OK, I have to put a disclaimer here to appease my lawyers, the CSA, the DOT, DOD, DOC, CBC and a lot of other organizations that are only referred to by their initials and pretty much every one else. The nature of this is to say the usual don't try this at home and to warn that by not heeding this very dire warning you could end up a Darwin Awards recipient posthumously, or worse in the back of a patrol car heading to your mom and dads house and trust me, if your mom and dad are anything like mine going to prison does seem the better option. OK, now then, we have that out of the way, lets get on to something more interesting.
OK, I'll try to start as far back as I can, but my memory is not not what it used too be. The first truly stupid thing I remember doing as kids were the standard stupid kid things, jumping off the garage roof into piles of snow, boxes, piles of carpet oh and my favorite has got to be leaves in the fall, that one is the best for getting the wind knocked out of you, making your friends laugh till they cry, as you roll round on the ground gasping like a fish out of water. There was also the number of times we tried to jump over things on pretty much anything with wheels the best one was trying to jump the ditch on Mountain bikes or "Ten Speeds" and not just once, no not us, we were so sure that we could do it, we would try until either the bikes broke which was the best solution or we broke. We tried using shopping carts to jump over little ramps made of plywood; you ever notice that you don't see those pieces of scrap plywood around anymore, where the hell did we find them, but that rarely ended without someone getting hurt.
By the time I was about 14 or 15 I had decided that I wanted to make pyrotechnics or for the slow kids at the back of the class, blow shit up! I can remember when it started, my obsession with things that went bang. It started way back in the seventies, maybe 74 or 75 when we could still get firecrackers at the sports shop in the town where my grandmother lived (why the hell would a sports shop sell firecrackers?). These things started like they always do, we would light the fuses and toss them on the ground and wait for them to explode; but that thrill never lasted long, we would then try to see who would chicken out last and toss them just before they would blow and believe it or not no one thought we would get hurt. I have this cousin thats a year or so older than I am and he was always bigger, tougher, cooler and because of this we always had one of those relationships that would run hot and cold, anyway I always wanted to be just like him or to out do him, depending on the day. So we were daring each other to hold the firecrackers the longest and for some reason he got one that the fuse went real fast, much faster than usual and exploded in his hand, to this day I don't know why he didn't lose a finger or something. He was tough, he hardly let a tear out, but I remember the look on his face, a look that said "If you ever tell anyone about this I'll come find you" OK so maybe it was just a look of fear, surprise and holyfuckshitdamn my fingers are still here.
After we couldn't get firecrackers any more, wonder why they out lawed them, I learned how to make a crude Black powder, more fizz than bang, but I didn't care, I was going to figure it out. Remember this was long before the internet or youtube; so there were no easy ways to learn what we needed to know other than the library and I don't think we even thought there would be books on that, hell were there? I don't know how I finally learned what chemicals I needed or what the correct mix was, remember no Mythbusters on TV either, maybe it was Star Trek, that episode where Kirk kills the alien with the gunpowder in the bamboo. Anyway, the point is, we started making our own black powder, that got slowly more explosive as we figured it out. We tried everything to get it to be explosive, but really it never did.
About this time, I was introduced to the wonderful world of guns, my dad always had a couple of them around the house, and no we didn't shoot anyone, well ok, maybe once but I'll get to that. We used to open the 22 shells and lay them on their side and fire off the powder inside, no bang but a satisfying flare and a pop as the priming charge when off, but really not that exciting. From that time on guns have been a part of my life, but I want to stress that they were never misused in anyway, the cartridges on the other had were more than once.
I'm not going to get into specifics, but suffice it to say that if I could figure out how to blow it up I did, nothing big mind you, just small things, the odd model, tins, plastic bottles... just small things.
I mentioned that we never actually shot anyone, but there was one incident that was pretty close.
