“He wrote the Statue of Liberty”
Above is an an actual quote from a wife beater wearing, PBR drinking, git yer hands off my guns bumper sticker sporting, no filter Camel smoking, sitting on the sea wall with sparks in his comb over, 50 something hard guy.
Tonight would be freakin’ beautiful.
Of course he meant the National Anthem and his lab partners also working on their thesis in frontal lobe reduction via formaldehyde based recreational adult soda mentioned that Frances Scott Keyes, wrote the National Anthem. So it went for us on July 4th.
“God Bless America!” was the follow up to the misspoken authorship of the French wench in NYC harbor.
“Durka Durka Dooooo!”
Came from somewhere behind me. If the Taliban could see this, the would put all their money into space research and get the hell off earth. These men cannot be reasoned with, they do not eat, do not sleep, and use the cardboard insert from the three pack of white wife-beaters they bought at Target as a dust pan to get the flotsam and jetsam off the car mats of their 1988 Ford F-150. You’ve seen it. The one with the two tone paint job. These are the men that if you knew them well and they respected you they would lay down their life for you. Tonight they made most the Mom’s in attendance nervous.
In any event it was another amazing 4th and here is how it went down.
Agent Mongoose (AM) and Agent Linoleum (AL) spent the night on July 3rd as the family is moving back from Washington to California. Thus the house is packed and the parents needed the spawn to be gone for the next two nights so the parental units could wind up the packing with no immediate danger of dismemberment of an offspring. Joining us for the evening was Em our ultra-kewl cousin/college student and the day was upon us.
It was Monday morning July 4th at 5:30AM the sun was up like it was already 10AM, and so was I.
That is the Pacific NW in a nutshell. The sun is down at 9:45PM and up at 5AM. Today boys would become men and men would become drunk versions of boys. I steeled my eyes over the water as the ocean had retreated for low tide. It appeared to be a futile cry for mercy. I thought the ocean figured if it should us its core self the inevitable barrage of fireworks, garbage, plastics, and hoothefuqnowselz hitting its pristine waters and proceeding to pollute the delicate life forms of the coastal PNW could be abated. Right. This is fireworks country and unless Red Dawn 3 happens it is on like Donkey Kong.
I washed my face in the local tap water which was so pure it actually took two years off my face by repairing sun and weather damage. Moving on to resurface my pits with the Tommy Bahama deod stick my bro brought back from Hawaii as a gift. Checked my eyes, popped on my Maui Mocs, two layers of shirts, and gazed down upon the sleeping mania as the Agents were crashed in the front room> the ‘womens’ as they Agents call them pretended to sleep as the sun bore into their rooms with a startling clarity. I was off for the morning paper and a special order coffee.
The drive was uneventful except for the fact I was a half hour early for the opening of the local grocery store. So I sat there with some guys who met apparently every morning at 6:30AM to BS about their classic cars before the store opened. They looked my way and spoke amongst themselves about some idiot in a rented Nissan Versa, who was occupied with his smart phone and there entire half hour before the store opened. So I waited. Time passed quickly and when I looked up from phone email one of the classic car guys was wandering through the bakery section so I went in.
One 16 ounce sugar free vanilla soy latte and a morning paper later I was motoring back to the house to prepare myself for all the action of the 4th.
Em was diggin’ the specialized coffee concoction, AM and AL where up and in action. They were in an early morning frenzy of sugar. Hot Chocolate with super-sized marshmallows. I was plowing a homemade Hazelnut Coffee and a slight sweat broke out on the sides of my nose.
The paper as it turned out was yesterday’s and I swore as I knew today was off to a rough start. I asked myself, “Who sells yesterday’s paper?”
After a breakfast clusterfuq consisting of some half eaten yoghurt servings, an attempt to add even more marshmallows to an overly sugared hot chocolate breakfast drink, I rounded up the agents and started to make our move to go buy fireworks. By this time it was after 9 and the Agents were babbling about what ever their synapses had to offer. The voice pitch of young men could be used as sonar over miles of underwater ocean and it amazes me how parents can tune it out as if it were a low volume iPod playing 90’s Adult Contemporary.
