Artificial Mintelligence

See my MMA blog down below: It's not just boxers who are nutters.

http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2008/mma/08/08/rampage.returns/index.html

Just been out doing the gardening in preparation for some BBQs later in the month. Gardens are a fascinating window into evolution and a study of how some organisms can adapt to their surroundings. They say that in the event of a nuclear holocaust only cockroaches will survive; Well I'll tell you what the bastards will be eating: mint.

Mint is the Terminator of plants. It's had more comebacks than Sinatra and has the staying power of Russell Brand on steroids. It doesn't matter what you do, where you dig, where you are in the garden; even in a plot made of asbestos and rubble, there will be mint somewhere, its serrated leaves contorting into a wry,invincible smile amidst the carnage.

I put about three bathfulls of weedkiller on an infestation of the renegade herb a month ago, and it all died. Apparently.

I go out this afternoon, and it appears I had not put down weedkiller; I had in fact doused my garden in shredded lamb, with a sign saying 'insert rampant relevent herb here'. Had it been December, I would have called it a Minter Wonderland. It had not only returned, but decided to broaden its horizens by migrating to the entrance to the garden, the far end of the garden, the other side of the garden, underneath the garden, above the garden, and basically every other part of the garden. My mouth dropped open, immediately letting its bitter, mocking taste pervade my nostrils. I then spent hours slicing the damn things down with shears, chainsaws, machetes, lawnmowers, animals with sharp claws, cheese knives and anything else I could get my hands on in a feverish, sweaty hackfest.

AND YET HERE'S THE RIDICULOUS THING: I have a herb garden. Outside. There's Rosemary, Parsley, Sage and Coriander in the little pot. It did have mint. And it's died. The one place I actually want mint, and it's keeled over like Michelle McManus on Wii Fit.

Meanwhile, its cousins on the grass patch nearby lament its passing by doing what they do best: growing in annoying places. "It's what he would have wanted" they sniff, as they strangle the life out of an errant rose or lilly.

From now on I'm going to become a gardener specifically excelling in grass, thistles, mint, daisies and thorn bushes. And I'll no doubt be overrun with some other swine like dandelions, or broccoli, or some other as-yet-undiscovered plant that smells like fart.

A preview of the Championship, using over-the-top and misguided assumptions following the first game of the season, will follow later this week on this blog. So log onto your minternet and have a look...Jesus Christ it's got to me...