Thursday, July 3, 2014

In hindsight, that was probably a bad idea

My friends and I, like all red blooded American boys LOVED fire and fireworks.  We even made our own on occasion.

We used to do a lot of night fishing in a little branch off of Julington Creek growing up.  There was a cleared lot with a bulkhead just a few minutes walk from the house.  I fished in that spot from the time I was in elementary school until I moved out of state in my late 20s.  We would sit down there and make a campfire because the smoke helped keep bugs away and fire provided entertainment while waiting on a fish to bite.  It started off with melting stuff.  That fire pit probably has a six inch thick blob of melted aluminum, lead and glass at the bottom of it to this day.

Friends would come by and see if anything was biting or just to hang out and shoot the shit for a while.  It started becoming routine for somebody to drop a firecracker in the fire and laugh themselves stupid when somebody almost shit their pants from the surprise or started doing the funky chicken dance from embers flying around all over the place.  One friend liked to toss something in the fire and yell "BULLET!" and run like hell just to watch everybody scatter.  This was before we found out that a bullet won't shoot out of a fire and kill you, but that's a story for another time.

One night when I was about 14, my buddy Jonathan and I were fishing.  It wasn't a particularly fruitful expedition and we were about to pack it up.  I stood up to do the traditional pee out the campfire routine when he stopped me.

This is going to be cool as shit!
"Hang on a second, this is gonna be cool as shit."

"What'd ya bring?" I asked, assuming that it was going to be the usual homemade fireworks or something.

"Check it out."

He then pulls the biggest aerosol can of WD-40 I have ever seen out of his bag.  This thing was huge.  Like Sam's Club bucket of mayo huge.

This is going to be awesome.  See, we had blown up cans of hair spray before.  It makes a decent sized pop, usually putting out the fire, no muss, no fuss.  Kind of like a dry ice bomb, but with the added excitement of shrapnel.

So we decide that the plan is to drop the can in the fire and hide behind a big oak tree to watch.  After the pop, we'll haul ass before anybody came to investigate the noise.  What's the worst that can happen, right?

He drops the can and we run.  We're giggling like morons waiting for the thing to pop.  The seconds tick by in slow motion.  What happened next, well, lets just say it was no can of hair spray.

BOOM!!!   The can blew up.  It shook the ground and sent a giant fireball 40 feet into the air.  Seriously, you could see this event from space.
It looked just like this.  

We look at each other "COOL!!"

Our revelry was short lived when it started raining hellfire down all around us.

We spent the next several minutes running around in a panic trying to stomp out the 4000 little fires that started in a 40 foot radius around the fire.  We got them out and luckily made a clean getaway.

That was the first and last time we blew up a can of WD-40.

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