The Lawnmower Man Part 2: Old Man vs. The Wild

Posted: May 12, 2012 by baki3626 in Family Fables
Tags: , , , , ,

Welcome to part two of “The Lawnmower Man: Old Man vs. Wild.” (Still not affiliated with that movie!) When we left off, my pops was marching to the insect infested “Ditch of Doom” like a senile Indiana Jones. Once he made his way to the ditch, the mower was lying right where I left it…I guess. To be honest, I had no idea since I was already repressing the entire day. The old man on the other hand, was assessing the damage with his trademark efficiency. “It’ll still run,” he said. “And it’s got plenty of gas left.” What the hell!?! Had this man not heard a word I screamed!? The mower ain’t the problem! The carnivorous insects are!


“No dad,” I said. “The mower is fine. But the bees…!”

“…Are a part of cutting grass. Nothing to worry about.” And just like that, my dad started hot-wiring the mower. Soon he would yank on the ripcord and the apocalypse would officially begin.

“Dad, I really REALLY don’t think you should do that. Let’s just drop a buncha napalm on them and  condemn the backyard for a few years.”

“Calm down,” he said as placed his delusional hand around the mower’s ripcord. “They’re more afraid of us than we are of them.”

DYK #3: Did you know that bees, wasps, yellow jackets and other insects capable of stinging human flesh are NOT more afraid of us than we are of them?

So, my pops casually yanked the ripcord on the Clydesdale. Within about 0.95 seconds, 468 insects from all walks of life with razor sharp stingers emerged from the ditch. Wait, did I say emerge? I meant exploded!! They swarmed my pops like L.A. Cops on Rodney King! There were so many flying monsters that I literally lost sight of my dad. But I could still hear him. And what I heard was the wailing of a banshee set to ultra soprano. The windows on my house were trembling from the pitch. And so were my neighbors windows. And so were the windows of my neighbors, neighbors!!


I had to do something. Sure this mustached dumb-ass had it coming to him but he was still my dad. And I was still his son. So I quickly looked for something, ANYTHING to fend the bite-size bastards off with. I ran into the garage and saw a bucket of fertilizer my dad had been using. Perfect! Insects hate fertilizer! I picked up said bucket and scrambled back into the grassy arena of death. My pops was still fighting courageously. Losing horribly but fighting none the less. “Don’t worry, dad!” I confidently yelled. “I got fertilizer!” I threw the entire bucket of fertilizer on my pops and his enemies.

DYK #4: Did you know that bees, wasps, yellow jackets and other insects capable of stinging human flesh do NOT hate fertilizer? Or maybe they do but just hate old guys that try to Wolverine their house with a military grade push-mower more.

Kill the old man!!

The fertilizer was completely useless. It only made them attack my dad more. In fact, I think it somehow helped them. Like it had stinger steroids in it or something. It wasn’t that helpful to my dad though. It turns out that when fertilizer is placed on sweaty, porous skin it can be very VERY itchy. Or at least that’s what I observed on that fateful day. So within no time, the old man was scratching himself uncontrollably like a professional crack-head while still being assaulted by an army of winged warriors as his son flailed about from the sidelines like a cheerleader on ecstasy at a rave. And between his cries, I mean battle-cries, of anguish, I’m fairly certain I heard the occasional “When I get my hands on you, boy..!!” Or “Not even your mother will be able to stop me from…!!” And my favorite “You’re never getting Christmas again!!”

As the war between the stinging and the stung continued to wage I got more and more desperate. I tried hitting the pointy insects with base and footballs. But those little critters are um… little! So, I’d end up pelting my pops in the chest or groin or face or groin or groin. Until finally my dad moaned the word “Hose!”

DYK #5: Did you know my dad and I never played charades or any other type of guessing game? Did you know that I suck at charades and any other type of guessing game.

I thought he was making his last request. So I started on my quest to grant him his final wish “Sure thing, dad! I’ll get you the nicest, prettiest, cleanest ladies I can…”  Then he said another word. “Water!” After what felt like eternity, for my dad, it dawned on me what he wanted.


Wait, what if I re-arrange the words…


That’s it, ya dumb ass! Grab the damn water hose! I ran around to the side of the house and unraveled the untold miles of coiled green rubber, picked up the sprayer-head-thingy, and ran for my dad’s dear life. “Don’t worry dad!” I said like Superman with my hands held at my waist and my imaginary cape blowing in the wind. “I’ll save you!” I aimed the sprayer-head-thingy right at the flying herd of insects and gave them my best 80’s action hero line. “Hope you’re thirsty!” Not sure which was worse: my banter or their buzzers. Actually, having just re-read what I said, I know which was worse.

I fired the hose. I fired it like a cannon blasting Evil Knivel after he got life insurance. I fired it like John McClane on the 67th floor of the Nakatomi building at a bunch of Europeans. And when I did, the bees, wasps, yellow jackets and other insects capable of stinging human flesh flew off my dad just long enough for him to safely run screaming into the garage.

That night as I watched my dad carefully tweeze out the countless stingers from his swollen flesh, I couldn’t help but wonder about next Saturday. Maybe I would get to ride Bucky. Maybe I should start calling myself “Super Sprayer” and get a cape. Or maybe, just maybe, the next time I tell my dad that there is swarm of blood-thirsty bees, wasps, yellow jackets and other insects capable of stinging human flesh he’ll do the efficient thing and listen to me!!

  1. baki3626 says:

    Thanks Athena.

  2. Khurrum says:

    So I felt into swarm of wasps once and I honestly feel that every time I am near a bee, I have extra sensory powers where my old stings start to reverberate. After one has been stung so numerously, they develop this sense. I call it the “the sting curse”

  3. baki3626 says:

    Dang, maybe YOU should have been the comic book writer in the family!

Your words SHOULD be here! :-)

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