The Curse of a Motor Mower

They’re motives of the weekend - they’re a gardener’s saving grace, buzzing up and down and ‘round and ‘round cleaning up the place. There’s nothing like the latest smell of a freshly mown down lawn, once you ease a hiccup which can cause a heap of scorn. You can bet your bottom dollar when the clouds build up for rain, and you want to get the grass cut before it’s raining once again, that the darn mower will not start, no matter what you try. When you finally get the mower going - the lawns no longer dry. I curse and swear with every pull upon that blasted rope. At least by venting off me spleen it gives some little hope, but time has come to bite the bullet; I can only take so much. A new mower’s on me shopping list ‘cause this one’s out of touch. I’ll give the mower one last chance to drive some bugger mad. I parked it in the front yard with a twenty-dollar ad, and just by chance the Vicar who just moved into town was walking past my home and saw the price I’d written down. He mentioned that a motor mower is needed at his manse, and pleading poor he said to me, “Is there any hope or chance, that you may take a mere ten dollars?” So I helped this Godly man, but he asked me then to start it, and that wasn’t in me plan. But God was kind to me this day; I pulled the rope and lo-behold, the engine rattled into life, and me motor mowers sold. I might have only got ten bucks, but that’s a tipping fee, so in retrospect I reckon it’s worth the twenty bucks to me. I guess it was a week or so; I’m with our dog out on a walk, and as per normal in the street, I’d often stop and talk. But one thing caught me eye that wrenched me sinful heart. The Vicar’s pulling on the mower rope and it wouldn’t start. Me guilty conscience activated and the guilt is very strong, so I walked up to the Vicar and asked him what was wrong. He was sweating; he was red faced; he was more than angry now, “I can’t get your blinking mower started - can you tell me how?” “Of course I can” I said to him, and then he shouted quite upset “Tell me how to start this thing before I do something I regret!” To try and calm the situation in a helpful tone I had me say, “You have to curse, swear and blaspheme; that’s the only way.” The glaring Vicar said “I’m not saying never have I swore, but if I did I have forgotten, for that was years before.” “Well” I said to the Vicar “What you’re saying might be true, but you keep pulling on that rope - and it’ll all come back to you.”