Musings from a liberally conserative, extroverted introvert, optimistic pessimist, idealistic realist
Even George Carlin Would Have Blushed
Published on April 29, 2008 By SH80 In Humor

I’ve added a new curse word to my vocabulary: “weed eater.” After yesterday’s attempt at manicuring my lawn and subsequent outbursts, I’m confident that Webster would readily incorporate its usage into American slang alongside its other entries usually reserved for four-letter words. Of course, my use of the word “weed eater” was accompanied by several of those existing four-letter descriptors already recognized by Webster. I’m fairly certain that even George Carlin would have blushed yesterday if he were my next door neighbor. The Catholic Church down the street refused me at confessional as the priest couldn’t offer me enough Hail Mary’s to counteract what had been uttered that evening. And now I understand that as of today, the FCC is considering the inclusion of the word “weed eater” in its list of censored words not to be used in primetime television.


One would wonder how an inanimate metal stick might cause such furor. Perhaps it has been handed down in my genes. Legend has it that my father single-handedly demolished a similar yard tool when it refused to operate accordingly. I found myself lost in similar fantasies as I spent more time maddeningly untangling the line than I did actually using it. The only thing that prevented such a course of action was the fact that I had just invested significant dollars in a new weed eater to avoid such ruminations. In fact, after spending last summer in constant battle with both my old gas weed eater and my wife’s previously owned electric weed eater, I promptly discarded both after the final showdown at sundown one evening, and headed directly to the Home Depot to purchase a brand new, highly recommended Echo lawn trimmer (at least highly recommended by Earl, the old-timer who supposedly repaired my gas weed eater for 35 bucks the week prior).


I thought for sure that $150 would put an end to my futility. It didn’t take long to discover that all lawn trimmers must be in cahoots in an attempt to frustrate all of mankind in some diabolical plan to overtake the world in some sort of man versus machine futuristic world as suggested in movies such as The Terminator by first humiliating us in our own failure to master their use thus freeing them to overthrow the planet in our moment of weakness as a result of our inability to stand up to them (that is if they have the power to START themselves, which I seriously doubt, as I cannot seem to even do this on a consistent basis).


While I considered $150 + tax a little steep for something I don’t even enjoy using, I thought it would relieve me of a minimum of 10 curse words per weekend per month, thus earning me at a minimum savings of upwards of 300 curse words that I could save for other occasions requiring their usage. You see, this weed eater didn’t even utilize a spool of string with which I’d constantly fought in the past, stopping and starting over and over and over as I lumbered about the yard. No. This was a trimmer that only required inserting two 6” long strips of super sized diameter nylon line into each opening of the head, thus giving it double-cutting power to terrorize any and all unsuspected weeds that dared to mock me and cover the Bermuda grass that lurked underneath. As I stood in the orange-striped isles of the Home Deport, I found my inner Tim Taylor grunting, “aarrr-aarrr-aarrr,” as I lifted this new weed weapon in my hands high above my head as if calling for power from the lawn gods.


While this newfangled approach sounded great in the store, it didn’t take long to discover that while it started up without hesitation, it took all of maybe one minute tops to completely rip the 6-inch nylon strips from their chambers leaving me to reload it more times that I had previously stopped to untangle the 30-foot spool I had previously owned. Upon the recommendation of my brother-in-law, I headed back to the man store to add a spool designed to fit the new tool I had purchased. With my new weapon upgrade, I was ready to take the entire yard at once, for now I had not just two 6-inch pieces of super-sized nylon line, but 20-FEET of super-sized cutting power, which would take out every unwelcome weed in my path all in one fell swoop. Being a typical male, I ripped open the packaging that encased this new upgraded accessory, quickly replaced the original impotent part, and threaded 20-feet worth of nylon ready to wreak havoc on the patch of land I loosely call a lawn.


What I didn’t realize, however, was the fine print on the carton that required the operator to hold an engineering degree from an accredited university to install the nylon line properly. Thus, I spent the next hour and a half (which was more time than it took actually mowing the yard itself) stopping and starting, twisting and turning, fighting and cursing this inanimate object until I was completely worn-out, and I finally succumbed to its power to break me down and get the best of what was left of me.


Oh, and those 300 curse words I was supposed to be saving up for later use? I used them all last night in the span of an hour and a half. Perhaps I should consider my wife’s suggestion of paying a lawn keeper this summer after all as it appears to be the only way I’ll be able to accrue my bank of curse words for future use.


In the meantime, “Hail Mary!”300


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