“Guys! Hey! Guys?!” I finally got their attention.
We are off to go get fireworks so I need to you get changed, get your change and be ready in five. “
This year the Agents Supervisor (aka Mom) had saved all her loose change and the firework money was all this loose change. The Agents had rolled most of the coins into paper coin rolls and a lot of the variable and valuable metal discs were not rolled and sat in organized chaos in a Mason jar.
First stop was gas then we had to visit the CoinStar™ machine in the local super market to make sure the coins where converted to actual folding money. We did this so we would not get a beat down by negotiating for a good price on explosives and then drop three to four pounds of metal on them to pay for it.
So it was off to QFC to drop off the Agents and Em to get the money while I tried to come up with an interesting teaching moment to get the Agents to bargain a bit at the fireworks carnival before they blow their funds on the first thing that looks interesting.
About 20 minutes after they went into the store they came out. Already arguing over how the money was to be spent.
AM “We have to agree on what we buy!”
AL “No AM we don’t! It is as much mine as it is yours!”
AM “Nunh ahn!”
AL “Yah hahn!”
Supreme Commander, “Guys, it is both of your monies. How much do you have?”
Agent M, “Eighty dollars.”
SC, “Okay that is forty each to spend how ever you want.”
AM was despondent over this approach he was concerned AL would by crap and that the fireworks display for the evening would be severely compromised. After some whining and AM expressing his logic for controlling the funds everyone in the car agreed to split the monies and divide up into purchasing teams.
AL, “ Okay so SC and I are on one team and Em and AM are on the other. Whoever get the best fireworks for the money wins.”
Wins. It always had to do with wins. With two young brothers, someone had to win and someone had to lose.
Team one was me and AL. Team two was Em and AM.
AL and I were to go get what we could get, and so were Em and Agent M then rendezvous at the Versa. The rented Versa sallied forth at the speed limit the entire way as we used cruise control. There was one certainty, small town cops hand out a lot of traffic violations on holiday weekends, so we played it cool, and made it the fireworks stands without incident.
I had a suspicion Agent L was possessed by a demon and what I was about to witness at the fireworks procurement area was solid evidence.
The fireworks stands are located on the Swinomish Native American Reservation near Anacortes Washington. Apparently Island County Washington is one of the only places you can use live fireworks and have it be legal. If you are a foot or so out of Island County territory the local five-o is waiting.
The parking area for the fireworks stand is a bit of a free for all. But it was July 4th and we arrived early enough to get spot next to a yellow 1997 Dodge Omni with a fade on and a family gathering their money to get their ordinance.
When we spilled out of the car Em and AM went one way and AL and I went the other.
AL “SC lets go to there!”
He was pointing to a fireworks stand that had no less than five American flags and two young ladies all smiles, tank tops, and shorts.
SC “AL, here’s what we do. We look for the worst looking booth and that is the one that will give us the best deal.”
AL “Okay. There! There it is! Gizmos!”
He was right. Gizmos was a hand painted sign with a black cursive letters, an orange ring around them and a red ring around the orange ring. And a huge bonus the guy at the booth was sporting the standard issue white wife beater so we headed over.
What took place next I can only describe as surreal, like I was watching a movie:
Wife Beater Guy (WBG) “Hi young fella, what can I help you with?”
SC “We’re loo-”
AL “Hello, I am interested in some fireworks, what do you have to offer today?”
WBG, eyeing this novel youngster, “We have all types what are you lookin’ for?”
AL “ I am interested in mortars.”
WBG “Alright, we have the right here. And we have the 10,000 Degree Fahrenheit that have a huge report when they deploy.”
SC “How much are those?” Pointing to the 10,000 Degree ones.
WBG “Forty dollars.”
SC “That is his whole budget.”
AL “Thank you for your time I am going to look around.” And he walked away.
I was stunned. He just toddled off to the next booth.
WBG “Son! Hey young man! I’m not done yet, I haven’t told you what I would throw in as extras!”
AL ignored him and pretended to look over a box of fireworks called “Emergency Room” or some such thing.
SC “Agent L! Hey head! C’mere.”
AL “Yes?” He said very non non-plussed.
