Accident Prone

Let me tell you something about The Garden Weasel. It's a dangerous weapon. And it doesn't mulch that good, either.

If you know me, you know I have a green thumb. I like to plant tomatoes and whatnot. Peppers. So I figured, why not get the Garden Weasel?

So I start mulching, right? But it's not working for shit. So I put a little more weight into it when -- Bam! The goddamn thing breaks all to hell and one of the blades pops up and cuts my right arm clean off.

The next thing I know I'm stumbling around my little garden trying to figure out where the fuck my arm went.

Do you have any idea what's that like? It's like: you know when you drop a nickel and you don't know where the hell it rolled off to? Only this was my fucking arm. Finally I spot it hanging way the hell up on a rose trellis, and I cut my good hand all to shit trying to take it down.

Then I go into my kitchen for ice cubes, because that's how they saved that one dude's johnson, and my goddamn roomate's looking at me all guilty because he just used all the ice to make a frozen margarita.

I need this on a Saturday!

To make a long story short: Into the Hefty bag goes the arm and the drink, and off I go to New York Methodist.

You'll be relieved to know that they got my arm reattached. And get this: the doctor said the alcohol from the frozen margarita probably staved off infection. So score one for Marcus.

But the makers of the Garden Weasel should expect no such happy ending. Not after my lawyer gets through with them.