Last night: I’m throwing a beer party in my garden for the slugs! All i have to hand is a rather nice 18-month-old homebrewed porter. They’ll just have to die a delicious death.
This morning: A few slugs still sip at the rim of the bowl from a brew filled with the drowned corpses of their comrades. This scene repeats at every bowl — I set out five among the broccoli, cauliflower and Brussels sprouts. The birds don’t seem to have discovered it. Macabre, but far better than spraying something.
Good thing i don’t drink much anymore; there’s no shortage of homebrew. And i guess it helps answer the question of who i’m brewing for now.
If only i could kill flea beetles by setting out poems! Then I’d have a use for those too.