SC “He has some extras for you to look over.”
For the next five minutes or so AL worked this guy, He wanted smoke bombs, not cracklers, no bottle rockets, some Bees. He would have none of the sparklers and wanted some tanks.
Forty dollars later AL walked away with a haul that would certainly chap the ass of AM. I was staring at this young marvel and thinking he was going places.
From Agent L’s incredible negotiation with Mr. Two Strikes at Gizmo’s we looked for AM to see what he had procured for his armaments for the evening festivities.
Em gave us the scoop. AM had wandered just outside the safe zone in front of the booths. This was the area where you were just far enough away that it would be obvious the booth personnel were recruiting you if they had to move to your location to get you to the booth.
AL “Look! Look! I have Tanks!” He had his plastic bag open and was bull rushing AM with his explosive booty (ah-thank-u).
EM to SC “He (AM) followed the first young fireworks ‘booth bunny’ he saw. I had to stop him and get him to slow down.
The fireworks booth bunny is seductive. Sexy in a fireworks on Native American Reservation, dirt parking lot, tank top, too much make-up kinda way. Apparently like a lost puppy he was pulled in and ready to drop his $40 on anything that let him view her cleavage as everything she had was under the counter so she had to...I’ll stop there.
We left to the noise of the Agents comparing their wares and who won.
T-minus 10 hours to launch.
After finding a string of Black Cats in the basement I set upon a two hour educational seminar to show the Agents how to blow crap up. Since the Agents were certain they knew what they were doing I had to kep them seated and give them a safety overview. The overview consisted of using a punk to light the tiny bomb, turning your head immediately and getting the hell out of the there after fuse ignition to avoid ear damage, face damage, and well - damage.
I even showed them how to light and retreat to save your hearing and face from the small but violent explosion on no less than 5 of these little bombs.
Like a “How Not To” OSHA video AM took a Bic gas grill lighter, put a Black Cat on the driveway, stood over it with his face about two feet from certain contact with the impending explosion and lit it.
Ever wary and really, truly concerned for their safety I attempted to warn off AM from what looked like a scarred face and some serious ringing of the ears:
SC “Dude you need to-”
Boom.
If the shade of red on AM’s face was any indication everything I said after ‘to’ was replaced with a high pitched ring in his head.
AM wobbled a bit and said really, really loudly as his hearing was temporarily impaired, “My ears! I can’t hear! Hey! My ears!”
I trotted down the steps off the balcony and grabbed him by the shoulders, steered him up the steps to the deck, while tears welled up as his brain processed this almost certainly fatal injury.
SC spoke for a minute or so about the temporary effects of loud noises, firework safety, the fact his eyes were functioning but I am almost certain AM heard only “...is why you have to use a punk and stand back.”
AM “I’m serious I can’t hear!” Whine, panic, severe consternation on his face.
This to shall pass. Suddenly from the yard below the porch:
Boom!
“Uncle Uncle !”
Up the steps AL came running with both hands over his ears. A large tomato had replaced his bulbous head and he was pressing on his ears as if he was fighting a demon in his brain. All that was missing was a Priest, and him speaking in tongues. He was freaked out.
AL “I can’t hear! I can’t hear!”
SC “Guys relax, relax. It will go away. I have blown myself up many a times back in the day. Ride it out.
AL “Yeah, we should get some food.”
Obviously AL still could not hear well considering the 2,000 plus calorie breakfast he ingested less than 3 hours ago.
After a break we designed a “Myth Busters” set up consisting of a dog gate propped against the stairs for protection, a punk duct taped to a walking stick, ear plugs and series of commands for safety’s sake:
“Loaded” meant the fireworks and whatever we would blow up was ready to be lit.
“All Clear” was to make sure no one was in the immediate area of the firework.
“Fire in the Hole” meant the lighting was imminent and to cover your ears.
For the next hour the agents blew the crap out of: a carrot, half a beer can, a small plastic container that previously held a mild yet smokey salsa, all of the paper tanks after they were lit, a leaf, small pieces of wood, and Canadian money because as AM said, “Who uses Canadian money?”
