SOME THINGS ARE GREAT, and there’s just no denying it. And the measure of greatness is irresistibility. That’s why, on a scale of one-to-ten, drugs are seven and sex is maybe an eight but potato chips are definitely a ten. Because I know that, if there’s a bag of chips on the counter, resistance is futile. I am going to be eating those chips—it’s that simple. Whereas I’m not sure how I even feel about a bag of sex. Is there such a thing? If so, I doubt it’s available in barbecue, salt and vinegar, and dill pickle. Certainly there’s no all-dressed. So chips win.

Would you believe that one of the top posts on WordPress right now is from a blog called Farming Accidents that posts videos of people cutting lawn? Here’s a link to a six-minute video of a dude mowing grass, and I watched the whole thing.

I like how he writes “image how long it would take,” because it just sounds better than imagining. It’s like you’re actively forming a picture, whilst the lazy imagining people are phoning it in, the bunch of idle losers that they are. Also, exclamations! That makes for an even better imaging!

Maybe what’s going on here is that the entire northeast is buried in snow, and looking at lush foliage is a form of therapy. Then a man comes along and smites that foliage, as if to say “oh, you think you are so special, huh grass? Because it’s sunny and warm where you are? Well TAKE THAT.”

I like to think that right now all of Cheektowaga is indoors, watching lawn porn to forget that there are forty-foot snow drifts on the other side of the living-room wall and that the world is likely ending because the Snow God is angry with Buffalo. Worst of all, no one knows why He’s angry with Buffalo, unless it’s the Buffalo Bills or the Walden Galleria or how expensive chicken wings have gotten.

So anyways while all the crazies are out there in the weather, all the sane people are indoors, watching a rock star spruce up the yard. And 100% for sure the sane people are having a snack while they do this, and you know what that snack is.

That’s right: methamphetamines.

It’s a Buffalo thing.

Also, try not to resist: 1) me on Twitter and 2) my new book