This is Chapter III of the Shoulder Saga. Please read Chapters I and II.

________________________________________________________

I walked into the hospital in my karate gi, and sauntered up to the first receptionist I could see and said in a controlled monotone:

“Hello. I have dislocated my shoulder. I would like to have it set.”

She pointed the way to triage, where I repeated the above scene. The receptionist there asked a few questions and lead me into the back. On the way there I ran in to Fred’s wife, Cheryl.

“Hey Coons! I didn’t know you were in town! What are you doing here?” asked Cheryl.

“Getting repairs,” I told her.

I was brought to one of the side rooms in the ER and laid on the bed, where I spent the next few two hours awkwardly shifting around trying to make myself comfortable, but couldn’t, largely due to the swelling and muscle spasms and whatnot.

It was at this time that the endorphins wore off.

“Hello,” said the doctor who had come to see me.

“I dislocated my shoulder!” I shouted through clenched teeth. “I need you to put it back!”

“Ok. My name is Dr. Anderson,” he tells me. “This will all be over shortly…”

“Alright! Let’s do this!” I told him, as I chomped down on my wallet, so I wouldn’t bite through my tongue. Dr. Anderson stared at me blankly.

“Oooookay… we just need to get some x-rays, and then we can get started.”

Dr. Anderson leaves, and the phlebotomist comes in, stating that he needs to give me a saline drip.

Fun fact: phlebotomists don’t always go to school. In some places, it’s all done as on-the-job training. As in, they just take interested parties off the street and show them where your blood vessels are, and let them slide metal pipes into them.

This is one of the reasons why I’ve never been real big on getting stabbed. I prefer to be the one doing the stabbing, as most people have it coming.

“Do I really need this?” I asked the stabber.

“Yeah, it makes it easier to administer IV drugs,” he tells me.

“Proceed,” I told him. I normally abstain from IV drugs, but at the moment, I was open to try new things.

So I allowed myself to be willingly stabbed and hooked up to tubes and furniture, leaving me with no usable arms. While this was going on, Joe was giving my personal information to one of the clerks who needed it to fill out all the paperwork needed to treat me. I spent most of the stabbing time shouting corrections at Joe. Mostly little things that Joe might not have learned in our eleven years of friendship, like I really do have drug allergies; and that Barbie is my sister, and not my mom.

Shortly thereafter, Cheryl came back and started preparing a syringe.

“What’s that?” I ask.

She told me what it was, but I was not familiar with that.

“It’s ten times stronger than opium,” Cheryl tells me.

“So… its heroin,” I tell her.

“It’s not heroin!” snaps Cheryl.

“Are there supposed to be bubbles in that syringe?” I ask.

“What? There are so many better ways I can use my nurse powers to kill you,” said Cheryl, as she filled my arm with bubbly opium. “You watch too many movies.”

So I sat there for a while with gritted teeth, waiting for the opiates to work their magic.

“Is there anything I can do Coons? Anything I can get you?” asked Joe.

“Yeah, take some pictures of this for the website,” I told him. “This should make for a few epic posts. I shall call it the Shoulder Saga!”

Joe’s camera was in the car, but he had his camera phone. The results were horrifying.

FIG. 1. Coons' left shoulder, a slightly-destroyed by still functioning human shoulder.

FIG. 2. Coons' dislocated shoulder. The bump is the the skin draped over the acromion and clavicle, since the humerous is somewhere else entirely.

Afterwards, Joe and I lounge about the room. Our conversation was mostly shop talk, about our respective grad programs. I start explain my research to him, and right when I started to get to the good part, is when the rumbling started. It was the x-ray tech, and she’s a story all her own…

FIG. 3. "Cheer up, Coons!"

___________________

This is Chapter III of the Shoulder Saga. Please read Chapter IV.

James Bond is simply better than you. Period. Thus, to emulate him is to be great.

Jenny was so delectably shy that she would vapor lock whenever I came to call on her. We sat on the sofa, I was grinning, and she was trembling, and fidgeting. Typically you just wait a shy girl out, and she’ll open up on her own, but the nuns really did a number on this chick, and Jenny was tough nut to crack. The last two weeks was an epic exercise in patience; we knew we liked each other, and at this rate it was only a matter of time before one of us was driven batshit insane from our situation.

