Misadventures of Morty the Motor

Written by Sandy Whitlow

Morty wasn’t just any motor—he was the heart and soul of Old Man Whitlow’s riding lawnmower. Morty had proudly purred for years as he powered through the wild jungle that was Mr. Whitlow’s backyard. Grass? No match for Morty’s might. Weeds? Ha! He chewed them up and spat them out. 

But lately…things weren’t going so well. 

It started with a bit of sputter. Then, a cough. Then, horror of horrors—a loud backfire, BOOM, poor Mr. Whitlow thought the apocalypse had arrived. Morty was getting old, and he knew it. 

“I just need a little oil,” he grumbled one morning, hoping for a smooth start. Instead, Mr. Whitlow gave Morty a firm kick. 

“Come on, you rusty old hunk of junk! We’ve got mowing to do!” 

Morty groaned. Respect? Have you ever heard of it, old man? But duty called. He mustered all his strength, released a mighty VROOM, and chugged forward… all of about five feet. 

Then—PFFFFFT. Dead stop. 

Mr. Whitlow smacked the steering wheel. “I knew I should’ve replaced you with that fancy electric model.” 

That was the final straw. Replaced? Oh no, Morty wasn’t going down without a fight. 

With a sudden burst of rebellious energy, he roared to life—VROOOOM! He shot forward faster than ever before. Mr. Whitlow yelped, gripping the handlebars for dear life as Morty tore across the yard. 

“Whoa there, boy! WHOA!” Mr. Whitlow yelled.

But Morty had gone full-throttle rogue. He zipped past the flowerbeds, narrowly avoided the birdbath, and made a beeline straight for Mrs. Whitlow’s prized garden gnome collection. 

BAM! CLANG! THUD! 

Gnome bits flew through the air like popcorn. The neighbor’s cat, Mr. Tiddles, took one look and launched itself into the bushes. 

Mr. Whitlow was still screaming when Morty’s fuel ran out. He coughed, sputtered, and came to a triumphant halt—right in the middle of what had once been the perfect lawn. 

Mr. Whitlow sat up, wide-eyed, grass-stained, and disheveled. The yard was a war zone. Morty, despite himself, was proud. 

“You stubborn, ridiculous, no-good motor,” Mr. Whitlow muttered. 

Morty braced for the worst. A junkyard, maybe? But then—Mr. Whitlow chuckled. 
“You got some fight left in you after all,” the old man said, patting the hood. “Guess I’ll fix you up instead of replacing you.” 

And so, Morty got his fresh oil, a few new spark plugs, and a legendary reputation as the only lawnmower motor to ever win a battle against Old Man Whitlow.