Earlier, I saw an advert for “Roundup Gel” weedkiller.

It all seems pretty innocent: Man wants to get rid of that weed that’s blemishing his lovely flowerbed. He tries to pull the weed up but oh! It just breaks at the root and he sighs, knowing that in just a few days he’ll be back at square one. 

But what’s this? New Roundup Gel? How does it work?

I’ll tell you how it works. 

He gets this bottle, not unlike a shampoo bottle but with more exits at the top. Then all he does is gently squeeze it against one of the leaves on the weed and that’s it. 

Then there’s a graphic of the weed dying over a few days, root and all. 

So good, the weed killer works. Hooray.

It’s the smile on the guy’s face that’s disconcerting. Calmly murdering plants in cold blood.

I once saw a documentary in which a group of Komodo Dragons were tracked. They bit a buffalo, and then just followed it around for a few days as the venom seeped in and slowly disorientated the creature, before killing it. Thereafter, the Komodo Klux Klan feasted upon its carcass. So basically, he’s just murdered a plant in a way that’s reminiscent of the predatory habits of a Komodo Dragon. 

A few days after poisoning the weed (which deserved what it got, don’t get me wrong) he’ll dig up its remains and dispose of them in the green bin. 

Weed Killers. The Komodo Dragons of humanity. 

I don't really like conventions that much. So I rant about them. Especially love and romance. Er. Yuck. Lurgy.

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