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Dear Atlanta

04.03.06 | 8 Comments

You have too many damn cottonwood trees, or whatever the hell you call those things here. Not every yard needs three of them. In fact, none of them do. God made other trees. You should have planted more of those. They’re also nice to look at.

You see, the problem is that their pollen goes straight into my bronchials, where it turns into spackle. Which is why I’ve been hacking like my great Uncle Jack, the one with emphesema. I’m too young for that. I’m not even as old as dead Jesus or Dennis from The Holy Grail. I don’t even smoke. Which is to say, dear Atlanta, that your damn trees make spring unpleasant, which is unfortunate as I tend to prefer pleasant things. Like spring without bronchitis.

There is, however, an easy solution. Three quarters of these damn trees are planted directly underneath powerlines, which would explain why my electricity flashes off once or twice every day. I propose that you let me cut down every last one of the damn things that lives under a powerline. In exchange for my cutting them down, you will not arrest me or sue me. And you’ll still have at least three of the damn things for every single resident of the thirty-eight country metro area.

Deal?

8 Comments


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