Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
When I was in high school there was little that interested me. My parents worried terribly about this. Okay, mostly my mom worried about this. Dad on the other hand found something that would catch my interest and get me involved in a hobby. I started making my own "fireworks." Mostly these were short lengths of the cardboard tube from the coathangers used by dry cleaners combined with duct tape, cannon fuse and a nice high quality smokeless powder. The cannon fuse was purchased from gun shows, a ten dollar bill would buy 25 feet of it and it was waterproof. A good buy. The smokeless powder was a black powder substitute used in reloading ammunition and the brand we used was mainly Pyrodex.
We were also, for some ridiculous reason, left home without any supervision on a regular basis. One day Eric and I were home alone and we were asked by dad to keep the fire going. We let it go out as usual and then were trying to start it frantically before mom and dad got home so the house was warmed up. Eric, always the one possessed of an edgy inventiveness came up with an idea.
We both knew that pouring gas in the fireplace inside was a bad idea. But what about some Pyrodex? So we put in some kindling, wood and a liberal coating of gunpowder. It didn't work too well, but we eventually got the fire going. Mom came home and decided that she needed some groceries and headed to the store, Eric going with her. Since something really important like Voltron was on, I decided to stay home. Dad got home a few minutes after they left, walked in and asked, "who's been burning Pyrodex?"
Now Pyrodex makes a very distinctive odor when burned, as well as a fairly large volume of white smoke. The smell is a little like what you get from your standard Fourth of July smoke bomb and a boiled egg fart. If you have smelled it once, it's hard to miss it a second time.
Now I knew that the burning of Pyrodex without permission was strictly off limits and I didn't want to see anyone get in trouble. So I quickly answered, "Eric."
Dad says, "oh yeah?"
Then he walks over to the fireplace and sees the can of Pyrodex on the floor. That's right we were smart enough to keep the gunpowder real handy by leaving it very near the open flame. Dad picks it up, screws off the lid, and shakes in a little.
Shake. Poof!
Shake, shake. Poof, poof!
Shake, shake, shake. Poof, poof, poof!
Pour. Ka-FWOOOM!
From my vantage point in the recliner next to the fireplace I could easily watch the fire burn up the gunpowder, just like when Wiley Coyote makes a little trail of it. And I can tell you that stuff really will burn uphill. It's like magic.
Anyway, the can was about two-thirds full and it all burned in a fraction of a second. The can split down the side (it's made of hard plastic) and shot across the room and hit the wall on the other side of the living room. But neither of us knew that since the room (it's about 15 x 22) instantly filled with thick, white smoke from the ceiling down to about three feet off the floor.
We were also, for some ridiculous reason, left home without any supervision on a regular basis. One day Eric and I were home alone and we were asked by dad to keep the fire going. We let it go out as usual and then were trying to start it frantically before mom and dad got home so the house was warmed up. Eric, always the one possessed of an edgy inventiveness came up with an idea.
We both knew that pouring gas in the fireplace inside was a bad idea. But what about some Pyrodex? So we put in some kindling, wood and a liberal coating of gunpowder. It didn't work too well, but we eventually got the fire going. Mom came home and decided that she needed some groceries and headed to the store, Eric going with her. Since something really important like Voltron was on, I decided to stay home. Dad got home a few minutes after they left, walked in and asked, "who's been burning Pyrodex?"
Now Pyrodex makes a very distinctive odor when burned, as well as a fairly large volume of white smoke. The smell is a little like what you get from your standard Fourth of July smoke bomb and a boiled egg fart. If you have smelled it once, it's hard to miss it a second time.
Now I knew that the burning of Pyrodex without permission was strictly off limits and I didn't want to see anyone get in trouble. So I quickly answered, "Eric."
Dad says, "oh yeah?"
Then he walks over to the fireplace and sees the can of Pyrodex on the floor. That's right we were smart enough to keep the gunpowder real handy by leaving it very near the open flame. Dad picks it up, screws off the lid, and shakes in a little.
Shake. Poof!
Shake, shake. Poof, poof!
Shake, shake, shake. Poof, poof, poof!
Pour. Ka-FWOOOM!
From my vantage point in the recliner next to the fireplace I could easily watch the fire burn up the gunpowder, just like when Wiley Coyote makes a little trail of it. And I can tell you that stuff really will burn uphill. It's like magic.
Anyway, the can was about two-thirds full and it all burned in a fraction of a second. The can split down the side (it's made of hard plastic) and shot across the room and hit the wall on the other side of the living room. But neither of us knew that since the room (it's about 15 x 22) instantly filled with thick, white smoke from the ceiling down to about three feet off the floor.
posted by ted at 11:02 PM
12 Comments:
that story is comprised of awesome.
then what happened? i want to know the repercussions!
Besides a certain cajun look to the ceiling above the fireplace, I really don't remember anything happening. My mom probably complained, but you have to understand that at our house, a 4 x 8 blackened section of ceiling wasn't that bad. Maybe Eric remembers.
It went a little something like this...
Mom forgot her wallet at the house. We were about a mile away and turned around. I quipped that they probably had set the house on fire by now. We rolled over the hill near our house (We were going to Aumsville) and as soon as the house was in sight all we could see was a thick blanket of fog surrounding the house by about 5 feet in every direction.
We stopped up the driveway and ran to the house (well I ran anyway) and all we could hear were smoke alarms going off, and Dad and Ted holding flattened cardboard boxes whafting smoke out of the house. Every door and window was open. So much for a fire warming the house. I remember asking dad what happened and being told "Oh..Go to hell."
Until about 2 years ago there was a large spot above the fireplace that looked like it had been burned. We had scrubbed and painted it, but it always shone through. This time we primered then painted. So far it hasnt come back.
Told ya there was a lot of smoke.
Eric reminded me at lunch today that Pyrodex is a blackpowder substitute, not a smokeless powder. I now remember that dad made a rule of "stay out of the smokeless powder, it's got too much pop."
So much the awesome.
I love homemade fireworks. Even better, taking really cheap harmless fireworks and modifying them into much more dangerous substitutes.
For example: the Piccolo Pete, when hammered flat = M80 (or better!)
There was a guy in high school who I did some mischeif making with here and there. We took some Picolo Petes out to his garage and smashed them in a vice. Then we took them over to the Marion School. We put them on the slide pointing up and lit them. Fshooom! Ba-BOOM! Louder than a bottle rocket with a shorter flight. What could be better? Oh, wait, I know. That would be the large canister of liquid nitrogen his parents had for the freezing of goat semen for sale to other goat breeders.
My favorites, and therefore the ones I crafted the most, were the advil bottles filled with powder, packing, and wrapped with about an inch of duct tape all around. And of course, as always, the fuse in the side. It gets cleaner ignition that way. The damn things went off like a stick of dynamite. Remember taping a G.I. Joe guy to it and launching him over the barn?
I think it was Crustal Ball. No one likes him.
That is one of the funniest stories I think I have heard from your family adventures.
Good thing there are a lot of days left in June, I am looking forward to more stories.
Your story about the can splitting in half reminded me of the time I went to one of our Marion friends' house and experimented with various explosives on 2-liter bottles. On the last trial, involving the usual piccolo-pete fuel, got so hot that after he screwed the lid on the bottle and lit it, it blew the lid off. That little blob of molten plastic buried itself into his I'm-wearing-tied-dyed-shorts-and-burning-stuff leg... I just about keeled over laughing...
Similar results come of 2 liter bottles, water, and dry ice.
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