The Flamethrower, Pt. 1
November 17, 2010 1:21 am StoriesMore stories. Totally made up. Pics or it didn’t happen, right? Also, please don’t try this at home. It won’t work out for you. I promise.
…
There used to be no such thing as the Internet. Well, the Internet had only recently come online for the public at large, but a website for Pepsi doesn’t count.
He’d login to the local BBS with a dial-up modem, usually at night, with a pillow over the modem to muffle the primitive digital screeches. He played door games, posted on forums and downloaded files. Most of those downloads were pictures of bikini girls that were made up of no more than 256 colors. Hot.
One day, a new file showed up. *NEW* it flashed, from black to red every second or so. The Anarchist’s Cookbook. Inside were a bunch of crazy plans to make traps, explosives, and even drugs. The big secret was that none of them actually worked. For example, one plan involved scraping out the insides of banana peels, drying out the remains, and smoking them to get high. Yes, he tried this with some friends. Not even a headache. Curiosity killed the cat, but is apparently inert to humans.
Some of the plans partially worked, which was frustrating, because he and his friends thought that meant some of the plans should work. For example, one plan involved a certain amount of chemicals mixed together, thrown into a milk jug and capped. The chemical reactions would cause expansion followed by an explosion, which never occurred. They threw the toxin filled jug into the yard, ran, and waited with anticipation. It expanded a bit. 1 minute. 2 minutes. 5. Okay, we’re done. Nothing. Emptied and into the garbage you go. Chemistry wasn’t their forte.
But this story doesn’t involve any actual plans from the Anarchist cookbook. No. You see, the fact that none of them really worked meant that they had been defeated. Outsmarted. And that could not be allowed. They were better than a pile of text found on an online bulletin board.
Sitting at Brian’s house, they would usually cook up schemes and pranks of their own.
—
He picked up a throwing star and winged it into Brian’s bedroom wall. Then another. Then another. He was getting good at hitting Tyra Banks’ cleavage. Chris got up, picked them out of the wall and sat down on the bed. He tossed them at the Ferrari poster on the opposite side of the room while Brian played Syndicate on his PC. Brian blurted it out.
“What if we filled up water balloons with maple syrup?”
Silence. He thought about it for a second. Would that work? Water balloons are easy to fill since the pressure of the water coming from the faucet fills the balloon. Plus, it’s simple to put the mouth of the balloon around the faucet for filling. He didn’t see how it would work with a bottle of maple syrup. Not enough pressure. Too messy.
“Do you guys even have maple syrup here?”
“We can go Freddies and buy some. They’re still open. Maybe we could hit up Taco Bell on the way.”
“Dude, I don’t think it’ll work. Water works well because of the faucet and the water pressure… you can even use a hose. How would we…”
The logistics of maple syrup balloons went on for far longer than it should have. Then silence. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Chris continued slinging throwing stars into the wall.
He picked up an empty super soaker that happened to be lying on the floor.
Thunk. Thunk.
He watched over Brian’s shoulder as Brian burned a group of enemies on the 13 inch CRT monitor.
Thunk.
Then it hit him.
“Why don’t we build a flamethrower?”
Chris stopped throwing ninja stars for a second and stared at the Ferrari poster. Brian played on.
“Yeah. Like, couldn’t we just fill this thing with gas? Instead of water?”
Chris stared on. Silence. Collecting his thoughts.
“How would we light it? I mean, you could totally spray gas everywhere, but I’m not holding a lighter near that thing. You’d be crazy.”
They both knew they’d never be holding the lighter anyway. They never did. They were the plotters. The planners. The instigators. Brian was the one that always did the dirty work.
Brian finally chimed in without taking his eyes of the screen.
“A pilot light.”
The other two looked at each other. Neither of them knew how actual flamethrowers worked, but apparently Brian was an expert in flamethrowerology.
Without having to explain what a pilot light was, they knew how it probably worked. They weren’t idiots.
“So what would you propose we use? Like, tape a lighter to the end of the super soaker? Seems dangerous.”
“Nah. Just tape some toilet paper to the end and light it on fire.”
Because it was said so nonchalantly and with complete confidence, it was all the convincing they needed. In their heads, it worked. The fact that they were talking about filling a large plastic canister with gasoline then manually pressurizing it, holding in their hands and lighting it on fire never seemed like a major issue.
It was already late that night and they had no intention of shooting off a flamethrower at 8pm on a school night. They decided to let this very smart and completely safe idea rest and return to it at future date and time.
…