June 27, 2013


There are at least ten mulberry trees directly along my bike commute to work, so at this time of year I make a point to stop and eat a few so that I get some nutrients to offset the damage caused by inhaling so many diesel fumes.

They’re so damn prevelant that someone, someday, should collect a bunch and make me a pie, or wine, or a liquer or something. Maybe someday when I’m not so lazy. I’d have to remember to carry tupperware with me on the bike because they make a real mess.

This year was especially fruitful even though we are at the tail end of the season. There’s even a couple of the white variety, which apparently originate from Asia; something I never saw growing up in the Midwest. When I was a kid the Soja’s had a tree in the back yard (and still do I think) and we used to climb it and eat ’em till our entire hands and mouths were stained purple.

In my circle of friends the word “berry” cannot ever be uttered without laughter because one of our loonier friends (I won’t mention his name cuz we’re still close) has a particularly weird, perverted, CRAZY story about what he and his childhood friends DID to each other with berries. It’s so bad, so racy, I can’t even retell it here. But GOD it’s funny.


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