Jeepers Creepers

An open letter to the creeper plant growing on my house:

Dear Creep,

I understand that you hate my guts.  Considering that I have to use the sheers on you every couple of days, it was inevitable that we wouldn't get along from the start.  You don't like being chopped to pieces as much as I don't like doing it to you, and yet, you grow larger and stronger with each snip.

You have used to summer months to "Hulk Out" at every opportunity, extending your tendrils to the boundaries of reality.  You have a longer reach than Stretch Armstrong on stilts.  As you rapidly expand across the windows and doors, trying to entrap me like a fly in a matchbox, I'm sure that you're working your way underneath the house as well.  Undoubtedly, you're mutating into Audrey II six foot under my foundations, only you don't need blood in order to grow, yet...

Yesterday, I noticed you growing under the guttering and into porch.  This infringement on my property was a declaration of war and I was forced to react to your uninvited intrusion.  I hope that my crazed attack in which I hacked at you whilst screaming "Die, motherfucker!" wasn't taken as an insult, but you have to admit, you have driven me to this.  As a result, I had to spend several hours up a step ladder in the wind and rain, flailing around like a bicycle streamer in a jacuzzi.  My therapist says this experience has left me physically and mentally exhausted, and the crash caused when 50% of your bulk came down has left me needing treatment for shell shock.  My girlfriend thinks I'm being theatrical, but she weren't there man, she weren't there.

Even after this intense battle has been fought, I know in the long run that you still have me over a barrel.  As we have both taken up residence in/on a rented house, the contract for the house states that I must "maintain" you, and that any major changes have to be cleared with the landlord.  This means that we are stuck trying to co inhabit the same space.  I wish we could manage to get along, although you are more unmanageable than Naomi Campbell suffering from roid rage.  Also, if you could stop throttling all of the other plants in the garden like some sort of serial strangler, life would be so much easier on us both.

Yours desperately,

Addman