Dear Lawnmower – Go Fuck Yourself
I know your existence is not a great one. You get pushed around in the heat, through dirt, ant hills, and all manners of plant life. You spend your time roaming the yard destroying anything and everything in your path. Yes the pretty butterflies flutter around you, and you get some fresh air, but it’s still tough work.
I do my best to take care of you. I feed you (gas) as often as you need it, making sure you never go hungry. I check/change your oil frequently so that you can operate at your best. I even keep you in a great shed to protect you from the weather, and all manner of bugs/animals. And it’s not one of those sheds with the dirt floor and the very thin tin can walls. We’re talking a nice quality shed, with a nice solid concrete floor that keeps you from getting your wheels all muddy and wet.
And when we work in the yard together, we make an awesome team! Like Lewis and Clark, Batman and Robin, Orange Juice and Vodka! I make sure to keep things that could harm you out of your way. If something gets you tangled up I’m there to hold your hand and get you untangled. We have some great times. Also you help get me some exercise (like I need it?), and some fresh air. Good times my friend. Good times.
So why is it that today of all days, you decide to not start? Is it something I said? Something I did? I know I looked at those riding lawn mowers at Home Depot, but it wasn’t like I was taking down their numbers or trying to bring them home. I just glanced. Not even for a minute. I can’t help it, I am a man, and it’s in my natural instincts to look. It doesn’t mean I was going to act on any thing! (Like I could afford a riding mower anyways!)
Was it because it’s cold today? I know it’s only 45, and there is a breeze, but that’s no excuse to leave me standing there, staring befuddled at you as you refused to start. Maybe it was too early in the morning? I know 9am isn’t great, but I already told you I had other plans this afternoon. It’s like you don’t listen to me anymore.
Perhaps you’re just a bit under the weather. Maybe congested? I know I don’t have all the time in the world but maybe I can help you get that cleared up later. Possibly check your fuel lines for anything blocking them. I hope it’s not too serious.
Either way, your actions today prevented me from getting something done that needed to get done. So I will finish this letter with the main reason I’m typing you this.
GO FUCK YOURSELF. That’s right. Asshole. Not starting. Making me pull a muscle in my arm trying to get you started 100 times. If you don’t wanna start that’s fine, but you have to be a jerk and hurt me in the process? Fuck you. Maybe I’ll go finance one of those riding mowers anyways. They look more fun, like they wanna be ridden, and not just taken from behind all the time. With their adjustable clearances, and bigger, squishier wheels. Your wheels aren’t even real, they’re plastic. They’re too tough and don’t look natural at all!
SO FUCK YOU! FUCK YOUR PULL STARTER! AND FUCK YOUR WEED WHACKER FRIEND, SHE’S A BITCH TOO!