My youngest brother is 8 years younger and when he was 6 or 7, making me 14-15 at the time, and like all younger brothers, he wanted to be included with his older brothers schemes and me being 14-15 didn't want anything to do with the little bugger. So anyway our neighbors at the time had a couple of boys my age so of course we all got into shit together for a short while. Their dad was a hunter and we borrowed a shotgun shell from him and we knew better than to screw around with a loaded shell, so we cut it in half and dumped out the pellets and the powder, because thats the safe thing to do. So doing what we would normally do, we lit off the powder and tried to decide what to do with the empty shell.
One of the gang, I really don't remember anymore who it was, but I know it wasn't either of my brothers or I, decided to hit the empty shell with a big hammer, we knew that it would go bang, thats what we lived for after all. Of course my little brother wanted to watch because we told him to go in the house, I think, or we might have told him to stand back, either way, there was no way he would have done that. So the guy hits the shell with this huge hammer and there was a rather disappointing little bang that was really rather a let down and then my little brother starts screaming and runs for the house and we all think he's just scared of the bang or fooling around, and ignore him like older brothers have been doing since the beginning of time. After awhile when he still hadn't come out of the house, I go check on him and he's sitting on the steps, I don't remember now if he was crying but I doubt it, he was a tough little bugger, still is in fact. He was all worried that he had this little hole in his jeans. I take a look and you know I can still see that little tiny hole in the jeans like it was yesterday and it just looks like a spark from a camp fire burned a little hole in them, so I figured that the primer must have shot a little spark out and burned his jeans, how wrong I was, I was to find out a few days later. I think I must have told him not to say anything or maybe I didn't, I probably did, why else would he have kept his mouth shut?
My dad worked out of town a lot when we were kids, but happened to be home and was playing with a boat or something as my brother took a bath, and he sees this bright shinny brass coloured thing sticking out of my brothers lower stomach and as you might guess freaks out and rushes my brother to the nearest hospital, where my father is grilled for hours about how his 6 year old son got shot, not all doctors have a clue about bullets. To make matters worse he had to explain it to the cops and social services, this didn't improve his mood at all, by the time he came home he was furious, you know I don't remember a beating, but I'm sure there was one and I deserved it.
My youngest brother was a tough little bugger as a kid but more than that he was always the kind of kid you could count on to keep a secret, or to show great discretion, to this day I don't know why he didn't tell my parents before they saw it, because I'm sure it hurt like hell, but as I said, he's a tough little bugger.
After that incident I managed to burn all my hair off in a very close call with a can, some real black powder and some home made fuse, it was one of those stupid things we did in those days. I had made what I thought would be a great "Flash-Bang" and couldn't wait to find out if it worked but couldn't find any of the canon fuse I managed to get from a shop that sold those sorts of things. Anyway off I went with my best friend from those days and who for some reason is still the same best friend and we were going to test this "Flash-Bang".
What is so obvious now and should have been then, the home made fuse should have been tested, but of course it wasn't and man did that bastard burn fast, so fast that I was still bent over it when it exploded in my face, good thing I suck at explosives. The result was predictable, major burns on my face, no eyebrows (the glasses saved my eyes I think), most of the hair on my head singed off, I singed so much hair off that I had to get a brush cut and at the time I had very long hair as was the style at the time. What went right that day? well for one thing I was close to a slough and plunged my face in it as soon as I realized I was burnt and my friend was there to help me get home. Thanks G.
Years after that incident, me and my little brother were talking about it and he confessed that he had found the fuse in my room and lit it in the bathroom, why the bathroom I'll never know, but he thought he cold put it out in the toilet, apparently it wouldn't even go out in water so there was no fuse and I made one instead. So he figures we are even, he blamed me for "Shooting" him and I blamed him for getting me blown up.
That was my last attempt at pyrotechnics, but the interest in guns or things that go bang never stopped.
