Cleaning Out The Inbox

[rhasler]

Life as a child in Mississippi

Around age 10, my dad got me one of those little badass compound bow

beginner kits. Of course, the first month I went around our land sticking

arrows in anything that could get stuck by an arrow.

Did you know that a 1955 40-horse Farmall tractor will take 6 rounds

before it goes down? Tough!

That got boring so being the 10-year-old Dukes of Hazard fan that I

was, I quickly advanced to taking strips of cut up T-shirt doused in

chainsaw gas tied around the end, and was sending flaming arrows all over

the place. Keep in mind this was 99.999% humidity swampland so there really

wasn't any fire danger. I'll put it this way - a set of post hole diggers

and a 3 foot hole, and you had yourself a well.

One summer afternoon, I was shooting flaming arrows into a large

rotten oak stump in our backyard. I looked over under the carport, and see a

shiny brand new can of starting fluid (ether).

The light bulb went off. I grabbed the can, and set it on the stump.

I thought that it would probably just spray out in a disappointing

manner...lets face it, to a 10-year-old mouth-breather like myself, ether

really doesn't "sound"

flammable. So I went back into the house, and got a one-pound can of pyrodex

(black powder for muzzle loader rifles).

At this point, I set the can of ether on the stump, and opened up

the can of black powder. My intentions were to sprinkle a little bit around

the ether can, but it all sorta dumped out on me. No biggie...

one pound of pyrodex and 16 oz. ether should make a loud pop, kinda like a

firecracker, you know?

You know what? Screw that! I'm going back in the house for the other

can. Yes, I got a second can of pyrodex, and dumped it, too.

Now we're cookin'...

I stepped back about 15 feet, and lit the 2 stroke arrow. I drew the

nock to my cheek, and took aim. As I released it, I heard a clunk just as

the arrow launched from my bow. In a slow motion time frame, I turned to see

my dad getting out of the truck... OH NO! He just got home from work. So

help me, it took 10 minutes for that arrow to go from my bow to the can.

My dad was walking towards me in slow motion with a WTF look in his

eyes. I turned back towards my target just in time to see the arrow pierce

the starting fluid can right at the bottom. Right through the main pile of

pyrodex, and into the can. Oh. No.

When the shock wave hit, it knocked me off my feet. I don't know if

it was the actual compression wave that threw me back or just reflex jerk

back from 235 decibels of sound.

I caught a half a millisecond glimpse of the violence during the

initial explosion, and I will tell you there was dust, grass, and bugs all

hovering 1 foot above the ground as far as I could see.

It was like a little low to the ground layer of dust fog full of

grasshoppers, spiders, and a crawfish or two.

The daylight turned purple. Let me repeat this...THE

DAYLIGHT TURNED PURPLE.

There was a big sweetgum tree out by the gate going into the

pasture. Notice I said "was". That thing got up and ran off.

So here I am, on the ground blown completely out of my shoes with my

thundercats T-Shirt shredded, my dad is on the other side of the carport

having what I can only assume is a Vietnam flashback:

ECHO BRAVO CHARLIE YOUR BRINGIN' EM IN TOO CLOSE!! CEASE FIRE.

DAMNIT CEASE FIRE!!!!!

His hat has blown off, and is 30 feet behind him in the driveway.

All windows on the north side of the house are blown out, and there is a

slow rolling mushroom cloud about 2000 feet over our backyard. There is a

Honda 185s 3-wheeler parked on the other side of the yard, and the fenders

are drooped down, and are now touching the tires.

I wish I knew what I said to my dad at this moment. I don't know.

I know I said something. I couldn't hear. I couldn't hear inside my own

head. I don't think he heard me either... not that it would really matter.

I don't remember much from this point on. I said something, felt a

sharp pain, and then woke up later. I felt a sharp pain, blacked out, woke

later.... repeat this process for an hour or so, and you get the idea. I

remember at one point my mom had to give me CPR so dad could beat me some

more. Bring him back to life so dad can kill him again.

Thanks Mom.

One thing is for sure... I never had to mow around that stump again.

Mom had been bitching about that thing for years, and dad never did anything

about it. I stepped up to the plate, and handled business.

Dad sold his muzzle loader a week or so later. And I still have some

sort of bone growth abnormality either from the blast or the beating. Or

both.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, get your kids into archery.

It's good discipline and will teach them skills they can use later on in

life.

[randyp]

one of my heh hehs just isnt appropriate here Rhasler, i laughed so hard reading that, I cant see! I gotta print that for future reference! randyp

[justincase]

I don't post very often but I had to say I just peed my pants. Thats the funniest story ever written!