Gardening: Innocent passtime or attempt to unseat God?

So I finally had to get out there and tackle the weeds this afternoon. Machete in hand, suited up in my galvanized steel anti-deerfly suit, covered in a fine mesh-like membrane of Deep Woods Off in a (failed) attempt to ward off mosquitoes and black flies, I headed for my small front garden.

Nothing prepared me for what lurked beneath the tapestry-like weave of roots and branches.

There were things that crawl. Things that just flail around in their own slime. More disturbingly, things with front arms and hands, which they use to dig their way back underground ("don't look at me...I'm hideousssss...."). A worm 9 inches long, and no I'm not exaggerating--my galvanized steel gardening suit comes with a ruler.

There were lightning-fast buzzy-crawly bugs that dart out of nowhere, their front antennae filled with their unhatched young. Massive wolf spiders carrying their larvae packs between their back legs. Just....ewwww.

I hurled the more disgusting specimens toward the sun. My offended screech was they last thing they ever heard. Those who got away quickly enough escaped the Trowel of Death. Those who were too slow were obliterated.

Then I turned my all-powerful eye to the quivering, nervous weeds. I pulled those weeds, and I pulled them good. I crushed them between my cramped and aching fingers, just to feel them squirm. Some I spared. Those that pleased me by being in the right place at the right time were granted life. Those that displeased me were destroyed. A caterpillar slinked toward my rose bush. I crushed it with my trowel and laughed.

I had completely altered these creatures' universe. I had uprooted their very existence. I gave life, and I took it away. And at the end, I stood back and saw that it was good.