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Brain Farts was a weekly humor column that ran in the Louisville Eccentric Observer from mid-2000 until the summer of 2002. It was, well, eccentric. And occasionally satirical. And sardonic. Some liked it, some hated it; some just didn't get it, and that's OK. There were times when I didn't get it either. I've compiled here some of the archives from Brain Farts for the enjoyment of friends, family and anyone else who happens by. I also have written some new Brain Farts, and added some links and other trivialities that you shouldn't be too concerned with.

Unless you're as bored as I am.

Brain Farts: Slander in the Grass
	By Kevin Gibson May 5, 2001

I walked outside the other day and the grass taunted me. It mocked me. Then I sneezed, and I knew I had lost.

Perhaps I should explain myself: I hate grass.

My girlfriend believes we should all cover our lawns with artificial turf. I would agree, except for the whole oxygen thing. I also fear it would be dangerous. If you watch any pro football game being played on artificial turf, you will see several people destroy the ligaments in their knees. If we turn our children loose to go play on the turf, skinned knees and bee stings will no longer be a parent’s primary concern.

The other day my roommate and I were sitting in a Highlands establishment enjoying a couple of beers and bemoaning the fact that the grass in our backyard had gotten a bit out of control.

“I’m thinking of getting some monkeys and cheetahs to put back there so we can have an authentic jungle,” he said.

I merely nodded. It would have been funny if I didn’t know he was completely serious.

We discussed how we were going to try and cut the stuff — trying to use our old-fashioned push mower would have been like attacking a redwood forest with nail clippers — and good old roomie said, “Maybe we should just braid our grass instead.”

The man IS intelligent.

But, truly, we understand that God put the grass here for a reason: to hide things we’d rather not step on. Do you know how much poop a Labrador can distribute in a small backyard? I did some research on it, and the answer is: a lot.

And grass needs only be about four inches high to adequately hide things like Labrador poop or a board with a nail sticking out of it. Or a tribe of tiny, flesh-eating caterpillars. Or mung.

Clearly, grass is trying to wipe out the human race. And why wouldn’t it? We burn it, we chop it up, we use it as mulch. We do not appreciate grass.

But we have our reasons, too. We hate it passionately. That’s one. And allergies. The third reason is that grass is too high maintenance. We leave our lovers if they are high maintenance. We cannot leave our grass. It just keeps growing back. It is sort of a naturally occurring Chinese water torture. We cut it and, seemingly, the next time we look out the back door it is three feet high again.

Grass is like hair. That is why my roommate made the braiding comment. Yet the irony is that, like hair, we complain about cutting it, but if it goes away we panic and spread seed and fertilizer (Rogaine) everywhere to try and make it come back.

Grass is evil. Did I mention that the grass mocked me the other day?

Contact the writer at: kgramone@aol.com. Or mung.