The Push Mower From Hell "It's time to get up, son. You've got work to do today." My father's gravelly voice brought my reluctant subconscious out of the realm of its peaceful slumber. How dare he, I wondered to myself, interrupt my rest and force me awake on the most sacred of days: the Cartoon Sabbath. Still slightly disoriented, I went into the kitchen to feed myself a bowl of Cheerios and plant myself in front of a "Winnie the Pooh" rerun. I had scarcely finished my third bowl when my father returned, somewhat angered. "I believe that I told you that we were going to do some yardwork today. How about coming out and lending a hand?" I agreed meekly, owing to the fact that I had no desire to risk conflict with my father. After brushing my teeth and slapping on a tee shirt, shorts, and shoes, I trudged outside. The hot summer sun beat down heavily on the back of my neck. Because of a combination of heat and fatigue, I felt as if I were drunk.
