You know how it goes… You roll out the trusty old machine and push it purposefully toward the jungle that was once your yard. You prime it and pump it, pat it and position it. Then you pull the cord, full of hope and expectation.

You prime the thing again, shake it, move it a few inches, and pull again. And again. And again!

Expectation yields to frustration. You prime again, filling the air with vapour.

Your wife, who has never pulled the cord in her life breezes past and advises, “You’ve flooded it!” This invigorates your fervour and you pitch yourself against the infernal beast yet again, pulling with a vengeance not seen since your high-school athletics class.

Images dance in your mind. You recall that smooth-talking chap with the lisp, at the Diabolical Machine Company. His smooth and hypnotic tone promised your transcendence. You were meant for better things. Just one push would open your eyes to new landscaping possibilities. “Great snakes! You’ll mow like the gods, turning forest into lawn.”

You saw it was pleasant to the eyes and a machine to be desired. So you took it home.

But it cost you your paradise. In the sweat of your brow you pull the damnable cord to no avail. Occasional sputters have you leaping to the throttle, coughing in a cloud of smoke.

Heart thumping in your chest, you sense that two “stroke” has a deeper meaning.

You eye your neighbour’s shiny grass-chomping champion, purring over his billiard-table lawn. But you dare not ask again, since he guards it with a flaming tongue that turns in every direction.

Surely there’s a demon in your mower!

So, how does this kind come out? You’ve tried swear and cursing. You’ve laid on hands. You’ve uttered tongues over it.

…… So, my theological friends, what wisdom doth proceed from thee?

Canst thou enlighten those that do huff and puff?

We await your pontifications with hand on the pull-cord.

Tags: humour