The heart of a house is really in the backyard.

The heart of a house is really in the backyard. Inside, it's just a lot of pissing in bowls, cushioned sleeping, and slow-cooking flesh. But in the backyard, there's truth.

Everything anyone really needs to know about life can be discovered simply by mowing the backyard. There is profound symbolism in sharpening the blades, for example. At least Floyd

the Barber and the guy who draws Family Circle can back me up on this. Now, the real question what are you mowing your so-called backyard with? Mower? Goat? Myself, I use a highly

trained ex-Czechoslovak peasant with a sickle. He needs a couple of beers to get going but once he's in his rhythm there's not stopping him. My lawn has never looked so happy.

It has stopped sending out shoots of dandelions and crabgrass to trip me. When I walk along its borders it no longer cries for me to cut it. The sickle-wielding landscaper comes tw

iddling his thumbs, since there really isn't anything to do. I imagine, however, that the plants move of their own accord, and attempt to nip at the heels of passersby, so maybe he

Should kill them so they wouldn't harm anyone else

. An eye for an eye and the world goes blind. Let's put them before a court of law, and if they're guilty deprive them of their freedom. No martyrdom and

no underwear on Saturdays. Why is it always so difficult for people to follow the rules? Huh? That's why a jury of their peers...spider monkeys on crack...that's how justice