mo-fackle busted my ass down and didn't even lift any of it's legs.
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