My back yard is hidden behind my garage and undeveloped so it has pretty much become a parking area and weed garden. And a pretty good weed garden at that - especially this year when it was wet earlier in the spring, and now it's dry as hell. Nice dry weeds. And being a couple of blocks from Sugarhouse Park and less than a week away from the 4th of July, it's a fire just waiting to happen. So I pull out the weed whacker and start to harvest the crop. Things are going well until I hit a rock, the tip of the "string" breaks off and heads straight for my calf. Now I know how those poor weeds feel, course they don't bleed. So I head into the house, put on my paratrooper pants, supress my sympathy for the weeds and whack the rest of them. I tried to do the humane thing and kill them all off at the beginning of spring, before they even had a chance to grow - but there's a reason for the phrase "growin' like a weed".