I mean that sounds like a curse. Endless screaming. Where others may see a cute bunny munching on some grass, or a bee buzzing around a flower, all you will hear are shrieks of pain and abject terror.
i’ve always thought that if plants could talk they’d be unflinching hedonists who just shrug when harmed and will not hesitate to invite ANYTHING to have a fun time with them.
“ohhh yeah baby eat my fruit! spit the seeds out!” cut to human freezing in the middle of taking a bite, staring in horror at the apple tree
“And he brought me into a vast farmland of our own Midwest
And as we descended, cries of impending doom rose from the soil
One thousand, nay, a million voices full of fear
And terror possessed me then
And I begged, “Angel of the Lord, what are these tortured screams?”
And the angel said unto me
“These are the cries of the carrots, the cries of the carrots!
You see, Reverend Maynard
Tomorrow is harvest day and to them, it is the Holocaust”
And I sprang from my slumber, drenched in sweat
Like the tears of one million terrified brothers and roared
“Hear me now, I have seen the light!
They have a consciousness, they have a life, they have a soul!
Damn you! Let the rabbits wear glasses! Save our brothers!””
I mean that sounds like a curse. Endless screaming. Where others may see a cute bunny munching on some grass, or a bee buzzing around a flower, all you will hear are shrieks of pain and abject terror.
I’d imagine the sounds of a plant being pollinated would rather be moans of pleasure.
i’ve always thought that if plants could talk they’d be unflinching hedonists who just shrug when harmed and will not hesitate to invite ANYTHING to have a fun time with them.
“ohhh yeah baby eat my fruit! spit the seeds out!”
cut to human freezing in the middle of taking a bite, staring in horror at the apple tree
“And he brought me into a vast farmland of our own Midwest And as we descended, cries of impending doom rose from the soil One thousand, nay, a million voices full of fear And terror possessed me then And I begged, “Angel of the Lord, what are these tortured screams?” And the angel said unto me “These are the cries of the carrots, the cries of the carrots! You see, Reverend Maynard Tomorrow is harvest day and to them, it is the Holocaust” And I sprang from my slumber, drenched in sweat Like the tears of one million terrified brothers and roared “Hear me now, I have seen the light! They have a consciousness, they have a life, they have a soul! Damn you! Let the rabbits wear glasses! Save our brothers!””
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I would still chose this; can’t figure out what’s wrong with my dahlias.
You’re absolutely right. How do you prune? Weed? What horrors when the neighbor mows her lawn!