License Plates and Unicorn Fakes

So first?  I think we need to acknowledge this video exists.

Second?  I can’t lift my arms.  That’s not really true.  It’s called “creative license,” people.  Also it’s called “Elly decided that after pining for a yard of her own her whole damn life be damned if she’s going to wait another fucking minute to whip this one into shape and I’m going to save money and do it all myself and girl power and I am woman and how hard can it be and holy shit balls five cubic yards is a whole lot more dirt than I expected and maybe I shouldn’t have ordered two separate shipments and no Paul I need to use a real shovel not your tiny plastic trowel and yes random neighbor they did totally dump this mound of dirt directly on the sidewalk completely blocking my driveway and HOLY SHIT IS THAT A BONE?!?!?”

Upon closer examination, it was not a bone.

Anyway, my attempt to garden has gotten more than a little out of cotrol.  So, I’m in too much pain to uke.  Or write.  Or floss.  Because that’s totally related.  Shut up.

Look!  Vagina!

I think my work here is done.


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