Grass is a good holding cell for the hungriest of the bald barbarians of the west, as they generally aren't equipped to cope with the tasty flavourings involved with chlorophyll. Something to do with evolution and useless things. Anyway so the grass that held the bald barbarians was absolutely purple in it's rage at being used like a second or third or somewhere in between nursing day care home centre store for only a little above fifty percent of the hazardous time of working booting hours of the week in Nebraska. Holding them down in a ruck wasn't very successful, so they tended to avoid that whenever possible, and maybe even not do it as they were basically thoroughly bored of the whole process. Getting bored of processes, like this, they decided, was all part of the forgettable life of the unforgettable life of, well, anyone really, so they decided to publish it privately publicly so that it was hideously on view to make them feel very belittled and pretty damn stupid and talentless. And as the rage tends to be their kind of thing, they kind of got good at it, and emigrated to America, where that sort of thing is very much in vogue and widely accepted as the proper way to behave, as long as everyone else is doing it. To cope with the fickle climate, they developed a telly-o-meter to decide when the best time was to dive in with the trendy purple again and pretend that they were the first to go purple, which in fact they were, which turned them all into bitchy, well, bitches, really.