Good morning and how are you you limpy, whiviling bastard. I just can’t help but notice that you are about to shed your genes. Looks like all you need is a good wind coming in, or maybe just a swift kick in the stalk.

Your choice.

I just woke up here and if I can get away with doing my good deed for the day nice and early then I can plan what is left of it for evil. We can be good friends, this is what we call a win win.

One boot is all it will take and then you fulfill your destiny and I can go on with the rest of my day.

You will scatter your seeds all over hell’s creation and I will walk away quickly forgetting about your naked stalk. That is the problem isn’t it?

Well buddy, the truth is is that is sucks to be an annual. You begin life as an airborne seed, you land and when the weather is good you germinate. You grow up and spread your own seeds and then you wither away and die. That is what you do.

You are forgettable.

My footprint is history. Squashing you into the muddy ground, a swift in the tall grass where I kicked at your glory, a fool to the science of seed-a-carnation. Bereft of your plumage you become just another blade of grass and just another moment watched by the sky.

You’re choice my friend.

I can remove all the feathering seeds and send them scattering in to the winds in just one second or you can wait here for weeks and wait for some natural occurrence to do it for you.

So what is it going to be?

Figured so.

Brace yourself. It all be good.