Letter From Milo: Yard Work

“Milo, honey, are you going to mow the lawn today?”

“Hadn’t planned on it.”

“The lawn looks pretty bad. The grass is almost knee high. You haven’t mowed it in a month.”

“Fuck the lawn. I’ve got more important things to do than worry about some goddamn lawn.”

“Like what?”

“For one thing, I’ve got finish my blog piece for Monday. People are counting on me.”

“You can’t be serious! You been writing for that stupid blog site for a year and a half and you’ve got, like, 12 readers.”

“Yeah, but they’re discriminating readers, people who appreciate fine writing and lofty thinking.”

“No they’re not! They’re just a bunch of idiots who like those dumb dick jokes you always put in your blogs. Be a sweetheart and mow the lawn today, okay.”

I hate mowing the lawn. I hate yard work of any kind. As a matter of fact, I hate all forms of work. Whoever the cocksucker was that coined the term “Protestant work ethic” should be working in the PR department of BP. The slick bastard could probably convince the world that dumping millions of barrels of oil in the Gulf of Mexico was a fantastic public relations stunt. You simply cannot buy that kind of publicity.

I briefly played with the idea of NOT mowing the lawn, but decided against it. The lovely Mrs. Milo had THAT look in her eye, which meant she was not to be trifled with on this day. She grew up in the Dakotas and has a rustic’s easy familiarity with weapons and violence that I wish I would have known about before I married her.

Anyway, I spent about 45 minutes mowing the front and back lawns then went back into the house to work on my blog piece. I just started getting into a good rhythm of character assassination, slander, vile language and outright lies, when I was interrupted by a phone call from Benny Jay, another of the scabby, talentless halfwits who toil at The Third City.

“Hey, Milo, I need a title for this blog I’m writing.”

“What’s it about?”

“The Blackhawks.”

“I thought you hated the Blackhawks?”

“I do. I’m writing about how much I hate them.”

“I’ve got an idea. Call it ‘Fuck the Blackhawks.’”

There was a slight pause at Benny’s end of the line, as I knew there would be. You see, folks, the great Benny Jay is still a bit uncomfortable with profanity. Don’t get me wrong, Benny loves a good dick joke and laughs his ass off at some of the creative ways I try to use foul language in my blogs. It’s just that he’s hesitant to use curse words himself, both in conversation and in his writing. On the rare occasions when he does resort to profanity in his blogs, he usually quotes someone else spewing the filth.

In my opinion, Benny’s lack of cursing skills is due entirely to the fact that he was raised in Evanston, where, I believe, there is still a statute on the books prohibiting cursing within 50 feet of a church, school or North Shore matron.

“Heh, heh, that’s a great title, Milo, but I don’t know if it’s, ah, right for this piece.”

“Benny, it’s perfect. It’s got attitude, it’s got punch, and it leaves no doubt about your feelings for the Blackhawks.”

“Yeah, I see your point but…”

“Don’t wimp out on me, man. This could be your moment of greatness. This could be the time when you leave your footprint on the blogging world.”

“Jeez, I don’t know…”

“C’mon, Benny, be a man, act like you’ve got a pair.”

“Okay, I’ll do it. You’re absolutely right, Milo. This is no time for half measures. You can count on me.”

“I have all the faith in the world in you, Benny.”

Of course, Benny chickened out, just like I knew he would. He posted the blog piece the next day and it was called “Gulp – Congratulations, Blackhawks.” I was disappointed but not surprised. If anything, Benny is always true to his character. Still, I had to call him on it.

“Great piece you posted today on the Blackhawks.”

“You liked it, huh?”

“Oh yeah, great writing, nice concept. It was fine, everything except the title.”

“Heh, heh, I was going use your headline, had it in the draft and was going to hit the publish button when my wife came by and saw it. She didn’t like the title.”

“Your wife didn’t like it. What’s the fuck’s wrong with you. Our wives are not supposed to like anything we write. If my wife likes anything I write I immediately erase it and start all over.”

“Well, there were other considerations…”

“Like the fact that you’re a disgrace to the blogging community. You’re lucky the Barn Boss doesn’t take back your company car and toss you out on your ear.”

“It’s not that bad, is it?”

“Benny, let’s you and I get together this afternoon, have a few drinks, smoke a joint and discuss your wimpiness. You’re starting to give The Third City a bad name.”

”That sounds great, Milo. I’d love to, but my wife wants me to mow the lawn today.”

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