Now It’s Dark
At approximately 9:30PM the Agents, family of the Agents and the SC gathered all our stockpiled fun and headed to the beach wall. Coming down the road in slow motion like a cheap parody of Reservoir Dogs we approached the launching area and set up.
The launch area is a gravel parking area with a lot of pick up trucks and SUVs set up on the back portion with folks in blankets ready to watch the eventuality of something going horribly awry. They sat in lawn chairs, on the hoods and in the beds of their vehicles.
Note - The fireworks the SC had procured were classified as ‘artillery shells’ and I had to actually swear to the seller these would not leave Island County as they were banned in all other areas of the state. From past experience I need to shore up the base of the mortar tubes to insure they did not fire anywhere but straight up in the air. So I added a 12x12 pieces of plywood to the base to make sure the shells had a stable base to avoid sending one into the pick-ups and SUV or worse, a house.
When the Agents and everyone else saw the set up I had I was inundated with, “Can AM and AL use those?”
Short answer was no. then more Nos, then Hell No then a lecture by the SC to the group.
“Look, these knuckleheads have to learn to read directions. AL over there think his mortars have no tube for launching them because he can’t open the packaging. Additionally he is convinced there are no tubes for launching because he can’t see the tube through the small clear window on the package. There is no way in hell I am going to open his cache, show him the tube, stabilize it and launch them. He learns nothing and frankly, if he can’t read or open the packaging he needs to downsize his school bus.
“Same goes for Rocket Man over there,” I gestured to AM who had a large rocket on a three foot sick in his mortar tube for launch.
That shut them up. I was proud of myself, taking it all in, in command, the oracle, a supreme intelligence, the next wave of evolution. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a fuse spark as AM lit one of his large rockets.
SC “Oh shit!”
The rocket AM was lighting had shifted in the mortar tube after he lit it. He had bumped it slightly and the fact only about ten inches of the three foot rocket stick base was stable caused it to spin in the tube and now was angled away from the ocean and pointing over the houses.
SC “Shit! Shit! Shi...”
The rocket began to expel propellent, add to that the non-level beach wall the rocket and mortar tube began to fall toward the ground.
When people are seriously and truly afraid of dying they act like a spaz. Folding beach chairs toppled, conversations halted mid sentenced. Everything slowed down to a crawl.
Teenagers slide off Pick-up truck and SUV hoods, piled out of truck beds, and ducked for cover. Parents looked horrified as the mortar tube’s angle fell to just below the horizon. Many eyes I could feel looked at the last person they or their children would ever see - AM.
Sparks flew from the rocket and I swear I saw the devil himself laughing in the trail of fire.
AM stood there with his head spinning, holding the punk in his hand, frozen in time with sparks crossing in front of his legs. The Rocket fell and the mortar tube did not provide any resistance. He lifted is eyes to mine and for a split second I thought I saw him smile.
The rocket exited the inadequate mortar tube launch system and in a blink of an eye was on its way into the scrambling masses.
In what was less than a blink of the eye it changed course and missed the top of a FORD F-150 and was on its sub second path into the glass back doors of the Country Club Club house.
All I could think of was what I was going to say in my statement to local law enforcement.
“Never seen him before.”
“No idea how he managed to get it lit.”
“Is that gun real?”
“A couple of beers in the last hour or so, why?”
Then...
Boom!
The rocket was designed to flower or star burst I cannot remember which and by an act of gawd or weather it peeled up over the Clubhouse and shot skyward. A beautiful sight.
There was low murmuring and a lot of stink eyes directed our way. I was the first to AM and pulled him away form his parents and over to the packaging that contained the rockets.
SC “Read this label, and find the launcher.”
AM did and did.
For the next 75 minutes we laid waste to all the other wanna be firework launchers. With devastating combinations of rockets, 10,000 Degree Fahrenheit Mortars and artillery shells. We rolled them like cheap cigarettes. It was spectacular.
Up on the porch after we exhausted our inventory I asked the agents what they learned:
AM “Read the directions.”
AL “That the man who invented fireworks was killed by a firework. I almost died the same way. It was a mortar that almost hit me in the neck and that is how he died, he was lighting one of the fireworks that he invented-”
SC “Dude, power down.”
