Very little gets me going these days. A lot of people like to talk, but no one never says nothing. When I get out onto my four-wheel drive lawn mower every morning at 4:45 a.m, the last thing I want is for some busybody to stick their nose in my business. Nobody appreciates the value of hard work no more. America is going down the toilet. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. Crooks all over the White House. I don’t trust ‘em. I’d like to see ‘em come down from their fancy houses and mow this lawn. The gas prices, too. Do you know how much gas it takes to run my lawn mower? She’s a beaut. Got her in the summer of ‘96 and haven’t had to buy a new one in twenty-six years. When she breaks down, I just get in there with my toolbox and figure it out. Back in the day, people used to just figure things out. You go in there with your wrench and you use your brain. It’s not hard. It’s common sense. Nothing but common sense. Now people call mechanics for every little issue. All of it, everything. It all has to be accounted for. Like the damn doctor’s office. Tests for this and tests for that. I don’t need any damn nitroglycerin. I just need your mother to stop whining about my blood pressure. Salt and raw meat ain’t ever killed a man. Salt will fix just about any problem. Like those damn icy roads. Useless Joe Biden can’t even salt our damn roads anymore. You can bet he’ll be sitting pretty in D.C. without any icy roads to worry about down there, no sirree. I don’t even know why I voted for that sleepy tool. It made your mother happy and I had a grill to worry about. Which needs gas too, I’ll have you know. You think it’s easy to support this family? Every other Sunday, I have to sit on the porch for half an hour to grill that damn squash your mother buys at the Whole Foods. I don’t know why we even shop at Whole Foods. They’ve got those bullshit vegans running the place. Organic this and organic that. You think they make organic lawn mowers? Of course not. It’s all bullshit. Organic doesn’t mean nothing. If I wanted food without pesticides, I’d grow it myself. Just me and the soil out there, like it was meant to be. Maybe someday I’ll get myself a little farm out West. There’s peace in a simple life. A man doesn’t need anything but to till his soil and look out over the horizon. A fridge stocked full of Irish beer. None of this kombucha shit your mother buys. She says it’s better for my liver. My liver can take a beating, goddamnit. Hell, I need the beers to get through that lawn. One before and one after, on ice. I could mow the lawn at any time I please with two beers in me. So what if I mowed the lawn at 11 p.m on a Friday? Those meddlers at our town HOA need to mind their own damn business. It was going to rain! I had to cut it before those weeds got out of control. The HOA wants to tell me how and when I’m allowed to mow my own damn lawn. Some people just need to leave a man alone sometimes. I started with nothing but the clothes on my back and built all this, and you think I’m going to stand there and let Susan walk all over me and my pride and joy? Not a chance. Her heels would get stuck in the dirt anyways. Tear up the sod. No, she won’t be running shit while I live here that’s for damn sure. Did you know I wasn’t even given my clothes as a kid? My parents made me buy them myself with the money I earned from working at the deli after school. You think I got a degree in accounting with hand-me-downs? Every sock on my body was my own sweat and blood. People just don’t want to work nowadays. What’s so bad about the office? Just get in your damn car and get to work. All these soft kids who want to sit in bed and “work from home.” If it was fun, it wouldn’t be called work. Not like I have any choice. 4.85 a gallon, but what am I going to do? Not buy gas? Your mother and I have worked so hard for this family, it’d be nice to get some damn recognition every once in a while. At least some damn peace and quiet. Let me kick back in my chair and watch submarine movies, goddamnit. The only time I’ve ever shed a tear was at the end of Das Boot. I could’ve made it in a World War 2 submarine. My dream one day was to join the French Foreign Legion. Did you know they’re one of the only military organizations that will take felons? You can start your whole life over with them. Magical. One time I just lived off of beans for a week to see if I could hack it. Not like that’s something you would ever do. You would never make it in the French Foreign Legion. Definitely not after that shoddy performance with chopping firewood last weekend. Weakest damn fire I’ve ever seen. It’s getting late and I’d like a goddamn meal. Go help your mother with supper.