Advertisement Since my father was a gardener, I am, of course, a world class expert on certain aspects of plants. IE, I can kill any plant ever germinated. Botanicidal. Brown thumb. The more TLC I heap on them the faster they turn into detritus. I had been assigned the duty of taking care of 5 pepper plants in the yard. The weather being a balmy 100+ F during the day, under a tree in deep shade helping to dwarf and retard their growth. I went at my duty with a will, watering them once every couple of weeks or when I noticed they were on deaths doorstep. I'm not too sure these Thai peppers, Prik Kee Noo Suan, literally/liberally translated as Mouse Shit Pepper, qualify as plants. The way they desperately cling to life, and what they can do from tip of tongue on down through de-glazing your porcelain altar could easily qualify them as alien WMDs. But digression aside, these five survived and thrived, and produced some pretty ugly mottled gnarly red, green and brown offspring. Enter my other, pepper muncher extraordinaire, chows down on these little beasts like they were candy. She sees the bowl of burnt offerings and pops a few in her mouth. Busily pulling green leaves off their stems and about stuff them in her maw along with a spoonful of Tam Yam when she suddenly claps her hand to her mouth, dives for the sink and emulates the sound of a breaching whale. Eyes watering she searches the fridge for fire extinguishing agents. "Hey Fezzik. You did something right for once?"