Above is an an actual quote from a wife beater wearing, PBR drinking, git yer hands off my guns bumper sticker sporting, no filter Camel smoking, sitting on the sea wall with sparks in his comb over, 50 something hard guy.
Tonight would be freakin’ beautiful.
Of course he meant the National Anthem and his lab partners also working on their thesis in frontal lobe reduction via formaldehyde based recreational adult soda mentioned that Frances Scott Keyes, wrote the National Anthem. So it went for us on July 4th.
“God Bless America!” was the follow up to the misspoken authorship of the French wench in NYC harbor.
“Durka Durka Dooooo!”
Came from somewhere behind me. If the Taliban could see this, the would put all their money into space research and get the hell off earth. These men cannot be reasoned with, they do not eat, do not sleep, and use the cardboard insert from the three pack of white wife-beaters they bought at Target as a dust pan to get the flotsam and jetsam off the car mats of their 1988 Ford F-150. You’ve seen it. The one with the two tone paint job. These are the men that if you knew them well and they respected you they would lay down their life for you. Tonight they made most the Mom’s in attendance nervous.
In any event it was another amazing 4th and here is how it went down.
Agent Mongoose (AM) and Agent Linoleum (AL) spent the night on July 3rd as the family is moving back from Washington to California. Thus the house is packed and the parents needed the spawn to be gone for the next two nights so the parental units could wind up the packing with no immediate danger of dismemberment of an offspring. Joining us for the evening was Em our ultra-kewl cousin/college student and the day was upon us.
It was Monday morning July 4th at 5:30AM the sun was up like it was already 10AM, and so was I.
That is the Pacific NW in a nutshell. The sun is down at 9:45PM and up at 5AM. Today boys would become men and men would become drunk versions of boys. I steeled my eyes over the water as the ocean had retreated for low tide. It appeared to be a futile cry for mercy. I thought the ocean figured if it should us its core self the inevitable barrage of fireworks, garbage, plastics, and hoothefuqnowselz hitting its pristine waters and proceeding to pollute the delicate life forms of the coastal PNW could be abated. Right. This is fireworks country and unless Red Dawn 3 happens it is on like Donkey Kong.
I washed my face in the local tap water which was so pure it actually took two years off my face by repairing sun and weather damage. Moving on to resurface my pits with the Tommy Bahama deod stick my bro brought back from Hawaii as a gift. Checked my eyes, popped on my Maui Mocs, two layers of shirts, and gazed down upon the sleeping mania as the Agents were crashed in the front room> the ‘womens’ as they Agents call them pretended to sleep as the sun bore into their rooms with a startling clarity. I was off for the morning paper and a special order coffee.
The drive was uneventful except for the fact I was a half hour early for the opening of the local grocery store. So I sat there with some guys who met apparently every morning at 6:30AM to BS about their classic cars before the store opened. They looked my way and spoke amongst themselves about some idiot in a rented Nissan Versa, who was occupied with his smart phone and there entire half hour before the store opened. So I waited. Time passed quickly and when I looked up from phone email one of the classic car guys was wandering through the bakery section so I went in.
One 16 ounce sugar free vanilla soy latte and a morning paper later I was motoring back to the house to prepare myself for all the action of the 4th.
Em was diggin’ the specialized coffee concoction, AM and AL where up and in action. They were in an early morning frenzy of sugar. Hot Chocolate with super-sized marshmallows. I was plowing a homemade Hazelnut Coffee and a slight sweat broke out on the sides of my nose.
The paper as it turned out was yesterday’s and I swore as I knew today was off to a rough start. I asked myself, “Who sells yesterday’s paper?”
After a breakfast clusterfuq consisting of some half eaten yoghurt servings, an attempt to add even more marshmallows to an overly sugared hot chocolate breakfast drink, I rounded up the agents and started to make our move to go buy fireworks. By this time it was after 9 and the Agents were babbling about what ever their synapses had to offer. The voice pitch of young men could be used as sonar over miles of underwater ocean and it amazes me how parents can tune it out as if it were a low volume iPod playing 90’s Adult Contemporary.
