Kaboom

I'm a boy. There is nothing I can do about it.

I was simply born a boy. A man now I guess if you want to be politically correct - but, I still feel like a boy. Young at heart, playful, still somewhat immature and often times extremely shy.

What does being a boy mean exactly? Well, to be stereotypical, it means we do "boy things." I know, how can I describe what being a boy means by saying we do "boy stuff?" Well, give me some time and I'll see what I can chalk up for you.

I think at the base level, the foundation of the whole discussion is that we like doing not very smart things.

To put it bluntly - boys like doing stupid shit.

Have I done my fair share? Of course I have. Don't believe me? Well...let's see.

There was this time in high school that my friend had inherited some potassium permanganate from his brother (which he had bought via ebay). PP as I'll call it is extremely flammable - burning as hot as magnesium (5000+ degrees). But...it isn't that easy to light. To light it takes a while, unless you use a chemical reaction. Something in suppositories causes the PP to ignite immediately, but, being in high school we didn't have any, nor did we have the cojones to go and buy some. So, we used gas. In the middle of the woods. In the heart of autumn. Not our brightest idea. We placed the PP (which is a powder) in a soda can and soaked it in gasoline and lit it. We waited, and waited, and waited and nothing happened. My friend wanted to add more gas, so he did...by pouring it on top of the open flame. Before we could yell "nooooo" the fire had travelled up the stream and into the gas can - at which point my friend threw it, spiraling, shooting flames everywhere. It being the middle of autumn, all the leaves on the ground were perfect tinder. For the next 15 minutes, the three of us were running around, stomping and peeing on whatever we could.  That, in short hand, is how I almost burned down North Adams.

Still not good enough?

Well, have you ever almost killed a kayaker by filling a two liter bottle of dry ice and rocks, hoping to sink it so when it burst a giant white bubble would erupt out of the water? I did. The damn bottle didn't sink - it just kept bobbing on the surface until the kayaker was within ten feet of it. Of course, then it exploded, shooting shrapnel everywhere. No, the man in the tiny plastic boat was not happy.

See where I'm going with all this?

Have I launched water balloons at houses in the middle of the night with a giant sling shot? You bet your ass I have. Was it fun? Yup. Was it hysterical when we'd let go and listen for the loud "thud" letting us know when we had hit our target? Mhm. Did we feel bad the one time we launched a balloon and we heard glass break? No not really. Did we feel bad when the lights in the house came on and the sky light was punched out? Maybe a little...

Was it ever in my best interest to agree to eat ludacris wings at the Chicken or the Egg? Absolutely not. Why would I put myself through that? To be totally honest, I'm not really sure. These wings are by far the hottest things I have ever eaten. And I enjoy hot - at a level beyond most people. Things wings are certainly edible, but it's the after effects that are the worst. You can eat these wings, down a cup of milk, eat some break, have a chocolate milkshake, and you'll be fine. The true horror comes about 20 minutes later - conveniently when you're on the drive home. Your body hits the purge button - from the bottom. And unfortunately this isn't the kind of purge you can hold in and control. You better hope you get home quick and hit no bumps - otherwise you're going to have a problem on your hands.

Did we almost kill ourselves every weekend we went camping on boy scouts? Of course. It was always a toss up, whether it be knocking over giant dead trees and almost being hit, lighting things on fire, trying to make explosives, or going sledding on not to safe slopes/cliffs. Exhilarating? Yes. Dangerous? Yes. But always fun.

My brother and I love fireworks. We shoot them whenever we can - which boils down to buying them whenever we can. Sometimes that means going to NH to get them, or relying on our uncle to somehow "acquire" them in NYC. Have I almost hit myself with one (a roman candle)? Sure have. Have we ever shot them over houses in a residential area? Duh. But, we're smart when we do it. As smart as two mischievous brothers can be.

So, is there a point to all of this? Of course there is. Boys are dumb. In the sense that we get a rush from doing stupid stuff. Every guy loves it to some level.

But...

I would never do something this fucking dumb (as awesomely epic as it is)



These are the kinds of idiots that make myself and my adventures look bad.