Clearly, this called for the high-test Sean Connery-grade awesome.

“We need a change of scenery, c’mon, let’s go to the Circle,” I told her.

“Well, I don’t know what to say…”

“You should say: ‘Yes,’” I unhesitatingly replied.

“Well, okay…” said Jenny, with a grin. It was the contented grin of a girl desperately trying to keep us both from drowning in her vaginal moisture. At that moment, I had won.

Once there, Daryl poured me a Labatt’s, and Jenny and I found a table. Then, I took her hand, looked her straight in the eyes, and gave Oscar-quality monologue telling her how I felt about her, and the world, which resulted in me becoming the captain of her heart.

I was able to make a quiet and awkward evening into the beginning of the happiest relationship I’d ever been in, all thanks to the fact I have, at my command, a complete and encyclopedic knowledge of every James Bond movie. In this case, it was Terence Young’s 1962 classic Dr. No. Based off of the sixth novel, Dr. No was the first of the United Artists/EON era films, and the first time Sean Connery portrayed 007.

However, this can, and has, backfired, since you will also assimilate every other line in every one of these movies, and use them as responses as well.

We were on one of our Tuesday dates, walking back to our cars from Uptown when we stopped by the sundial to see the glorious panorama of the South Quad, highlighted by MacCracken Hall.

“Wow! What a view!” said Jenny.

“To a kill!” I unhesitatingly reply.

“What?” said Jenny. “That doesn’t even make sense! …is that from something?”

“Yeah a movie,”

“…was it a Bond movie again?” she said with a grin, knowing I have been trapped. (We had already watched Dr. No together at this point.)

“Yeah…” I sigh.

“Which one?” asks Jenny, as I sigh again.

“…A View to a Kill…”

“…aaaaand you honestly thought that would be smooth?” she asks.

“No, quoting Bond movies is just kind of a reflex…and… I …don’t want… to talk about it…right… now…”

Ok, let me start by saying that this is in fact the real title as it appears on the DVD box and on the start menu. Let me follow with, it doesn’t involve in ANY WAY Bruce Lee. Bruce Lee isn’t in the movie, he didn’t write or produce the movie, and it was in fact released 4 years after his death. I did find out later that it does star Bruce Li, although he isn’t credited in my copy, a Bruce Lee clone of the Bruceploitation period (i.e. Bruce Li, Bruce Le, etc.). Bolo Yeung (Enter the Dragon and Bloodsport) also apparently appears somewhere in the movie (Thank you IMDB) but I didn’t see him. Maybe he was one of the guys in the gorilla costumes…

Which brings me to the review. Basic plot synopsis, a Shaolin monk is banished from the temple. He starts a casino and begins taking advantage of the locals. After a series of nasty events with the villagers, Master Fok (that’s really his name) and his assistant (Bruce Li) are called in to help. Their task is to save a young woman who has been kidnapped to the villain’s brothel. The two kung fu masters are forced to battle their way up a mountain past henchmen, an entire aboriginal Malaysian tribe, and a pack of mountain apes trained in Kung Fu. Fortunately, their human style kung fu was more powerful than the apes gorilla style and the day is saved.

This all begs the question, what does it take for dressing up in gorilla suits and filming a kung fu fight scene to sound like a good idea? I mean really? At some point, some one, somewhere had to say, “Dude, I have a great idea! It’s something that’s never been done! I’m talking about a gorilla fight scene!” See what I mean? It just can’t possibly sound smart.

Nevertheless, it is still fun. If you are looking for high drama, or even something that makes sense, don’t bother. However, if you are reading my blog, you are likely looking for neither of these, so go for it. Don’t bother watching the whole thing. Save yourself the time and just skip to the gorilla scene and laugh until you cry.

Bad Guy: Well now. You dare to come here, dare to oppose us. You forget the girl. You’re gonna get hurt. You got that?

Hero: Guess so, but still, I’ve got to check with my friend. See what he thinks.

Second Bad Guy: Hmm… and where is this friend?

Hero: [lifts his fist] He’s here. He says no!

——

Update!

I found it! You have to see it to believe it!

