Zinnia Mania! 3
If Matt Damon can do it, so can I. The zinnias are still popping. I just could not resist a third installment:
As you can see, I was over at Tony's yesterday afternoon. As we were admiring his handiwork we discovered that his sunflowers, which were right about to be glorious, had been trampled. Someone (or more likely a pair of someones) had hopped the fence from the special needs garden to have their special needs met in Tony's little slice of paradise.
Which is vexing, since the special needs garden is actually perfect for after-hours drug-fueled sex parties. There's plenty of space to sprawl, and beds at various levels so that you can do it in a mind-boggling variety of positions from all different angles. The only thing the special needs garden doesn't have is a DJ. So bring your ipod!
Oh, and the sling? That's on order.
I get the feeling there are Fens overnight regulars who aren't satisfied with the facilities provided them. They crave variety not only in their men but in the gardens in which they have anonymous sex with them.
No one that I know much minds the use of their Fenway garden for amorous liaisons, so long as you respect the other purposes of the Victory Gardens. The Fens is what's known as a multi-use park. Facilitating your sexual conquests is only one reason for its existence.
It's also a place for Sox fans to urinate on their way to and from games. A place for our homeless and mentally ill to relieve themselves, as well. Numbers one and two! (Unfortunately we can'y provide TP, but there are plenty of woodchips around!)
Don't have your evening's supply of X, or need a bump of K? No sweat! It's the neighborhood pharmacy, too!
And, there's something else... I always forget. It's right in the name. Fenway Victory... what was it again?
Oh yeah! GARDENS.
We gardeners can live in harmony with our environment. Heck, we partake in the park's varied and vibrant culture of sex, drugs, and watersports, too. But we don't go trampling on other people's sunflowers. And we clean up before and after ourselves.
Lord knows everyone loves a drunken slut stumbling home from the Ramrod. But drugged-up manskanks who wreck your beds and leave their soiled nappy wipes and used condoms behind for someone else to clean up do tend to get on even the most happy-go-lucky liberal-minded fag's nerves.
As you can see, I was over at Tony's yesterday afternoon. As we were admiring his handiwork we discovered that his sunflowers, which were right about to be glorious, had been trampled. Someone (or more likely a pair of someones) had hopped the fence from the special needs garden to have their special needs met in Tony's little slice of paradise.
Which is vexing, since the special needs garden is actually perfect for after-hours drug-fueled sex parties. There's plenty of space to sprawl, and beds at various levels so that you can do it in a mind-boggling variety of positions from all different angles. The only thing the special needs garden doesn't have is a DJ. So bring your ipod!
Oh, and the sling? That's on order.
I get the feeling there are Fens overnight regulars who aren't satisfied with the facilities provided them. They crave variety not only in their men but in the gardens in which they have anonymous sex with them.
No one that I know much minds the use of their Fenway garden for amorous liaisons, so long as you respect the other purposes of the Victory Gardens. The Fens is what's known as a multi-use park. Facilitating your sexual conquests is only one reason for its existence.
It's also a place for Sox fans to urinate on their way to and from games. A place for our homeless and mentally ill to relieve themselves, as well. Numbers one and two! (Unfortunately we can'y provide TP, but there are plenty of woodchips around!)
Don't have your evening's supply of X, or need a bump of K? No sweat! It's the neighborhood pharmacy, too!
And, there's something else... I always forget. It's right in the name. Fenway Victory... what was it again?
Oh yeah! GARDENS.
We gardeners can live in harmony with our environment. Heck, we partake in the park's varied and vibrant culture of sex, drugs, and watersports, too. But we don't go trampling on other people's sunflowers. And we clean up before and after ourselves.
Lord knows everyone loves a drunken slut stumbling home from the Ramrod. But drugged-up manskanks who wreck your beds and leave their soiled nappy wipes and used condoms behind for someone else to clean up do tend to get on even the most happy-go-lucky liberal-minded fag's nerves.
You guys need to put in a hidden camera and make some money on the side. Sell the series on Xtube, "Midnight Manskanks of the Fenway"! Who wouldn't pay to see a drunk leather queen from the Ramrod getting barebacked by a toothless wonder hopped up on crank?
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