Shortly after the 4th of July last year, Dean was sitting in the bar when a guy he knew came in with his wife and teenage son. The guy was walking a little funny and winced as he gingerly placed himself on a barstool.
Dean: “Hey, Bob, did you hurt your back or something?”
Bob: “Not my
back, exactly.”
Bob’s wife Betty: “Dumb sumbitch.”
The story involves that potent combination, liquor and fireworks. Seems Bob, Betty and Junior decided to have some fun shooting off a few early fireworks on the afternoon of the 4th. Then Bob got one of those ideas that can only be conceived of under the influence of alcohol.
Bob: “We had one of them chicken fireworks. A cardboard chicken that shoots fireworks out the back. I thought it would be funny if I stuck it in my butt and then the sparks would shoot out my backside, like I was layin’ firework eggs.”
Betty: “Dumb sumbitch.”
So yes, Bob pulled his shorts down around his ankles, lit the chicken firework and stuck the cardboard head in his butt.
“It was pretty damned funny, too. ‘Hey, look at me, I’m shootin’ eggs out my butt!’ By this time the neighbors were gathering round to see what was so funny. Yeah, we were all laughin’. That’s when it hit me.
"The head’s gonna explode!" "Shit, I had forgotten the heads on those damn things blow up. So now I gotta get this chicken outta my butt before it explodes!”
As he grabbed frantically around his backside, the head blew up. The chicken’s cardboard carcass flew off, landed in his shorts and started them on fire. Under the circumstances I guess it’s not surprising that Bob forgot the “stop, drop and roll” rule.
“I yelled at Betty to get the garden hose. So now I’m runnin’ around the yard with my butt all scorched and my shorts on fire around my ankles and she’s running after me with the hose.”
Betty: “Dumb sumbitch.”
Betty finally got him hosed down, but she drew the line at applying first aid. “No way. I ain’t puttin’ Unguentine on THAT.”
So they made a trip to the ER. Bob: “I had to fill out all these forms about what happened. I wrote it down as best I could, but hell, it boils down to 'a chicken's head exploded in my butt.' You just try explaining THAT to your insurance company.”
Then he turned to his teenage son and said, “Son, what have I always told you about fireworks?”
Junior: “If they ain’t dangerous, they ain’t fun.”
Bob, proudly: “Damn right, boy.”
Betty: “Dumb sumbitches.”
So to your patriotic Independence Day mental montage of flags, fireworks and the Statue of Liberty, you can now add a portly middle-aged guy with his butt scorched, shorts on fire around his ankles, running around his yard while his wife chases after him with a garden hose. You’re welcome.
And I’d give a whole box of chicken fireworks to have seen the look on the face of the insurance rep who had to handle the claim.