“Guys! Hey! Guys?!” I finally got their attention.
We are off to go get fireworks so I need to you get changed, get your change and be ready in five. “
This year the Agents Supervisor (aka Mom) had saved all her loose change and the firework money was all this loose change. The Agents had rolled most of the coins into paper coin rolls and a lot of the variable and valuable metal discs were not rolled and sat in organized chaos in a Mason jar.
First stop was gas then we had to visit the CoinStar™ machine in the local super market to make sure the coins where converted to actual folding money. We did this so we would not get a beat down by negotiating for a good price on explosives and then drop three to four pounds of metal on them to pay for it.
So it was off to QFC to drop off the Agents and Em to get the money while I tried to come up with an interesting teaching moment to get the Agents to bargain a bit at the fireworks carnival before they blow their funds on the first thing that looks interesting.
About 20 minutes after they went into the store they came out. Already arguing over how the money was to be spent.
AM “We have to agree on what we buy!”
AL “No AM we don’t! It is as much mine as it is yours!”
AM “Nunh ahn!”
AL “Yah hahn!”
Supreme Commander, “Guys, it is both of your monies. How much do you have?”
Agent M, “Eighty dollars.”
SC, “Okay that is forty each to spend how ever you want.”
AM was despondent over this approach he was concerned AL would by crap and that the fireworks display for the evening would be severely compromised. After some whining and AM expressing his logic for controlling the funds everyone in the car agreed to split the monies and divide up into purchasing teams.
AL, “ Okay so SC and I are on one team and Em and AM are on the other. Whoever get the best fireworks for the money wins.”
Wins. It always had to do with wins. With two young brothers, someone had to win and someone had to lose.
Team one was me and AL. Team two was Em and AM.
AL and I were to go get what we could get, and so were Em and Agent M then rendezvous at the Versa. The rented Versa sallied forth at the speed limit the entire way as we used cruise control. There was one certainty, small town cops hand out a lot of traffic violations on holiday weekends, so we played it cool, and made it the fireworks stands without incident.
I had a suspicion Agent L was possessed by a demon and what I was about to witness at the fireworks procurement area was solid evidence.
The fireworks stands are located on the Swinomish Native American Reservation near Anacortes Washington. Apparently Island County Washington is one of the only places you can use live fireworks and have it be legal. If you are a foot or so out of Island County territory the local five-o is waiting.
The parking area for the fireworks stand is a bit of a free for all. But it was July 4th and we arrived early enough to get spot next to a yellow 1997 Dodge Omni with a fade on and a family gathering their money to get their ordinance.
When we spilled out of the car Em and AM went one way and AL and I went the other.
AL “SC lets go to there!”
He was pointing to a fireworks stand that had no less than five American flags and two young ladies all smiles, tank tops, and shorts.
SC “AL, here’s what we do. We look for the worst looking booth and that is the one that will give us the best deal.”
AL “Okay. There! There it is! Gizmos!”
He was right. Gizmos was a hand painted sign with a black cursive letters, an orange ring around them and a red ring around the orange ring. And a huge bonus the guy at the booth was sporting the standard issue white wife beater so we headed over.
What took place next I can only describe as surreal, like I was watching a movie:
Wife Beater Guy (WBG) “Hi young fella, what can I help you with?”
SC “We’re loo-”
AL “Hello, I am interested in some fireworks, what do you have to offer today?”
WBG, eyeing this novel youngster, “We have all types what are you lookin’ for?”
AL “ I am interested in mortars.”
WBG “Alright, we have the
SC “How much are those?” Pointing to the 10,000 Degree ones.
WBG “Forty dollars.”
SC “That is his whole budget.”
AL “Thank you for your time I am going to look around.” And he walked away.
I was stunned. He just toddled off to the next booth.
WBG “Son! Hey young man! I’m not done yet, I haven’t told you what I would throw in as extras!”
AL ignored him and pretended to look over a box of fireworks called “Emergency Room” or some such thing.
SC “Agent L! Hey head! C’mere.”
AL “Yes?” He said very non non-plussed.
SC “He has some extras for you to look over.”
