I admit I may be just a bit of a misanthrope (mild understatement), but when I go out to the garden on a nice cool evening after dinner--on a day when I sure as hell needed a nice cool evening in the sanctifying garden--I don't like feeling nautious. Literally as soon as I go outside the neighbors start up their mower, and being downwind, I get all the stink, all the cancer, all the vomit, and all the noise.
My insanity grows with every wall vibration in my office as I try to write / focus all afternoon. It grows as nearby mowers thunder in the distance during dinner. And it absolutely explodes when I try to get some measure of peace and emotional venting done outside where I feel the most able to do so. Screw you, lawnmower, and the jerkface who invented you:
Screw you James Sumner of England (they're all from England), who used kerosene as a fuel to invent the first steam-powered mower.
Screw you Thomas Greene, for inventing the first chain-driven reel mower.
And screw you Edwin Budding for, in 1823, starting the whole damn thing. Give me grazing animals (or a prairie), or give me a missile launcher!
(And screw the infernal angry-mutated-wasp-sounding weedeater that follows the mowing, and the buzzing vortex of carbon-spewing suicide that is the leaf blower which finishes the trifecta of agony hours later.)