Boring, Part 2

We started small, just seeing what a smokebomb or two would do to a mailbox. Unfortunately, it didn't satiate the never ending voices in my head that scream for death, destruction and mayhem nonstop. Slowly driving me crazy day by inevitably leading me to SMASH IN MY FOREHEAD WITH A BALL-PEEN HAMMER!!... but it was ok anyways.

Realizing that these things weren't quite causing widespread panic in the streets like we had hoped, it was decided that there was a desperate need for a radical change in our grand scheme to control the world with 20 smokebombs on a Wednesday afternoon.

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Derek's house was right across the street from the stretch of beach that the south side of the bridge was built on. The end of the bridge itself was built on a man-made sand dune that was about 30 feet in height. Hiking from the beach to the bridge, while it required going up a steep hill, provided us with some much needed cover for our next plan of attack.

One of us (I'm not naming names but his initials are Derek) convinced me, with a vicious twist of my arm, that throwing the smokebombs at cars would be a great idea.

Of course it would be!

It wouldn't exactly be throwing, per say. It was more like "lobbing" them over the rail into oncoming traffic. Much fun would ensue. Of course we didn't think about that it could have caused an accident or something, what 14yr olds would?

We had actually used this same strategy earlier on for lobbing eggs onto oncoming cars, to rave reviews. But that's another story...

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We had already established some ground rules that we had learned the hard way with the eggs...

First, always pick a car from the traffic going ON to the bridge and definitely the first in a line of at least 3 vehicles. That is so they can't slam on the brakes and back up, thus making us run like schoolgirls our mommy.

Most importantly, NEVER hit a pickup truck. They are more likely to have some pissed off guy looking to go the extra mile just to kick some little punk's ass to teach him a lesson.

(if I could only use my powers for good, not evil)

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Well, we snuck up into place, picked out a car, struck the match and... nothing. The friggin' wind from another car had put out the match.

Ok, here comes the next car.

Get ready.

Light it!

Go! Throw it!!

(I watch as the smokebomb sails not only over the car, but over both lanes of the bridge and onto the beach on the other side)

Nice throw, Marino... now we have to let the smoke clear and try again in a few minutes.

(a few minutes later)

Ok, here comes the next car. Don't fuck it up this time.

Get ready.

Light it.

Go! Throw it... easy!

(the smokebomb is lobbed beautifully over the rail.... hits the passenger side of the car perfectly, the driver never notices.... and immediately bounces back over the rail and into Derek's lap)

Of course, in his lap was the paper bag full of the remaining smokebombs.

Now, being experienced in the pyrotechnic field, I felt it important to immediately offer up my advice on which emergency plan-of-action that he should use in this particular instance.

I calmly explained to Derek that removing the now- flaming smokebomb from the paperbag containing the others might just be the best option in this instance, but I'm not sure that he heard me.

Afterall, I was saying it over my shoulder from 100 yards away as I sprinted towards safety.

Later, while watching the smoke of the 20 smokebombs start to clear from the crisp, autumn air...I noticed a figure stumbling about in the darkness.

It seemed to me to be some sort of monster. One that quite possibly was on fire, to boot.

After it disappeared back into the darkness, I went back to my Bruins game that I was now enjoying on TV.

Then... I hear a noise from outside.

I think to myself, is it the monster? Is it the driver of the car? That wasn't offsides, dammit!!

Then, Derek stumbles into the house, looking dazed and confused with a smoke trail fully in tow. When he moved around, he actually looked a bit like one of those mosquito-fogging trucks that our town uses.

After getting him to snap out of it between goals, I asked him to explain what had happened....

He said that some of the smokebombs were in the pocket of his sweatshirt and in all the commotion the lit one ended up there as well. He said that he couldn't get it out of his shirt and he was rolling all over the beach trying to get the sand to put them out. After getting me to stop laughing, he asked where I was while all that was happening. Where was his best friend in his time of need?

Without missing a beat, I assured him that I was right there with him trying to help out as he danced around with flames and smoke shooting out of his shirt. (afterall, he couldn't see me because of the smoke, right?)

He then gave me a dirty look and headed for the bathroom to presumably put out any embers that might flare up again. I never saw him again for the rest of the night except for the occassional glow walking by as he got up for a glass of water.

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From then on, he didn't adhere to my advice anymore when it came to blowing up shit. I don't know why.

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