My word.  There were obligatory bbqs, the wow-nice-weather-convos, the stop at Baskin Robbins.  Typical Memorial Day, right?  Well not for me.  In addition to these expected pleasantries, I bore witness to a suburban epidemic that should raise our national security level from yellow to orange.  The Suburban Gardening Buttcrack.  Everywhere I looked when I was walked around the block (sniffing for enemy markings) there were people planting away, waving their buttcracks around like a cult ass flag.  Common sense says that a breeze would alert them to their street side butt show.  Their ass is hanging out for christ sake!  How do they rationalize the butt top quarter slot?  "The day you pay my mortgage is the day I cover crack"?  Is that what they say when pouring the 8pm bourbon?  This needs to be stopped.  I'll have to spend the next week sleeping under the ottoman to come up with a plan.  Till then, if you hear a lawnmower or see Mrs. Lady dragging a bag of weeds to the curb, just know a butt crack is looming.  Be warned.