By the time we were done with blowing shit up, we were old enough to drive and what a mistake letting 16 year olds drive, what were they thinking. There are times when I actually wake up in a sweat thinking that somewhere on the road right now there is a 16 year old boy driving around in what he thinks is the coolest car and looking for a way to get the adrenaline coursing through his veins, oh and he hasn't figured out that girls aren't all that impressed with cars at that age.
OK, I'll try to start as far back as I can, but my memory is not not what it used too be. The first truly stupid thing I remember doing as kids were the standard stupid kid things, jumping off the garage roof into piles of snow, boxes, piles of carpet oh and my favorite has got to be leaves in the fall, that one is the best for getting the wind knocked out of you, making your friends laugh till they cry, as you roll round on the ground gasping like a fish out of water. There was also the number of times we tried to jump over things on pretty much anything with wheels the best one was trying to jump the ditch on Mountain bikes or "Ten Speeds" and not just once, no not us, we were so sure that we could do it, we would try until either the bikes broke which was the best solution or we broke. We tried using shopping carts to jump over little ramps made of plywood; you ever notice that you don't see those pieces of scrap plywood around anymore, where the hell did we find them, but that rarely ended without someone getting hurt.
By the time I was about 14 or 15 I had decided that I wanted to make pyrotechnics or for the slow kids at the back of the class, blow shit up! I can remember when it started, my obsession with things that went bang. It started way back in the seventies, maybe 74 or 75 when we could still get firecrackers at the sports shop in the town where my grandmother lived (why the hell would a sports shop sell firecrackers?). These things started like they always do, we would light the fuses and toss them on the ground and wait for them to explode; but that thrill never lasted long, we would then try to see who would chicken out last and toss them just before they would blow and believe it or not no one thought we would get hurt. I have this cousin thats a year or so older than I am and he was always bigger, tougher, cooler and because of this we always had one of those relationships that would run hot and cold, anyway I always wanted to be just like him or to out do him, depending on the day. So we were daring each other to hold the firecrackers the longest and for some reason he got one that the fuse went real fast, much faster than usual and exploded in his hand, to this day I don't know why he didn't lose a finger or something. He was tough, he hardly let a tear out, but I remember the look on his face, a look that said "If you ever tell anyone about this I'll come find you" OK so maybe it was just a look of fear, surprise and holyfuckshitdamn my fingers are still here.
After we couldn't get firecrackers any more, wonder why they out lawed them, I learned how to make a crude Black powder, more fizz than bang, but I didn't care, I was going to figure it out. Remember this was long before the internet or youtube; so there were no easy ways to learn what we needed to know other than the library and I don't think we even thought there would be books on that, hell were there? I don't know how I finally learned what chemicals I needed or what the correct mix was, remember no Mythbusters on TV either, maybe it was Star Trek, that episode where Kirk kills the alien with the gunpowder in the bamboo. Anyway, the point is, we started making our own black powder, that got slowly more explosive as we figured it out. We tried everything to get it to be explosive, but really it never did.
About this time, I was introduced to the wonderful world of guns, my dad always had a couple of them around the house, and no we didn't shoot anyone, well ok, maybe once but I'll get to that. We used to open the 22 shells and lay them on their side and fire off the powder inside, no bang but a satisfying flare and a pop as the priming charge when off, but really not that exciting. From that time on guns have been a part of my life, but I want to stress that they were never misused in anyway, the cartridges on the other had were more than once.
I'm not going to get into specifics, but suffice it to say that if I could figure out how to blow it up I did, nothing big mind you, just small things, the odd model, tins, plastic bottles... just small things.
I mentioned that we never actually shot anyone, but there was one incident that was pretty close.
My youngest brother is 8 years younger and when he was 6 or 7, making me 14-15 at the time, and like all younger brothers, he wanted to be included with his older brothers schemes and me being 14-15 didn't want anything to do with the little bugger. So anyway our neighbors at the time had a couple of boys my age so of course we all got into shit together for a short while. Their dad was a hunter and we borrowed a shotgun shell from him and we knew better than to screw around with a loaded shell, so we cut it in half and dumped out the pellets and the powder, because thats the safe thing to do. So doing what we would normally do, we lit off the powder and tried to decide what to do with the empty shell.