For the next five minutes or so AL worked this guy, He wanted smoke bombs, not cracklers, no bottle rockets, some Bees. He would have none of the sparklers and wanted some tanks.
Forty dollars later AL walked away with a haul that would certainly chap the ass of AM. I was staring at this young marvel and thinking he was going places.
From Agent L’s incredible negotiation with Mr. Two Strikes at Gizmo’s we looked for AM to see what he had procured for his armaments for the evening festivities.
Em gave us the scoop. AM had wandered just outside the safe zone in front of the booths. This was the area where you were just far enough away that it would be obvious the booth personnel were recruiting you if they had to move to your location to get you to the booth.
AL “Look! Look! I have Tanks!” He had his plastic bag open and was bull rushing AM with his explosive booty (ah-thank-u).
EM to SC “He (AM) followed the first young fireworks ‘booth bunny’ he saw. I had to stop him and get him to slow down.
The fireworks booth bunny is seductive. Sexy in a fireworks on Native American Reservation, dirt parking lot, tank top, too much make-up kinda way. Apparently like a lost puppy he was pulled in and ready to drop his $40 on anything that let him view her cleavage as everything she had was under the counter so she had to...I’ll stop there.
We left to the noise of the Agents comparing their wares and who won.
T-minus 10 hours to launch.
After finding a string of Black Cats in the basement I set upon a two hour educational seminar to show the Agents how to blow crap up. Since the Agents were certain they knew what they were doing I had to kep them seated and give them a safety overview. The overview consisted of using a punk to light the tiny bomb, turning your head immediately and getting the hell out of the there after fuse ignition to avoid ear damage, face damage, and well - damage.
I even showed them how to light and retreat to save your hearing and face from the small but violent explosion on no less than 5 of these little bombs.
Like a “How Not To” OSHA video AM took a Bic gas grill lighter, put a Black Cat on the driveway, stood over it with his face about two feet from certain contact with the impending explosion and lit it.
Ever wary and really, truly concerned for their safety I attempted to warn off AM from what looked like a scarred face and some serious ringing of the ears:
SC “Dude you need to-”
Boom.
If the shade of red on AM’s face was any indication everything I said after ‘to’ was replaced with a high pitched ring in his head.
AM wobbled a bit and said really, really loudly as his hearing was temporarily impaired, “My ears! I can’t hear! Hey! My ears!”
I trotted down the steps off the balcony and grabbed him by the shoulders, steered him up the steps to the deck, while tears welled up as his brain processed this almost certainly fatal injury.
SC spoke for a minute or so about the temporary effects of loud noises, firework safety, the fact his eyes were functioning but I am almost certain AM heard only “...is why you have to use a punk and stand back.”
AM “I’m serious I can’t hear!” Whine, panic, severe consternation on his face.
This to shall pass. Suddenly from the yard below the porch:
Boom!
“Uncle
Up the steps AL came running with both hands over his ears. A large tomato had replaced his bulbous head and he was pressing on his ears as if he was fighting a demon in his brain. All that was missing was a Priest, and him speaking in tongues. He was freaked out.
AL “I can’t hear! I can’t hear!”
SC “Guys relax, relax. It will go away. I have blown myself up many a times back in the day. Ride it out.
AL “Yeah, we should get some food.”
Obviously AL still could not hear well considering the 2,000 plus calorie breakfast he ingested less than 3 hours ago.
After a break we designed a “Myth Busters” set up consisting of a dog gate propped against the stairs for protection, a punk duct taped to a walking stick, ear plugs and series of commands for safety’s sake:
“Loaded” meant the fireworks and whatever we would blow up was ready to be lit.
“All Clear” was to make sure no one was in the immediate area of the firework.
“Fire in the Hole” meant the lighting was imminent and to cover your ears.
For the next hour the agents blew the crap out of: a carrot, half a beer can, a small plastic container that previously held a mild yet smokey salsa, all of the paper tanks after they were lit, a leaf, small pieces of wood, and Canadian money because as AM said, “Who uses Canadian money?”
