Trees are bastards

Trees are bastards though, really. I mean, they sit there, ignoring you, not doing much, sometimes looking nice, acting as housing estates for birds, sometimes producing delicious fruit, sometimes producing horrible fruit and having flowers and leaves and seeds that act like helicopters for most of the time.

But then you add in a little bit of wind – the bad weather kind, not the ass-blast kind – and trees become absolute bastards.

I talked about this before, last time it was well windy like, when I braved the outdoors and came out victorious. I did not die, I was only slowed down a bit and my excessively wet clothes dried. I beat the system, really.

But it’s happened again now it’s windy again – walking through it and another bastard tree attacked me, dropping a branch in my way. Granted, it would barely have phased me had it hit its intended target (me noggin), but that’s not the point. The point is trees have it in for me.

Beyond the two potent gust incidents come a few other times in my life. Now, trees are strong and sturdy, capable of supporting people climbing them. Meaning I used to climb them a lot as a youth. Yet even though I wasn’t hurting the tree or putting it out in any way, the vindictive bark-covered shits still tried to off me.

“Oh, I’ll just snap a branch here and cause him to fall a bit and scrape himself.” Twat.

“Oh, I’ll graze his leg up something rotten with my rough bark.” Prick.

“Oh, I’ll not provide enough grip for his hands when he jumps off that wall to swing off my branch, thus causing him to slip straight off and land on a rock on his back, making him cry.” Prat.

I hate you trees. But you know what? You still haven’t killed me. I WIN.

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