Kelly Clarkson rocks!!
Check out her cover of
Walkin After Midnight.
Patsy Cline is still one of my favorite artists and
Video is no longer up.... if anyone knows where this can be located let me know!!!!


Monday, August 10, 2009

Can I be arrested for this?

So sorry for the continuing delay in postings. A number of things have conspired to keep me from writing. I could push it off on the MS but I won't. I could also say that I was not feeling too well. Actually, there is some truth in that but I had the strength to check my emails as well as log into World of Warcraft in order to unleash wanton destruction upon small furry, defenseless, critters.

Why?

If you know anything about the game you know why. If you don't... Well lets just say I could fill pages with how much fun it is to roam aimlessly through the game world obliterating things at random. To leave a trail of hurt and pain on a field of unsuspecting cows, the total annihilation of a Murloc encampment, or the random slaughter of squirrels and bunnies.

Pardon me for a moment. I am going to log in my Hunter and open a can of whoop ass on the Murlocs outside of Menethil Harbor. Talk amongst yourselves for a bit.

Ok, back. I feel better. Did i miss anything while I was gone?

Ok, so I have been exchanging blog time for game time. meh. I am back to blog. About what? Well, how about fireworks. Everyone is familiar with fireworks. It should come as no surprise that in my youth we played with fireworks.... a lot... and not in any matter that could even be remotely considered safe. In fact, we could have made a dozen or so safety videos on what not to do with fireworks.

(Editors note: The writer in no way condones the way in which items talked about in this post were used. In fact, he highly recommends that people do not attempt to repeat anything described below. If you do, you do so at your own peril and the writer can not be held responsible in any way.)

We played with a little bit of everything. Firecrackers, M80's, smoke bombs, bottle rockets, roman candles, and you get the idea. We are going to focus on bottle rockets. They were cheap and offered us more bang for our buck (Pun intended). Now we enjoyed making fruit and vegetable bombs using firecrackers and m80's (there were a few manure bombs but we can discuss that much later) but the costs were just more than we were willing to bear.

Most of the time. :)

So bottle rockets became the explosive of choice. We could pick up several thousand for next to nothing. And we often did.

Wars were fought. The battlefield always shifting around the neighborhood we grew up in. Many times it was fought in my backyard. Mortars were manufactured from coffee cans, pop bottles, and mason jars. Bazookas appeared in the form of short pieces of metal and pvc pipe (We preferred the pvc because it was much lighter). Hand held launches were not uncommon but we tried to avoid those because a fast fuse could, and sometimes did, result in a painful explosion.

(Note: On more than one occasion someone would injure themselves in an attempt to launch a bottle rocket from their hand. No hospitals were ever visited. Mainly due to the fact the fear of parental retribution was just too high.)

Areas were designated, artillery storage acquired, and teams chosen. The battle would start with each team staring at one another across 150 feet, or so, of open ground. No one wanted to be the first to fire but someone always did. The opening volley was impressive.

Bottle rockets would begin streaking back and forth, long streamers of fire and smoke. People dodging incoming missiles, all the while trying to return fire in an effective manner. Warnings were shouted, punctuated by small explosions and bits of debris raining down. People would be crouched over a launcher, trying to launch a counter attack, only to find themselves diving out of the way of an incoming projectile. Cursing and laughter flowed like wine at a Roman orgy. Attempts to aim were made, but usually providing no more benefit than just a random launch. Then it happened. The mother of all shots.

Our artillery storage was a garbage can, with a lid. Our opponents, that day, chose an open box. My partner, David, and I had given up trying to hit the enemy and opted for a denial strategy. If we could take out their cache of bottle rockets then we would win by default. Our feeble attempts at aiming did not produce any definitive results so we opted for alterations to our ammunition. We proceeded to reduce the length of the guidance stick on the fireworks prior to launch. There was a fine line between accuracy and total chaos on launch.

It took us about 20 shots to dial in the optimum break point. All the while the enemy was launching a most spectacular assault. Many times one of us would run by a launcher, loading it as we went, while the other followed behind with a lighter or lit cigarette. There were several close calls. A few times I could hear the whoosh of a rocket passing close by, quickly followed by the BANG of the detonation. David threw himself out of the way of more than one shot from his brother. They were trying to suppress us with sheer numbers. It was beginning to work. But we had had enough.

