Interrogating crabgass

By Ed. Lange

Important author’s note: Normally, “Guy Stuff” leaves current events and controversial issues to other media. However, the full transcript of the six-hour interrogation of Mr. Virgil Crabgrass by local police detectives was delivered anonymously in a plain green wrapper to your ever-vigilant correspondent. In newspaper lingo, “this is explosive stuff.” Here then, are excerpts taken verbatim from that interrogation transcript.

(Date spoken) This is detective lieutenant Shirley Homes recording. In attendance with me are detective Laun Order, the suspect Mr. Virgil Crabgrass AKA “Verge,” and his legal counsel (name not intelligible on tape due to interruption).

VERGE: I demand to know what ludicrous charge you’re accusing me of!
HOMES: Pestilence. Pestilence in the first degree.
COUNSEL: But first degree requires premeditation.
LAUN: You got that right, bucko! And malice aforethought, too! Yer gonna fry, you creeping –
VERGE: You haven’t the slightest shred of physical evidence.
HOMES: No evidence?! You are a perennial pain in –
VERGE: I beg your pardon, but I have any number of expert horticultural witnesses who will testify that I am an annual.
LAUN: Yeah, right! Whadja hafta pay ‘em for that line of cotton pickin’ malarkey?
VERGE: Please refrain from referring to “picking cotton” in my presence. It offends me.
LAUN: I’ll just bet it does, you lousy invasive weed, you. A useful, productive, civilized plant like cotton must really get under the roots of a no-goodnik like you.
VERGE: Sticks and stones, detective. Sticks and stones.
LAUN: Why I oughta…
COUNSEL: Detective, can you please calm down your colleague?
[here, there is a cut in the transcript ]
HOMES: Mr. Crabgrass, do you truly claim to be an annual?
VERGE: Indeed, yes.
HOMES: Then how do you keep cropping up in the same place year after year after year?
VERGE: Simple, really. Very tenacious seeds.
HOMES: But equally tenacious home owners – driven mad by your trespassing – have ripped you out of the ground, roots and all, to no avail.
VERGE: Oh, I must dispute your conclusion.
HOMES: You do?
VERGE: It avails me very well! Tear me out by the roots and you and your kind have accomplished nothing but the creation of a fertile, open space where my new seeds can live long and prosper! (demonic laugh)
HOMES: What about mulch?
VERGE: I love mulch. Don’t even need soil, I can sprout and spread ever so merrily in mulch. Do it regularly, in fact.
HOMES: What about pre-emergent crabgrass preventer?
VERGE: Laughable. I laugh demonically in your face. (he does)
Homes: But why?
VERGE: Oh, if humans weren’t such dunderheads, the awful stuff might work. But find me one human in 10 who actually reads the directions for use. Hah! They may strew crabgrass fertilizer for all the efficacy they achieve. And then, if you can find 10 humans who do read the directions, I challenge you to find one of those ten who will actually follow the directions! (He doubles over in a fit of laughter). I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard some sweating homeowner say, “Aw hell, it’ll work anyway.” It’s no wonder you people have such trouble with electronic devices; you don’t read the instructions!
LAUN: Here we go again. Blame the victim! It’s all our fault! (he stands in a rage, pounds on the table) Don’t try to pull that one! I happen to know first-hand that the poor homeowner who turned you in did read the directions! Did follow the directions! And what did you do?! What did you do, you … you, weed you?
VERGE: Oh, let me guess.
LAUN: Did you sprout anywhere in the lawn?
VERGE: (chuckling) No. The preventer worked … there. (laughs)
LAUN: You sprouted in the flower garden, didn’t you? Didn’t you?! In the flower garden! Admit it! Confess. Confess. You green, spiky devil you!
VERGE: Gee, did I? You’ll have to prove it, won’t you, detective?
LAUN: You better take over again, Shirley. Before I do something I’ll regret.
(Homes pauses. Leans back in her chair. Taps a pencil on the arm of the chair, thinking. Then, in a soft voice, but with piercing eyes, says)
HOMES: You’re an alien life form, aren’t you? An illegal alien!
COUNSEL: Detective! How dare you?!
HOMES: You aren’t from this planet, are you? You’re like a Triffid. Your seeds, your cursed, evil, immortal seeds came to Earth on a meteorite, didn’t they?
Counsel: Detective! We’re done here.
HOMES: Oh, don’t give me that tired out TV lawyer expression! “We’re done here. We’re done here.” I’m so sick of hearing that, I want the stupid phrase struck from existence. Just like your client. We’re not done here, counselor, not by a long shot.
I want an answer to my question!
VERGE: I believe I’ll plead the Fifth Amendment on that particular query.
HOMES: Fine. Even crabgrass has Constitutional Rights, I suppose.
VERGE: Next question, Detective, if you please.
HOMES: Is it true that while one unsuspecting homeowner was on vacation for only one week that you grew to more than six feet in width?!
VERGE: Talk about self-incrimination!
HOMES: Hypothetically, then. Are you even capable of such rapid growth?
VERGE: A walk in the park.
HOMES: Six feet in a week is a walk in the park for you?!
VERGE: Given exceptional growing conditions, such as a flower bed with lots of delicious loamy soil, plenty of sun, and an afternoon beverage, yes, I could have done it. I’m not saying I did, mind you, only that I could.
HOMES: And a single crabgrass plant can produce 150,000 seeds?!
VERGE: Let’s just say no one’s ever questioned my virility.
LAUN: You ain’t got a shred of conscience, have ya?
VERGE: Please, Detective. I’m crabgrass, not Gandhi.
LAUN: Geeze, no kiddin’? Lookit, pal, it’s time. You said you were gonna rat out yer ugly little playmates in exchange fer special consideration. So, let’s cut out the games and spill. I ain’t gettin’ any younger here.
VERGE: Too bad you weren’t born an annual. Like me. We age very well. No need for cosmetic surgery. Year after year, just the same. No gray hair, no paunch.
LAUN: Stuff it, pal.
VERGE: Looks as though you’ve already done that. (he smirks)
LAUN: Awright, wise guy. Give. I want names. Who was in on it widja?
COUNSEL: Not so fast, Detective. What’s the offer?
HOMES: Crabgrass gives up the others – on the stand – and he walks. This time.
VERGE: Oh my, I get to turn state’s evidence! I’ve always wanted to do that.
LAUN: What a surprise. The crumb wants to snitch!
VERGE: I told you I wasn’t Gandhi.
LAUN: Just a dirty lowlife.
VERGE: Why, thank you! What a nice thing to say.
LAUN: Names!
VERGE: You know the names. “The usual suspects,” as they say: my good pal, Dandy Lion; Chick Weed was in on it, too; Spotted Splurge ought to be locked up just because he’s so flamboyant; Pig Weed was the triggerman; and then the two babes, Wild Violet and Broad Plantain. I’m going to miss those two the most.
HOMES: They’re really going to hate you after this.
VERGE: Just like everybody else. So it goes.

Ed. Lange is a freelance writer, playwright, and stage director who has battled crabgrass for decades. A friend of his once rephrased a country song, “If it weren’t for crabgrass, I’d have no grass at all.”