Oh, grass. Why do you have to grow? Because of you, I have to get off my butt only to sit on it once again for 3 hours at a time, only this time on a bumpy vibrating uncomfortable mower. I love you grass, but seriously. Isn't it time to stop?
If I was grass, I would hope that I would have the Peter Pan complex, so that I would stop growing at a certain point. That way, no one would ever have to mow me.
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