(Hey guys! It’s Memoir Monday! Everyone should know what to do, just steal my little button code down there, then paste it onto the Edit HTML section on your post. Type up a memoir, spank yourself a little, and call it a win! The only rule? It must be true. So go on! Get you some!)
It’s very easy to get bored in my home town.
We’ve got 2 convenience stores, a couple of restaurants, a bar, some stop signs, and we’re right on the lake, but if you don’t have a boat, that’s really useless, right?
So when the fourth of July rolls around, I always get wicked excited.
Fireworks and fun times, right?
This story is about what happens when a semi-grown man and two teenage boys with some fireworks get bored.
Wow. I need to clarify. In a hurry.
Have you ever made a sparkler bomb? If you haven’t, you probably should, although I’ll take no responsibility for what happens to you if you do it wrong. You just take a bunch of sparklers, tape them together with electrical tape, leave one of the sparklers sticking up just a bit like a fuse, light it, and get the hell away.
So anyway, these two kids came over, and were busy putting holes in my lawn while I drank a Bloody Mary, and just generally enjoyed myself as much as one can when holes are being put in their lawn. Since I was renting at the time, and since I’d only had one Bloody Mary, I was quite in agreement when it was suggested that we take this party on the road. So they gathered up their gear, and we rolled.
Teenagers notice mailboxes. They notice them faster than anyone, because most teenagers notice federal crimes pretty easily. These guys noticed some mailboxes.
“Let’s put a sparkler bomb in one!”
“Dude. Hell yes. Travis?”
I was driving, so the final decision was mine. I was also the semi-grown man, and I knew I had to make the responsible decision. I hated it.
“I’m in. Who we hittin?”
So they talked about it for a minute, then settled on a person that none of us really liked. A real doucher. I’m not saying her deserved it, but maybe he kinda deserved it. So we headed that way. We got to the place, they got the bomb all taped up nice and neat. It was their biggest one yet. They lit the fuse. They put it in the mailbox. I drove away.
Have you ever heard the Saliva song Click, Click, Boom?
Yeah. It was kinda like that. Only without the Click, or the other Click. And the Boom was spelled like this.
So yeah. This thing went off, and we FELT it in the truck as we were driving away. I was amazed. I thought for sure we’d hit a gas line or something, and people were dying in a fiery explosion as we drove off. I was kind of panicky, because I didn’t really wake up that morning in the mood to kill anyone. So I drove off faster.
“Dude. We have to go back and look at that.”
“Guys, no. That’s returning to the scene of the crime, and that will get us caught.”
“Just drive by like you were driving by it for the first time, only slower so we can see it!”
“That is exactly what’s going to get us caught!”
So we drove back by.
It was kind of getting dark, so we couldn’t see the damage to the mailbox at first. We got a little closer, and we still couldn’t see the damage, mostly because the mailbox wasn’t there anymore. Just a big, burned up wooden post. About that time, I drove over something that made a metal kind of crunching noise. It was the mailbox. About 30 feet up the road from where it once stood.
It was the most fun I’ve ever had with two teenage boys in my truck.
Other glorious walks down the Memoir Lane today… (GO READ THEM!)
Adriengirl’s Memoir Monday: The Finishing Move. Wait. What?
Daffy’s Memoir Monday: It Ain’t April Fool.