sidling up to some kind of tickling notion, glancing at it askance and hopping arms akimbo contrariwise. there’s all this and that to distract, the fluffy chaff that chokes the air withal. (better watch one doesn’t stick inside your eye!)
even pointed sticks seem like a great investment, some days, when the burling heap of disquietude lurches or, on display, witness some kind of proud parade of utter orthodox duplicitude or incomptitude. or even sheer, bafflingly obtuse rules and regulations… and the looming bureaucraticals snicker in their wiseacrey spectacles and twirl their (and they all have ’em, even if you can’t see ’em) bulbous mustachios: symbolic of something tantamount to encroaching mold or bermuda grass. (blink or turn your back and allvsudden yer drowning in muckish undergrowth)
so sigh the undertakers, when forced with that weed removal.