Asshole Lawnmower

       I like to fix things. There’s a sense of accomplishment that comes from fixing things. My lawnmower spent a couple of years being abused and finally decided to be pissy about it. It didn't quit, it just decided to go through the motions and fuck with me. I gave it a crank and it sat there chugging for a bit. It got all sour and started muttering, sputtering and puffing smoke like a crotchety old man. Then it stopped, sat back, and blinked at me. I could see it grinning.

       “ You're going to try that again, aren't you? You dumb bastard,” I could hear it saying.

        I did. They say doing to the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity. No, that’s the definition of being stupid. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and believing you're getting a different result. So, I stopped that, because I'm not quite insane. Yet.

       Not to put too fine a point on it, but the lawnmower was being a complete asshole.

       Granted, it had every right. The world was shitting on it. Here mow this. Now sit there. Now mow this. Now shut up. Now mow this. Now sit there some more. Eventually, I’m pretty sure it just said fuck it. If you're going to be an ass, so shall I. It’s not a good place to be.

       There are different types of assholes. Some are just born that way. Or bred that way. Hard to say which without a couple of years of therapy or copious amounts of alcohol. Of course, there are those that only unleash their inner asshole after consuming copious amounts of alcohol. Closet assholes, if you will. I’m thinking about a different kind, though.

       Some people are made into temporary assholes by their situation. These are the kind that become assholes due to neglect. People they love neglect them. Then, worse, they get into the habit of neglecting themselves. I did this recently, so I know how the lawnmower feels. I was an asshole lawnmower, too. I just got to the point where I didn't give a shit. I cleaned up the lawnmower, showing it a little TLC, changing out the plugs, new blade, cleaning out the filter and fuel line. All I did was give it a little attention.

       After tending to the lawnmower, I pulled the crank and it fired right up. We went walking about the yard together, playing zombies on the lawn, happily mowing down everything in our path. It was a joyous slaughter, the lawn mower content to be a whirring, happy machine of grassy death. We even went a second round and mulched the crap out of it. Take that zombie grass bitches! Fixing things is something that brings me a great deal of satisfaction. People are outside my ability. A lawnmower, though, is easy enough. A little care and attention is all it takes.

       I'm certain there’s a lesson in all that, but we'll ignore it for now, because it would be silly to take life lessons from a lawnmower.

       After mowing the lawn, I cleaned up the lawnmower and put it neatly back in its special spot. I'm pretty sure it winked at me and gave me a “ that'll do, pig” look. I grabbed the trimmer and headed out to finish the job. I gave it a crank and it sat there chugging for a bit. It got all sour and started muttering, sputtering and puffing smoke like a crotchety old man. Then it stopped, sat back, and blinked at me. I could see it grinning.

      Asshole trimmer.