219-word post, or “The Flying Lawnmower”

“Is that a flying lawnmower?” thought Johnson Grabnard, walking home from work on Wednesday afternoon. And as soon as he thought it, he thought about how ridiculous a thought that was.

And yet, something had been bobbing up into the air behind a row of houses, sinking below his line of vision every time he tried to catch a glimpse of it. It darted behind trees, cars and houses on his street, every time he tried to look at it.

“I swear it sounds like a flying lawnmower…”

He tried to catch a glimpse of it, but damn if the thing didn’t stay just out of his direct line of vision every time he… and then the terrible thought hit him. “Is that thing after me?”

As soon as he thought it, he thought how ridiculous a thought that was. “Why would that lawn-mower be after me?” he thought. “And why is it flying if it even IS a lawnmower? And if it’s a flying lawnmower, it needs a flyer, doesn’t it?”
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It was suddenly louder now, and closer, and despite himself, Johnson Grabnard started running a little quicker for his front doorstep.

Because Johnson Grabnard knew that he was, after all, nothing but a straw man. And straw is a kind of grass.

Also he was on acid.

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