You'd think that on its second mow, a brand new mower would be hungry to eat some grass. You'd think it would just be getting warmed up.

Apparently, my mower decided it had had enough of this grass-cutting shit. It died on me yesterday.

My neighbor, Ax (not his real name), was outside later that evening and I walked over to our fence to tell him my bad news. He and I are establishing a relationship not unlike the one between Tim and Wilson on Home Improvement. I'm Tim. Things tend to break when I get my hands on them. I go to him seeking consolation and advice. He's Wilson. He's older and wiser and he just knows shit. And dammit he's got a great freakin' lawn.

Ax also owns a classic muscle car, which he showed me the first day we met. I have to admit, it's pretty sweet. And shiny. Ax works on it in his free time. Also, he drives a Ford F-350 4x4, a truck that continually lobs taunts over at Remington from Ax's driveway. Damn bully trucks. The only thing that's a little pansy-ass about Ax is he's got two Dachshunds. I mean one would be unfortunate. But two is tragic.

As I walked over to Ax, the two "dogs"—a term I use loosely—greeted me as they always do, with furious barking and yipping. Have you ever seen a Dachshund when he's furious? It's kind of like when real dogs are being playful. Because of the commotion, Ax didn't hear me too well when I said, "My mower died." I could tell by the expression on his face and the way he said, "I'm so sorry" that he had misunderstood me. So I bent down and offered the dogs my hand to sniff, which shut them up. Then I said, no not my mother, my mower. God, who walks up to his neighbor, who he's only known for a couple of months, and says with a sort of flabbergasted, aw-shucks, can-you-believe-it atttitude, "guess what, my mother died." Nice weather we're having, isn't it? He must have thought I was crazy. Oh well, it won't be the last time for that. He'd better get used to it.

So I'm not sure if I set a record for killing a lawn mower, but I was going to look into it. I brought it back to Fred, who doesn't seem like so much of an angel to me anymore. He went to start the thing, only to find that the pull-chord wouldn't budge. Like I said, it was fed up. He admitted that this definitely seemed a little fishy. "But don't worry about a thing!" he said. He would figure out what was going on and I wouldn't have to pay for a thing. He's damn right I'm not paying for a thing. It's a Toro. And I bought it last week, remember? I wasn't worried about paying for things. But I do want to get up all this thatch I raked up the other day so that I can get some seed and fertilizer on the lawn before it rains this weekend. I'm on a time crunch, here Fred. I can't deal with mowers that die on me on the second mow, brother.

So if I find out more bad news today, and I can't get my mower back, I'm going to ask Fred for a replacement. And if that one dies, then I'll know God is pissed at me for last week's post. Maybe I should go ahead and apologize now.

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