Earl and Duke were in the lawn care business.  Earl took care of the trees and shrubs, and Duke mowed the lawns.  This division of labor was working pretty well for them until one day when Duke came to Earl with a request.
    "Say, Earl," said Duke, "could I leave my old lawnmower at your garage for a while?"
    "Sure," said Earl.  "Any particular reason why?"
    "Oh, I'm getting a new mower pretty soon.  Top of the line riding mower," said Duke proudly.  "So I need to make some room over at my place.  This is just for a short time.  When I get the new lawnmower, I'm going to scrap the old one."
    That seemed reasonable enough to Earl, so he kept the old lawnmower in his garage and didn't give it another thought.  A few weeks later, Duke told him that the brand new rider had arrived.
    "So, you're ready to junk the old one, then?" asked Earl
    Duke held up his hands in a gesture of restraint.  "Oh, no!  Not yet!" he said.  "I want to keep it around just a little longer, just until I get used to the new one.  For insurance."
    That seemed reasonable enough to Earl, so he kept the old lawnmower in his garage and didn't think about it for another couple of months.  Then he started thinking that maybe he could use that space for something else.  So, he decided to ask Duke about  it.
    "Hey, Duke," he said, "are you ready to junk that mower yet?  I'll junk it for you, if you like."
    "Oh, not just yet," pleaded Duke.  "I need it as a backup, in case the new mower breaks down."
    "Um, what did you do when the old one broke down?" asked Earl.  "You know,  before you had the new one."
    "I got it fixed as fast as I could," said Duke.
    "Well, why don't you just do that now?" continued Earl.  "If the new one breaks down, just get it fixed."
    "But it's good to have a backup," insisted Duke.
    "But why in my garage?"
    "It won't be much longer," said Duke.  "Just until I get a little more comfortable with the rider."
    That didn't seem quite so reasonable to Earl, but he kept the old lawnmower in his garage and thought about it quite a bit.  After another month, he again broached the subject with Duke.
    "Oh, I can't get rid of it now," said Duke.
    "Why not?" asked Earl, blubbering slightly.  "Aren't you comfortable with the new rider yet?"
    "Oh, I'm comfortable with it," replied Duke.  "But some of our clients insist that I use the old one."
    "I don't understand," said Earl.  "Why would they insist on that?"
    "It turns out that my neat new rider can't get into tight spaces."
    "So, how many clients are we talking about?" asked Earl.
    "One," said Duke.  "Just be patient.  He'll come around after a while."
    "Oh, ok," groused Earl.
    This didn't seem reasonable at all to Earl, but he kept the old lawnmower in his garage and fumed.
    A few months later, it was Duke who brought up the subject of the lawnmower.
    "Say, you need to fix that lawnmower of yours," said Duke.
    "Whose lawnmower?" shrieked Earl incredulously.  "That's your lawnmower!"
    "Of course it isn't," replied Duke without missing a beat.  "It's been in your garage for months."
    "But you're the only one who ever uses it!" protested Earl.
    "Of course I am," said Duke.  "I'm the lawn mowing guy.  But it's your responsibility."
    "Well, if it's my responsibility, I'm just going to junk it," retorted Earl.
    "Uh, uh, uh!" cautioned Duke.  "You can't do that.  A client needs it!  Besides, we need it as backup!  Anyway, you just admitted your responsibility for the mower."
    "I did not!  I said if ..."
    "So, here's what you have to do.  We can't use leaded gasoline in that old mower anymore, so we need to switch to unleaded.  All you have to do is make a couple of very minor changes to the motor."
    "I don't suppose there's an owner's manual?" asked Earl querulously.  Duke had already left.

    The old lawnmower was unlike any other lawnmower Earl had ever seen.  For one thing, all of the print on it was in some bizarre, unknown alphabet.  Fortunately, the numbers appeared to be in standard Arabic numerals.  The number "2781" appeared in bold print.  He consulted several linguists, but none of them were familiar with the mower script.  When he turned to lawnmower repairmen, he finally got a break.  It was the number that did it.
    "Oh, that must be the Belchin 2781," said the mower guy.  "No one else has such a funny model number."
    "So, do they have 2780 other models?" asked Earl.
    "Nope.  That's their only one."
    "Then why 2781?  Oh, forget it.  Just fix it.  That's all I care about."
    The mower guy's eyes widened, and he stepped back with his hands in the air, as if someone had pulled a gun on him.  "Oh, no!" he said.  "I don't work on those.  You'll have to order parts from the company.  No one else makes them."
    "Would that be the Belchin Company?" asked Earl.  "Do you know where I can get their phone number or address?"
    "Hmm.  It's not 'Belchin.'  It's 'Czdrghk, Uninc.'"
    "I beg your pardon?" squawked Earl, frantically cleaning his ears.
    "I'll write it down for you.  I suppose it looks better in their language."
    "Exactly where is this company?" gulped Earl.
    "It's in a country named Effluvistan," said the mower guy.  "I have no idea where that is."

    After extensive library work, Earl tracked Effluvistan and Czdrghk, Uninc. down to a neglected corner of Central Asia.  "At last!" he sighed and sent off a letter requesting parts.
    Two months later, the letter came back.  It bore a large label:  "Moved.  No forwarding address."
    "Does this mean the company moved?" Earl called stupidly to the retreating mailman.
    "Uh, not exactly," said the mailman.  "The whole country moved."
    "Yikes!" yelped Earl.  "Where did they go?"
    The mailman shrugged his shoulders.  "Beats me," he said.  "No forwarding address."

    With the help of three private investigators, the United Nations, and a pack of bloodhounds, Earl eventually unearthed the fugitive country in its new home in the South Pacific.  (They were really good bloodhounds.)  Czdrghk, Uninc. had been bought out by Msirfj, Unltd.  Fortunately, they had an internet connection and one employee who spoke English.  His name was Glbk.
    "I need some parts for my Belchin 2781," typed Earl.
    "Very good.  I send," wrote Glbk.
    The parts arrived.  They were the wrong parts.
    "Very good.  I send," wrote Glbk.
    The fourth time was the charm.  Earl was almost elated.  But his tools wouldn't work.  He tried metric tools.  No luck.
    "Glbk," wrote Earl.  "These parts are nonstandard.  None of my tools fit them.  What gives?"
    "They standard," replied Glbk.  "Tublat standard."
    "What the heck is that?" asked Earl.
    "We use Tublat system," said Glbk.  "Tublat is slug.  System based on average length of Tublat."
    "Where the heck do you find tools for that?" asked Earl.  The scream was audible even across cyberspace.
    "Very good.  I send."

    Some months later, after Earl had returned from his stay in the home, he proudly showed the modified Belchin 2781 to Duke.
    "Hey, whattaya think of that?" he asked.  "Pretty good, huh?"
    "Super!" said Duke.  "Now, you have to convert to metric parts!"
    "Glbk," said Earl.