Blowing stuff up

Yes, knuckle-scraping men the world over can't resist uniting fuse and match. But each July Fourth here in Oregon, I realize the more rural, less urban you are, the more you're all about the fire, crackers.

What gets me is that the thrill of seeing stuff go "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ... pop!" is so exciting to people here, there and everywhere that the most tinder-dry of conditions in the high desert does not faze them for a moment. Let's tune in to an actual conversation that could have taken place once:

"I dunno, Bob, uh, it's pretty dry out here."

"Fuck that, dude. Let's set this on fire and see what it does."

"Cool! Dunno what I was thinking, bro. Fire it up!"

And, thus, we have wildfires. In truth (well truth as related to this blog and as Avi Pinkwater sees it), I'm surprised that forests and ecosystems and what-not that rely on forest fires for their health ever survived without the intervention of man -- and man-made fireworks.

Somewhere, Smoky the Bear is contemplating his next meal. Good thing he's afraid he could catch stupidity from eating humans.

*UPDATE* At 2:45 a.m. last night -- technically, July 6 -- some white trash neighbor or another was shooting off screamers, awaking a sleeping Pinkwater. They, or the spectators they attracted, were even cheering delightedly, because people who are awake and doing this sort of thing in the middle of the night are retarded and will scream with delight at things that go whistling into the sky. I wish debris from space had landed screaming on them. I'd have cheered.