Ducky Doesn't Muse, But Rather Whines and Bitches About Digging HolesSubmitted by Ducky at 2009-07-06 09:11:13 EDT
Rating: 1.78 on 85 ratings (85 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
Soft grassy fields do not denote soft soil underneath. Not even close mind you…like one of those more to the book than just the cover or beauty is only skin deep or thinking if you’re REALLY hungry you could eat carrion and might get only slightly ill sort of deals…or something.
Who the fuck puts fifteen people on the chute of an 80 year old bee-hive burner anyways? Oh it’s fine is it…we’ll just trust the bracing, and by bracing I mean one support that’s rotted out, another that is non-existent, and a ‘third’ that is hanging on for dear life. The kids jump past the hopper and run up the chute, jumping and banging on it like fearless little tightrope walkers, while the adults clutch and the edges and make their way up on their knees, careful not to look over the edge. The kids see their parents squirming, smirk, and jump on it some more. This creates a wave effect, loud creaking noises, and wrinkly ever whitened knuckles belonging to terrified old people who are quickly beginning to feel like a pack of assholes for being up there.
And who, after all of this, is going to be put in charge of re-bracing it.
“Just come and dig a few holes for us won’t you love? I’ll make you tea and smoke my face off and then I’ll put you to work. It’s only a few holes, 2 feet by 2 feet. Make sure you’re with Jack when he crosses the highway. You know he’s an old boy with the road sense of a drunken turkey”.
I am now in possession of an old wheelbarrow with a flat tire, a shovel, some gardening gloves, a blind dog, and just before sending me on my way, I am given a long hard pointy metal spike thing that is as tall as I am and weighs as much as a small, portly elephant – God knows what THAT’S for. I’ve just recently been a dickhead and washed my nano, so am now using my back-up Sony-Go, which is a complete piece of shit, and should be called the Sony-No, ftl, btw.
I quickly realized what the awesome 5 squillion pound javelin in my wheelbarrow was for, because when I actually got there, to the dirt, I found that there was indeed, very little dirt. Shovel in hand (staff-variety because the mad ache that comes with the shock running up your arm using one of those t-types is just fucking unbearable…I tried to tree-plant with one of them once upon a time and it was almost as excruciating as snagging your foot on a slash-pile and hanging upside down for over an hour because the trees on your hips are too heavy or your stomach is too soft to reach up and loosen it, and what could be better when you’re in the middle of a cut block in the mountains where you can’t see the person in the next block because of the black swarms of mosquitoes and flies? What indeed.)…I forgot what was on the other side of that massive bracketed section…right…shovel in hand I began to dig through solid rock. I broke up the rock into smaller chunks of rock, and then used the metal monstrosity to gain leverage in prying said chunks loose.
I thought it would be a 2 hour job max.
6 hours later I marched (stumbled) triumphantly (exhaustedly) across the field and staggered across the highway with Jack in tow, both of us looking like drunken turkeys.
“Did you get the holes under the hopper?”
“The holes under the hopper. I have to warn you, they’re going to be the shits”.
“I….I actually have some pressing engagements with stuff and I need to be at this place like, pretty soon…a beer? Sure I have time for a beer with you auntie…”
3 beers later and I’m under the fucking hopper.
Have a beautiful Monday Uber.