Magic Elixir of Death

I write a lot about stuff I don't like; people who litter, noisy neighbors, indefensible advertising agency practices, even the indiscriminate use of semi-colons. As if that weren't enough, I even keep a series about People We Need To Kill.

Taken in sum, this might give you, the reader, the erroneous notion that I am some kind of curmudgeon; a man who easily finds fault and finds little in life to actually like.

That is simply not the case.

One thing I like is when people, products or companies live up to their promise; perhaps it's because so few do.

Airlines promise the friendly skies, but they're not. Beer companies promise to make me more interesting, but they don't. And gadget makers promise to make my life more simplified, but now I have 20 different recharging devices.

Weeks ago we had a landscaper come out to the house to tidy up the front yard, plant some flowers and lay down some very attractive brown mulch. He suggested I purchase a bottle of RoundUp to keep the area free of weeds. Simply spray a little on each weed and they'll die and disappear.

Sure, sure, I thought as I plunked my $15.99 down on the counter for this supposedly lethal herbicide. The directions on the bottle said results could be visible within 6 hours.

They lied.
The results were visible in FOUR!

Crabgrass, dead.
Dandelions, dead.
Dark leaved Mugwort, dead.

I didn't even have to arch my cranky back to dig them up. They died and receded into the earth the same way the Wicked Witch's feet did under the weight of Dorothy's tornado-tossed house. Had I been three feet tall and hailed from the Lollipop Guild, I might have broken out into song.

That's how much I now love my RoundUp. That, and because I also hate weeds.

I hate weeds almost as much as I hate corporate cronyism and political corruption.
And yes, I know that makes me sound like a curmudgeon.