The Cellar - The 'What the fuck!' thread

My friend's dad built his own lawnmower. I don't recall it every flying (intentionally), but it had it's own charm. No photos survive. They may have lost a dog and some squirrels to it also.

We fondly called it the Killer Baby Carriage™.

It was built on a piece of plywood that had baby carriage wheels attached to it.

The lawnmower blade was mounted below the plywood. The blade was powered by what legend held was a washing machine motor, but we later learned was an 18" attic fan motor. We figured this out when the attic fan did not work and we went checking to see why. The blade was regularly honed to razor sharpness.

Power was supplied to the motor by a series of household (not heavy duty) extension cords. They were not plugged into each other. Rather they were spliced together. For the most part. There was one plug connection on it, which we shall address later.

A handle from an actual electric lawnmower was bolted to the plywood. There was an on-off switch on the handle. This switch was not connected to anything, but would have been too much trouble to remove, or even wrap some duct tape around to conceal it. If you didn't know that this switch didn't do anything, you shouldn't be operating the Killer Baby Carriage.

The single remaining matched plug set on the extension cord was the "emergency stop".

Well, not quite.

When you unplugged it, it took a while for the blade to spin down. So you better have enough time to deal with the emergency before then.

Non-emergency stops were not unusual. As one mowed the lawn it was necessary to be very careful about paying out the electrical cord, which was worn bandolier style over one's shoulder. Running over the cord with the Killer Baby Carriage required that the cord be respliced to restart the mower. This was typically done without disconnecting from the power source.

There were no skirts, sides, or other attempts at safety devices to protect the operator or passers-by from things flying out around the sides, front, and back of the blade. A strip of old tire was eventually stapled to the back of the plywood because my friend's dad got tired of having halves of rocks strike his calves and ankles.

Yes, the blade was fast enough and sharp enough to cut rocks.

The dog would hear it start up and go hide. Several trees around the yard bore the scars of an encounter with the Killer Baby Carriage.

Hearing it start up was also an experience. It was very quiet. And lethal. Kind of like a poisonous viper. At full power it merely emitted a soft whirring sound. All you really heard was the *spang* of small to mid-sized rocks and sticks hitting the blade.

However, it cut grass like you wouldn't believe.

Like a golf green.

Even, short, manicured.

Amazing.

My friend's father loved the Killer Baby Carriage, and forsook all commercial mowing devices, despite his family's best efforts to replace it, and keep dad upon this earth. I once assisted in returning the Killer Baby Carriage to the shed, where I discovered not one, or two, BUT THREE pristine and gleaming commercial lawnmowers that had been given as presents for birthday, Father's Day, and Christmas of various years.

The Killer Baby Carriage was unfortunately taken out of service some years ago because the plywood finally rotted through, but it live on in our hearts and stories.

None of this tale is exaggerated. Okay, the part about losing a dog to it isn't true. She was smart enough to hide. Independent confirmation of the Tale of the Killer Baby Carriage is available.

There are more "My Friend's Dad" stories. He liked to tinker with things. Some that he understood, some that he didn't.