Lo, the lawn hast grown to a length that is untenable. Nature decrees that I spark up ye olde mower and trim the lawn to a length more pleasing to thine neighbor’s eyes. But alas, I am old and tired and really quite fat. Such a lawn task requires a level of energy that is far above that which my tubbalard body doth possess. Tis beyond me! But I must make a concerted attempt to tackle the lawn care task that the fates in their wisdom have placed before me. If only the damned birds would start visiting the new bird feeder and the accursed squirrels would screw off and die in the woods, for those events might inspire me to attack the lawn with a vengeance ne’er expected.

(At this point you may be wondering what the “new form of torture” in the title of the post is referring to. Well, it’s a double meaning. Mowing the lawn is my torture, and the ridiculously lame language in the paragraph above is your torture. Get it? HA HA. Funny, eh? No. You’re right. It’s not even close to funny. Sorry about that.)