Life as an Extreme Sport


Whomever said that food tastes better if you pick it yourself has obviously never picked boysenberries. What the hell? They have thorns! Big thorns! Thorns that fight back! I thought berries wanted to be eaten, so that the seeds ended up moving around? These berries were like “ohnoyoudinnit!” with their sharp thorniness. It was a declaration of war. I kept picking berries even after I’d finished filling the buckets I had; I ate them, put them in other people’s buckets, left them for the birds. It was war, bitches – war, and I wasn’t leaving until there were none left. It was like our Iraqi strategy – only I actually had a strategy, and I won.


  1. They’re not too exciting, truth be told – mostly tiny pinpricks all over my fingertips. But oh, oh, the spoils of war! The tasty, tasty spoils of war…

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