500 new pets

As I said at some point, though I'll admit I don't know exactly when, I was drafting up posts during the BIGHUGETHINGNEWS IS COMING in between period, and now that the secret's out, I can share these posts.

Even if they seem all weird because I wrote them, like, weeks ago. 

Anyway, remember when I said I have 500 new pets? I do. 

Here you go...

So, have you already guessed that I have a box of worms making poo outside of my home office window?

NO?

Who are you people anyway?

Kidding. I totally love you guys.

Meanwhile, that was my way of telling you that my 500 new pets are worms. Red Crawlers from what I understand.

They are in a plastic tote drilled with breathing holes sitting atop a few excess pavers from our forever-ago-now backyard landscaping project getting started on the business of eating my kitchen scraps and pooping them out.

I have an actual shit box in my backyard now because we've gone Full WT around here, folks.

Even more fun will be when I get to make poo tea and then spray it all over my property.

RIGHT?

Sounds like some sort of sick porn fetish, but I swear to you (I was so tempted to say "shit you not" right there, but you don't come here for cliched bullshit so I will just give you uncreative bullshit instead. See how I could have said "wormshit" instead of "bullshit" right there? Again - saving you from cliches. I know it - I'm amazing and generous.) it's just a 1/2 pound of worms squirming around in compost and kitchen scraps shitting up the joint so that I can, later on, mix their shit with water, strain it into a garden sprayer and just go merrily spraying it about on all of my plants and especially my vegetables so that they can grow big and strong and disease-free just a-makin' my food.

That's right - poo > food > food > poo > repeat.

If Bubba were here, he'd totally call that a shit sandwich even though "shit sandwich" is usually used to describe a hopeless situation and, in this case, it's not hopeless at all. Unless you consider it to be hopelessly fraught with cliched shit jokes peril, in which case...Oh, yeah it probably is. I'll have to be careful about that one.

Oh, and if you missed that gentle similarity to beekeeping back in there, go back and look harder and then come back to me down here and we can be all, "Oh my god, when did you start buying pets by the pound?"

Are you with me on this one yet? Let me help you out since I know this post has gotten weird and off track and poo-smeared: I bought the bees in 3 pound increments which amounted to 10,000 bees. And then I bought worms in 1/2 pound increments which amounted to 500 worms.

I now, it would seem, buy my pets in bulk and by the pound. It's very Big Box sounding, but I assure you it's not Big Box-ish in any other way. I mean, I didn't have to get a membership card or a giant Rolls Any Which Way cart to procure these fine beasts or anything.

And now, as though I'm living my childhood fantasies one at a time, I have a box of worms outside my kitchen door into which I may peek at any time of the day.

Didn't I have the weirdest childhood fantasies? I swear that I also had normal ones that involved certain members of New Kids on the Block dancing nude in my living room. And also Joe Montana. But never at the same time I'M NOT A FREAK.

So, to conclude this post which is sure to get me some raised eyebrows in the SPAM and porn traffic departments, I now keep stinging insects and slimy creepy crawlers, set up seasonal grow ops in my kitchen, shout biblical commandments, do The Science, let things ferment and mold in my kitchen, brew tea from poo and happily receive dirt as a gift all in the name of growing organic vegetables.

I've officially hit What-The-Fuck-O'clock on the ole life timer.