The will of the beast has finally been assuaged. That riding lawnmower from hell has been replaced. I had grown tired of its demonic presence. A friend of a friend had a lawnmower for sale. I jumped at the offer.

I went to this friend�s friend�s house and took a look at the mower. It was old, but in good condition. I took it for a spin. It started up easily, cut well and drove like a high-quality sports car, or at least as much as a riding lawnmower can resemble a high-quality sports car. I was thrilled. My dreams of mowing the lawn with the ease of a riding lawnmower was finally about to be realized. No longer would I have to endure the pushing of a mower under the hot, Texas, summer sun. I paid for the mower, loaded it into the truck, and drove home in an exceedingly good mood.

The next weekend the law needed to be mowed. I strolled out to the new mower. I sat upon its cushioned throne and turned the key. Even though it was the reaction I expected, I was still startled by the prompt start. A task that had previously taken many hours and even more effort, which sometimes failed to even get accomplished, now took only an hour of steering and braking. This was the highlife. Why had I spent so long with that other mower? Why had I not done this sooner? I mocked the suns feeble attempts to wear me down. I mocked the grass as it fell before the mighty whirling blades of my machine. I mercilessly mocked the old mower as I rode past its final resting place in the corner of our property. Little did I know how I would regret that.

The summer was drawing to a close and the grass was not growing so fast anymore. It was 2 weeks until the lawn needed another mowing. I put it off until the end of the day, knowing that I could easily accomplish my task in an hour with the new mower. I climbed atop the mowers mighty throne and turned the key. The mower cranked a few times and then died. I was in shock. I checked to make sure I had climbed atop the right mower. Indeed I had, so I tried turning the key again, which yielded the same result. I was dismayed, but by no means broken. Two things I had learned from my encounters with the previous mower; a working knowledge of riding lawnmowers and lots of patience.

I set to the task at hand with methodical precision. I charged the battery, checked the fuel tank and fuel lines, checked the spark plugs. I inspected damn near every moving part on that thing. Nothing seemed to be wrong; the damn thing just wouldn�t start. I could not believe it. Why couldn�t I get a riding lawnmower that worked? Have I offended God? Were some asshole kids sneaking onto my property and sabotaging my mowers? Was my home built on top of and thus defiling a Native American gravesite, causing a terrible curse that prevented me from maintaining an impeccable lawn?

As I pondered these questions, the truth slowly became apparent. Somehow, the original mower from hell, had not been just an engine and a frame and the other parts necessary for a mower, but it had a soul. Unbeknownst to its creators, this mower had been given soul, and not just any soul, but a cunning, malicious and evil soul. Perhaps there was some freak alignment of the stars the day this monstrosity was created, who knows, but that machine is a sentient, malevolent entity. Obviously, when I brought the new mower into its domain in an attempt to replace it, it became angry. It insinuated its soul into the new mower, causing it to turn against me, and turn against me it did. I now have two evil sentient machines in my backyard. They are the worst kind of evil, hating humans to their very cores. If these two mowers ever learn how to reproduce, then humanity is doomed. They will breed and breed, and then in one night, in a roar of little mower exhausts, humanity will come to an end.