Teeming, that's what it is. Teeming. Look at it bursting through the cracks in the sidewalk. See it reach its stinking tendrils out from the jungle in hopes of ensnaring me, wrapping its hideous protuberances around my ankle and dragging me into the fetid depths of its brambles, there to digest me at its leisure. You think I'm delusional, don't you? This kind of thing just doesn't happen. Fools, all of you! What do you think humus is? Do I have to bring Charlton Heston back from the dead to enlighten you? Don't be surprised if you wake up one morning in the maws of an azalea bush, while I watch from between the slats of my dining-room blinds, a heartless smile growing on my strikingly handsome face.