God I’m Such a Hardcore Man’s Man

I used my chain saw for the first time.

Correction: My standard chainsaw is still in the box.  I used my pole saw for the first time.  Since this was my first experience using a chainsaw-ish device, I felt it best to go the route where the thing is mounted on the end of a 10 foot stick instead of inches from my very soft, supple pale skin that can easily be torn by a length of toothed metal moving at high speeds.

And omg, is that thing heavy.  My muscles are going to be so awesome and bulgy when I’m done chopping up my yard foliage that I might even have the confidence to wear a sleeveless t-shirt and not look overwhelmed by it the way Carl Grimes does in his dad’s police hat.  Actually, that’s unlikely.

This is what I did with my plant-wrecking device:

Look at that stupid tree and its stupid yellow lifeforce spewing from its many trunk sticks like a tapioca-filled Mako reactor.  I beat the crap out of that tree.  Like a baws.  Laura stood and watched as I took its life piece by piece, no doubt admiring the sheer masculinity of her husband and his large saw of doom.*

You may be wondering why I didn’t, you know, finish the job.  That used to be about a 6′ tree of spikes and death, so clearly I made a dent, but it’s still about a 1′ tree that looks like Sonic the Hedgehog’s rotting corpse.

Well, that’s because the above would be as far as I got before the chain fell off.  And I haven’t yet read the book to figure out how to put it back on.  Tools are hard.

I flipped through the manual and read about chain tension and other things that were obviously the reason for my chain falling off (new chains stretch!), but none of it makes any sense to me.  Reading the chainsaw manual is like listening to Geordi talk about dilithium crystals in French, in Russian.  I don’t understand basic mechanics.  It’s just my thing to not comprehend.  It’s like why people eat those processed unrefrigerated cheese logs you get at Christmas time.  It’s like Taco Bell food.  It’s like the existence of the movie Agent Cody Banks.  I just don’t understand.

But you know what, internet?  I’ll figure it out.  I’ll figure it out because these bushes are bad.  Really, really bad.  These bushes so bad, they gonna cut you.  They gonna cut you so bad… you gonna wish they didn’t cut you so bad.

And while I’m doing that, I also have to figure out how to get all this hideous yellow carpet glue off my concrete patio so I can make it sexy with concrete stain.  Any tips?

Like, ew.

*Laura confirmed she was only staying close in case I chopped off any limbs.  Other than the tree limbs.  From my body.  Those limbs.  The ones I’m supposed to keep.


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