Setting up a 3 foot length of pvc pipe I managed to get off a few clean shots. They landed close to their, lidless, storage box. The plan was set. We loaded a couple of our mortars with about two dozen rockets. Using our lighters we lit as many of the fuses as we could, assuming the liftoff off the lit rockets would ignite the fuses of the rest, before retreating to our pvc emplacement. After a moment, the bombardment began. In less than 30 seconds a large barrage of bottle rockets were streaking downrange providing us the precious few moments we needed to strike.

As predicted, they scrambled for cover, leaving their ammo unattended. I lined up the shot and David lit the fuse. By now, David's brother had returned to his firing spot..... about two feet to our right of their box of bottle rockets. The fuse hissed angrily as it ignited the powder and sent our telegram of hate swiftly towards the enemy position. We could not have asked for a better shot. The rocket screamed in anticipation of it's impact. Randy only stood there as the world went into slow motion.

With only a smoke trail for us to track we watched as Randy simply turned his head to follow the incoming missile. Direct hit! The bottle rocket landed in their open box, of somewhere around 1000, bottle rockets. Randy looked up at his partner, my brother Pat. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, there was a small pop, then they dove away from the box of explosives like they had been yanked by a giant invisible hand. About a millisecond later the box erupted in smoke and fire.

David and I dove for cover behind a nearby tree as their bottle rockets began launching themselves in every direction imaginable. Smoke trails spewed forth like deadly tendrils of pain, seeking flesh to mingle with. Explosions began almost immediately. Pat and Randy both were moving away from the conflagration like their asses were on fire. Truth be known that was not far from being true. The din of the whistling rockets and explosions happening seemingly everywhere on the field was overwhelming.

Smoke began to settle over the battle field, the explosions becoming fewer. It was during this period that time seemed to return to its normal speed. The haze was thick and burned our eyes at it washed past us. After about 5 minutes it became quiet. Smoke laying over everything like a blanket. A voice was heard from somewhere nearby. "Son of a bitch!"

That battle was over. For now.

The next installment of this war was fought at night. While this was fun for us people in the neighborhood seemed a skosh put off by our battle. The fact that it took place at about 2am was not a deciding factor. Ok, maybe it was. But I will post about the battle for control of the not-as-abandoned-as-we-thought trailer next time.

I hope you found this story enjoyable. I so much like writing about things like this than how pissy I tend to get because of my diagnosis.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled internet.

6 comments:

Lisa Emrich said...

It's amazing you're still alive. My extra 'firework' use was extremely boring compared to this. I just played with 'snakes' - those small pellet of black which you would ignite and then they began to expand like a snake and create a black mess on the driveway. My parents were not fans of those but my cousin and I liked them.

Webster said...

Like Lisa, I was a woosy snake fanatic too. It was my older brothers who have the stories to tell of their days making their own fireworks with our Dad's reloading supplies. Nothing says fun to a 12 year old boy like gun powder when Dad's at work!

Today it's all safe and sane. I'm not so fond of all these regulations to protect us from ourselves. Funny entry, Mike.

Jenni Jiggety said...

And this is why I don't let my boys play outside... ;-P

Mike said...

Lisa:
That is tame compared to some of the stunts we pulled. Remind me to tell you about the pellet gun war.. at night...while we were, umm... partaking of some medicinal herbage.

Webster:
We got into Dad's supply of powder and primers... Tried to make something out of a baby food jar, duct tape, and a bucket of dog manure. No one was happy with the result.

Jenn:
It's not the playing outside... it's what you are playing outside with. Kind of like falling. u It's not the fall that kills you bt rather that abrupt stop at the bottom.

Allen said...

Hey Mike,

How is "wow" treating you? I have 2 lvl 80's. Both on Mal'gans. One is a Shaman the other is a Mage. Love my mage, she kicks butt.

Love TB, and the AH. Just wish I could make $$ like I do in the game. hehe

I used to play with fireworks too. I am surprised that I have all my fingers.

Have Myelin? said...

HA! Have you ever made a Mentos and diet coke bomb? I will post a video on my blog in your honor...for your enjoyment in just a few.

Too funny!!! How did you survive?