Prickly.

Once again this year we have a bumper crop of sandspurs infesting our yard. I’m sure they have an amazingly unpronounceable scientifically appropriate latin name urging their usefulness.

Around here we call them ##$%%^^& or sometimes &&&%##$%%. Or even %##$##$&.

We hate them.

Especially when we step on them in our barefeet at o’dark thirty in the morning when we’re going out to get the paper.

Then we pull them out of the ground, take pictures of their worthless lives, back over them with our truck, and set them on fire.

Not that I did that.

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