The 4th of July is Dangerous

Hola and Happy Independence Day y’all! I realize that anywhere from 34.7% to 58.3% of the people who read this blog don’t live in the US, but I’m sure you folks are celebrating too anyway. Why? Because it’s America BABY! And, everyone all over the world loves America, except those terrorists, of course. But, let’s be honest, inside of at least 90% of terrorists is an American just dying to live be freed of ideological tyranny and police state oppression.

Anyway, since it is the 4th of July I, like any good American, have a great fireworks story full of awe-inspiring bravery to tell you guys. I think I was about 12 years old and I had a bunch of Black Cat firecrackers to play with. And play with them I did. I tried to blow up anything and everything I stuff those things into.

I put them in Hot Wheels cars, model airplanes, an ant hill, glass and plastic bottles and other things that would make them even louder. But, the great moment came when I showed great bravery and selflessness. I was lighting them and tossing them like grenades at a wasp nest for a while and then decided to other targets when the wasps clearly decided they had had enough of my fun and games.

Anyway, I was just about to go inside and only had one left so I planned on tossing it towards the wasp nest and run inside real quick like. Unfortunately, I’m not all that coordinated and I instead dropped the Black Cat just inside the door. That’s when I flew into action.

As I looked down at the firecracker, I realized it was too close to the house. My family would be in danger and I HAD to protect them. Without any concern for my wellbeing I reached down and grabbed the firecracker and ran out of the house. Then, instead of just tossing it off to the side, I dramatically reached back to throw it as if I was trying to throw Lou Brock out at home plate.

Unfortunately, the fuse on those little bitches isn’t that long. The thing blew just as It was leaving my fingers. The pain was almost more than I could stand. My fingers burned and my right ear was ringing. I stood there staring at my right hand in horror as my fingers began to tingle and turn red. OH MY GOD! I BLEW MY FINGERS OFF!

I was sure I would never have use of my right hand again. I had done it now. Worst of all, my mother was going to be right in assumption that I was too stupid to not blow myself up. As I stood there for couple of minutes things began to settle down and I realized I was going to be okay. I had mixed feelings because I know everyone would have thought my blowed up hand was really cool when I went back to school. But, that disappointment was washed away by the fact that my mother wasn’t going to get to say “I told you so.”

I casually went back inside like nothing had happened and didn’t say a word. Then later that night, I took my other string of Black Cats outside, lit the fuse on the end and went inside. The entire straight blew one after the other while I sat there watching the Cardinals play baseball on TV like any other great American. Except my fingers still tingled a little.

And that was the last time I ever set off fireworks.

Jayman
Jayman3768@gmail.com
@Jayman_IWS