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Follow the fireworks code.
Nov. 14th, 2011 03:37 pmEvery year, we here at Davy Towers hold a bonfire party where we demonstrate that mixing high explosives and alcohol in immoderate amounts is a rollicking good idea. Like this:
Thus far there have been no fatalities and nobody worth mentioning has been injured and so every year we try to up the ante a little by buying bigger and better explosives. The ones we bought this year, for example, were delivered in a Faraday cage with a European Class 1 Explosives notice attached*. I've not got much idea what the precise requirements to be a European Class 1 explosive are, but believe me when I say that they make a hell of a bang and they're ideal for mixing with small children and spiritous liquor.
As a part of the tradition, we also burn villains. Guy Fawkes is a bit old skool for our tastes, so we aim for something a little more contemporary - Tony Blair, Gordon Brown, Robert Mugabe, or Bob Crow, for example. This year we toasted Herman van Rompuy, who has apparently been swanning around Europe on my dime claiming to be president despite nobody ever having voted for him. Clearly this sort of thing is unacceptable.
So that showed him.
Anyway, we usually invite friends with children along because experience tells us that nothing mixes better than small children, high explosives, alcohol and sugary confectionary. We encourage them to light fireworks and throw duds onto the bonfire and generally indulge the passion for stupid and dangerous activities which all children have. This is usually more popular with the children than the parents.HOwver, this year, one of my chums couldn't bring his kids because they'd gone to a 'politically correct' bonfire party.
"A what?" I asked, bemused.
"A politically correct bonfire party."
"What", I said. "Like a 'Gaia Fawkes' night?"
He nodded glumly.
"So let me guess", I pontificated. "There'll be no fire" - I gestured at Herman's blazing effigy, flailing in the heat - "because that contributes to global warming."
Nod.
"No fireworks because they glamorise war or somesuch nonsense?". I pointed at a child, giggling as it ran past weighed down with a half hundredweight of TNT labelled "Traktor Partski This Way Up".
Nod.
"So what does such an event entail? A drumming circle, perhaps? A storyteller spinning tales of how Guy Fawkes was a maligned hero? Something featuring the word "rainbow" and a picture of happy people holding hands?" There was a loud detonation from nearby and a juvenile scream but I was into the groove and didn't look round.
Nod.
"Oh well", I said, handing him a firework and a bottle of something fortifying. "All the more for us."
*This is perfectly true
Thus far there have been no fatalities and nobody worth mentioning has been injured and so every year we try to up the ante a little by buying bigger and better explosives. The ones we bought this year, for example, were delivered in a Faraday cage with a European Class 1 Explosives notice attached*. I've not got much idea what the precise requirements to be a European Class 1 explosive are, but believe me when I say that they make a hell of a bang and they're ideal for mixing with small children and spiritous liquor.
As a part of the tradition, we also burn villains. Guy Fawkes is a bit old skool for our tastes, so we aim for something a little more contemporary - Tony Blair, Gordon Brown, Robert Mugabe, or Bob Crow, for example. This year we toasted Herman van Rompuy, who has apparently been swanning around Europe on my dime claiming to be president despite nobody ever having voted for him. Clearly this sort of thing is unacceptable.
So that showed him.
Anyway, we usually invite friends with children along because experience tells us that nothing mixes better than small children, high explosives, alcohol and sugary confectionary. We encourage them to light fireworks and throw duds onto the bonfire and generally indulge the passion for stupid and dangerous activities which all children have. This is usually more popular with the children than the parents.HOwver, this year, one of my chums couldn't bring his kids because they'd gone to a 'politically correct' bonfire party.
"A what?" I asked, bemused.
"A politically correct bonfire party."
"What", I said. "Like a 'Gaia Fawkes' night?"
He nodded glumly.
"So let me guess", I pontificated. "There'll be no fire" - I gestured at Herman's blazing effigy, flailing in the heat - "because that contributes to global warming."
Nod.
"No fireworks because they glamorise war or somesuch nonsense?". I pointed at a child, giggling as it ran past weighed down with a half hundredweight of TNT labelled "Traktor Partski This Way Up".
Nod.
"So what does such an event entail? A drumming circle, perhaps? A storyteller spinning tales of how Guy Fawkes was a maligned hero? Something featuring the word "rainbow" and a picture of happy people holding hands?" There was a loud detonation from nearby and a juvenile scream but I was into the groove and didn't look round.
Nod.
"Oh well", I said, handing him a firework and a bottle of something fortifying. "All the more for us."
*This is perfectly true