Now It’s Dark
At approximately 9:30PM the Agents, family of the Agents and the SC gathered all our stockpiled fun and headed to the beach wall. Coming down the road in slow motion like a cheap parody of Reservoir Dogs we approached the launching area and set up.
The launch area is a gravel parking area with a lot of pick up trucks and SUVs set up on the back portion with folks in blankets ready to watch the eventuality of something going horribly awry. They sat in lawn chairs, on the hoods and in the beds of their vehicles.
Note - The fireworks the SC had procured were classified as ‘artillery shells’ and I had to actually swear to the seller these would not leave Island County as they were banned in all other areas of the state. From past experience I need to shore up the base of the mortar tubes to insure they did not fire anywhere but straight up in the air. So I added a 12x12 pieces of plywood to the base to make sure the shells had a stable base to avoid sending one into the pick-ups and SUV or worse, a house.
When the Agents and everyone else saw the set up I had I was inundated with, “Can AM and AL use those?”
Short answer was no. then more Nos, then Hell No then a lecture by the SC to the group.
“Look, these knuckleheads have to learn to read directions. AL over there think his mortars have no tube for launching them because he can’t open the packaging. Additionally he is convinced there are no tubes for launching because he can’t see the tube through the small clear window on the package. There is no way in hell I am going to open his cache, show him the tube, stabilize it and launch them. He learns nothing and frankly, if he can’t read or open the packaging he needs to downsize his school bus.
“Same goes for Rocket Man over there,” I gestured to AM who had a large rocket on a three foot sick in his mortar tube for launch.
That shut them up. I was proud of myself, taking it all in, in command, the oracle, a supreme intelligence, the next wave of evolution. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a fuse spark as AM lit one of his large rockets.
SC “Oh shit!”
The rocket AM was lighting had shifted in the mortar tube after he lit it. He had bumped it slightly and the fact only about ten inches of the three foot rocket stick base was stable caused it to spin in the tube and now was angled away from the ocean and pointing over the houses.
SC “Shit! Shit! Shi...”
The rocket began to expel propellent, add to that the non-level beach wall the rocket and mortar tube began to fall toward the ground.
When people are seriously and truly afraid of dying they act like a spaz. Folding beach chairs toppled, conversations halted mid sentenced. Everything slowed down to a crawl.
Teenagers slide off Pick-up truck and SUV hoods, piled out of truck beds, and ducked for cover. Parents looked horrified as the mortar tube’s angle fell to just below the horizon. Many eyes I could feel looked at the last person they or their children would ever see - AM.
Sparks flew from the rocket and I swear I saw the devil himself laughing in the trail of fire.
AM stood there with his head spinning, holding the punk in his hand, frozen in time with sparks crossing in front of his legs. The Rocket fell and the mortar tube did not provide any resistance. He lifted is eyes to mine and for a split second I thought I saw him smile.
The rocket exited the inadequate mortar tube launch system and in a blink of an eye was on its way into the scrambling masses.
In what was less than a blink of the eye it changed course and missed the top of a FORD F-150 and was on its sub second path into the glass back doors of the Country Club Club house.
All I could think of was what I was going to say in my statement to local law enforcement.
“Never seen him before.”
“No idea how he managed to get it lit.”
“Is that gun real?”
“A couple of beers in the last hour or so, why?”
Then...
Boom!
The rocket was designed to flower or star burst I cannot remember which and by an act of gawd or weather it peeled up over the Clubhouse and shot skyward. A beautiful sight.
There was low murmuring and a lot of stink eyes directed our way. I was the first to AM and pulled him away form his parents and over to the packaging that contained the rockets.
SC “Read this label, and find the launcher.”
AM did and did.
For the next 75 minutes we laid waste to all the other wanna be firework launchers. With devastating combinations of rockets, 10,000 Degree Fahrenheit Mortars and artillery shells. We rolled them like cheap cigarettes. It was spectacular.
Up on the porch after we exhausted our inventory I asked the agents what they learned:
AM “Read the directions.”
AL “That the man who invented fireworks was killed by a firework. I almost died the same way. It was a mortar that almost hit me in the neck and that is how he died, he was lighting one of the fireworks that he invented-”
SC “Dude, power down.”
Comments