Wednesday, November 05, 2008


originally published june 24, 2006 (click on title for lead to post and scintillating comments):

we'll call one of many because i'm sure they're too numerous to mention.

i felt this little treasure needed a post of its own, so here goes:

mr. beamish, the instable said in the post below this:

"One early summer morning, when we weren't grounded from fishing with dynamite sticks before 6am, me and my older brothers decided it would be fun to take a flamethrower along, just in case we spooked a covey of quail on the way to the creek.

Of course, hunting for quail with a flamethrower in July is illegal in Alabama without a license, but we figured, hey, it's 2 o'clock in the morning, who's gonna catch us?

So we snuck the helicopter out of the garage and started heading for the creek, with dreams of concussion pressured filets of trout fragments dancing in our heads.

Of course, getting the chopper out for a spin at 2 in the morning was always risky because of the noise, but we figured Dad would think the noise was just us plinking cans in the kitchen with a Barrett Light .50, which is okay as long as we didn't take out any of the beloved cans of Campbell's Pepper Pot Soup (which is a collector's item now).

So anyway, we flew the chopper down to the creek and my older brother decides he wants to cast his line in the water while we're still airborne. It would have been fine except that the window wasn't open, so this lit stick of dynamite on a fishing line bounces back into the cabin and my brother starts freaking out and totally lets go of the joystick of the chopper and his fishing pole.

I'm in the back of the chopper trying to stomp out the fuse on the dynamite, stringing cuss words together in a most ungrammatical fashion, while my two brothers are screaming at each other about landing the chopper safely. Dad's going to be pissed if we wreck his helicopter again.

Then it happened.

From what memories I can piece together, I got the window open and tossed the dynamite and fishing pole out, but the fishing line got caught in the side rotor and then the dynamite exploded, tearing the entire tail section off the chopper and sending it flying towards Georgia.

Fortunately, we were only around 10 feet above the creek, so the landing wasn't as bad as it could have been. But, the dynamite blast spooked a nearby covey of quail, and no one was ready with the flamethrower.

Oh boo."

no editing was done to this masterpiece. now i think if i'm ever able to feel again after having fallen while reading this, i'll consider myself a fortunate person.