One of the gang, I really don't remember anymore who it was, but I know it wasn't either of my brothers or I, decided to hit the empty shell with a big hammer, we knew that it would go bang, thats what we lived for after all. Of course my little brother wanted to watch because we told him to go in the house, I think, or we might have told him to stand back, either way, there was no way he would have done that. So the guy hits the shell with this huge hammer and there was a rather disappointing little bang that was really rather a let down and then my little brother starts screaming and runs for the house and we all think he's just scared of the bang or fooling around, and ignore him like older brothers have been doing since the beginning of time. After awhile when he still hadn't come out of the house, I go check on him and he's sitting on the steps, I don't remember now if he was crying but I doubt it, he was a tough little bugger, still is in fact. He was all worried that he had this little hole in his jeans. I take a look and you know I can still see that little tiny hole in the jeans like it was yesterday and it just looks like a spark from a camp fire burned a little hole in them, so I figured that the primer must have shot a little spark out and burned his jeans, how wrong I was, I was to find out a few days later. I think I must have told him not to say anything or maybe I didn't, I probably did, why else would he have kept his mouth shut?
My dad worked out of town a lot when we were kids, but happened to be home and was playing with a boat or something as my brother took a bath, and he sees this bright shinny brass coloured thing sticking out of my brothers lower stomach and as you might guess freaks out and rushes my brother to the nearest hospital, where my father is grilled for hours about how his 6 year old son got shot, not all doctors have a clue about bullets. To make matters worse he had to explain it to the cops and social services, this didn't improve his mood at all, by the time he came home he was furious, you know I don't remember a beating, but I'm sure there was one and I deserved it.
My youngest brother was a tough little bugger as a kid but more than that he was always the kind of kid you could count on to keep a secret, or to show great discretion, to this day I don't know why he didn't tell my parents before they saw it, because I'm sure it hurt like hell, but as I said, he's a tough little bugger.
After that incident I managed to burn all my hair off in a very close call with a can, some real black powder and some home made fuse, it was one of those stupid things we did in those days. I had made what I thought would be a great "Flash-Bang" and couldn't wait to find out if it worked but couldn't find any of the canon fuse I managed to get from a shop that sold those sorts of things. Anyway off I went with my best friend from those days and who for some reason is still the same best friend and we were going to test this "Flash-Bang".
What is so obvious now and should have been then, the home made fuse should have been tested, but of course it wasn't and man did that bastard burn fast, so fast that I was still bent over it when it exploded in my face, good thing I suck at explosives. The result was predictable, major burns on my face, no eyebrows (the glasses saved my eyes I think), most of the hair on my head singed off, I singed so much hair off that I had to get a brush cut and at the time I had very long hair as was the style at the time. What went right that day? well for one thing I was close to a slough and plunged my face in it as soon as I realized I was burnt and my friend was there to help me get home. Thanks G.
Years after that incident, me and my little brother were talking about it and he confessed that he had found the fuse in my room and lit it in the bathroom, why the bathroom I'll never know, but he thought he cold put it out in the toilet, apparently it wouldn't even go out in water so there was no fuse and I made one instead. So he figures we are even, he blamed me for "Shooting" him and I blamed him for getting me blown up.
That was my last attempt at pyrotechnics, but the interest in guns or things that go bang never stopped.
By the time we were done with blowing shit up, we were old enough to drive and what a mistake letting 16 year olds drive, what were they thinking. There are times when I actually wake up in a sweat thinking that somewhere on the road right now there is a 16 year old boy driving around in what he thinks is the coolest car and looking for a way to get the adrenaline coursing through his veins, oh and he hasn't figured out that girls aren't all that impressed with cars at that age.
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