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#Lawn & Garden

I Put a Jet Engine on My Lawn Mower — Now My Grass is Gone and I’m on a Watchlist

Like many suburbanites, I take great pride in my lawn. A lush, green, evenly trimmed yard is the pinnacle of middle-class success, right behind owning a propane grill and pretending to care about your HOA. But after years of pushing my rusted 1950s reel mower across my patchy, weed-infested excuse for grass, I decided it was time for an upgrade. Not just any upgrade, though—I needed power. I needed speed. I needed something that would make my neighbor Jerry’s overpriced zero-turn mower look like a Fisher-Price toy.

So naturally, I did what any rational human being would do: I attached a surplus jet engine to my grandfather’s 1956 push mower. It was a beautiful marriage of mid-century steel craftsmanship and the kind of reckless ambition usually reserved for Florida Man headlines. The installation process was simple—by which I mean it involved a lot of duct tape, questionable welding techniques, and the loss of my left eyebrow.

The first test run was a thing of beauty. With a roar that shattered three car alarms and sent local wildlife fleeing in terror, my jet-powered mower tore across my lawn at Mach 0.8, vaporizing everything in its path. Grass? Gone. Weeds? Incinerated. A small section of my driveway? Also gone. I had, in a sense, created the world's first scorched-earth lawn care solution. Jerry, standing at his fence clutching his morning coffee, looked at me the way one might look at a man who has just declared himself emperor of his backyard.

By the time I managed to wrestle the mower to a stop—halfway through my neighbor’s azalea bush—it became clear that I had underestimated the sheer power of my invention. The FAA called within minutes, politely asking why there were reports of “an unidentified high-speed object” originating from my zip code. The Department of Homeland Security followed shortly thereafter, inquiring why NORAD had briefly mistaken my lawnmower for a missile launch. It was at this point I realized I might be in trouble.

Of course, not all consequences were bad. My lawn, for instance, had never looked better—mostly because it no longer existed. What had once been a patchy, dandelion-ridden mess was now a perfectly smooth expanse of charred earth. No more mowing. No more watering. No more HOA passive-aggressive reminder letters. I had, in one fell swoop, achieved the ultimate suburban dream: defeating grass itself.

Unfortunately, the local fire department did not share my enthusiasm. Nor did the insurance company, which is now questioning why my policy doesn’t explicitly exclude "jet-fueled landscaping accidents." Meanwhile, my homeowner’s association has sent me a cease-and-desist letter stating that "turning one’s front yard into an impromptu runway is against community guidelines." Typical bureaucratic nonsense.

At present, I am weighing my options. I could dial down the thrust and make the mower more “practical,” but that would mean admitting defeat, and I’m not about that life. Alternatively, I could lean into my new outlaw status, strap on a wingsuit, and take my lawn care operation airborne. After all, if the government’s already watching me, I might as well give them a show.

One thing is certain: Jerry’s zero-turn mower is officially irrelevant. And if my calculations are correct, I should have just enough fuel left for one final act of suburban dominance—writing my name in the sky with burning grass clippings.

UPDATE: As of this writing, my wife has confiscated the jet mower, citing "concerns for public safety" and "our remaining roof tiles." I have filed for an appeal.

Published Sat, May 10, 2025
Suggested by W.Denaro
Managing Editor

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