The

Forbidden Kingdom came out in 2008 and I paid the money and went to the theater to see it.  I mean two of the biggest names in the current kung fu movie genre (Jackie Chan and Jet Li) were finally together on screen, yet the fact that they are both well into their careers and both are established names world-wide, it was likely just a shameless plot to capitalize on their popularity and make a few bucks without having to spend time or money on writers or directors.  Still, lack of plot and story has never been a deterrent for me when it comes to kung fu movies so, with some trepidation, I went and I was pleasantly surprised.  Not as epic as it would have been if it had been made 10 years prior, it was still a very enjoyable movie to watch.  The characters were fun and the story was pretty good.  It had the silly “Crouching Tiger” wire fighting that I hate so much, but it wasn’t over the top and in general the fight scenes were entertaining. 

The general idea behind the plot is that a kid obsessed with kung fu movies is sucked into a mystical ancient Asian land and charged with the task of returning a magical staff to the Monkey King (Jet Li) who was imprisoned 500 years ago by the Jade Warlord.  It sounds cheesy (and really it is), but it never pretends to be something it isn’t.  On his way he meets a drunken beggar (Jackie Chan), Sparrow (a pretty young girl whose family was killed by the Jade War Lord), and a monk (also Jet Li) who help him on his way and train him in kung fu. 

All-in-all, it is a fun movie and worth watching at least once. 

This is Chapter II of the Shoulder Saga. Please read Chapter I.

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Everyone stopped and circled around, Mr. Capela, who was running the seminar, rolled me onto my back and started feeling around my shoulder area.

I could wiggle my fingertips now, and my shoulder hurt. Pain is your friend; he lets you know that you are still alive. I’d been through worse, but that didn’t mean that this didn’t really, really suck.

“It’s not your collarbone,” said Mr. Capela.

“Good,” I replied. “A guy I work with broke his collarbone the same way, it’s been nothing but trouble for him. “

Mr. Capela  continued to feel around, and assess the situation. He had no medical training, however he is an expert at breaking and mangling people, so he could draw upon his vast experience with broken and mangled people to diagnose exactly what was wrong with me.

“I…I think Joe’s knee his the nerve, and gave me a stinger or something, my arm’s kind of numb,” I told them and I sat up.

“Look at his shoulder. Now look at his other one,” Mr. Mullins said with a smile. “That’s horrifying.”

Mr. Mullins chuckled and with a grin and a friendly upward nod told me: “Your shoulder’s dislocated. Go to a hospital.”

I stand up, gritting my teeth in pain, last time this happened it fixed itself, I had no luck this time. Mr. Zielinski tried to comfort mt pain, in vain.

“At least it will go in easier this time,” said Mr. Zielinski.

“No it wont,” I told him. “I dislocated the other one.”

He stopped in horror and a general lack of words.

“At least they match now,” I told Mr. Zielinski. since there was no point in complaining about what cannot be undone. Seeing no point in morning, I find humor in the situation.

I sauntered over to my gym bag, where beneth my hat, regular clothes,  my pair of sai, my nunchaku, a kubotan, a wooden tanto, my mouth piece, my knee brace, a pair of tonfa, a pair of kama, a jutte, my notebook, the Chinese ring daggers, belated Xmas presents for some of the other black belts in my school, the comics August returned to me, a roll of athletic tape and my emergency underpants, I was able to retrieve my glasses case and to pluck my wallet from my shorts.

“Is there anything we can help you with?” asked Mr. Capela.

“Yeah, can you put my shoes on? That’s kind of a… two-handed job…”

Mr. Capela put my shoes on my feet for me, which really says a lot about the guy he is.  Me? I just sat back and let the initial endorphin burst to finally sink in and do its work.

“How is he getting to the hospital?” asked Joe.

“You broke him, you take him,” said Mr. Mullins.

Joe lugged my gym bag to his car, while I slowly shuffled over, with my limp arm fluttering in the breeze the the handlebar streamers of a little girl’s bike. After running a few red lights and never-ending series of painful bumps in the road (because it was Erie), I make it to the hospital.

“It’s okay Coons, you’ll be fine…” Joe tells me as he drops me off in front of the emergency room. “…unless you get that one nurse I made out with a bunch of times, then never called back for no reason, and she remembers you. Then you’re screwed.”

______________________

This is Chapter II of the Shoulder Saga. Please read Chapter III.

I had major plans for July 11. We’re set that Saturday aside for celebrating my birthday, and I had a full schedule of fun planned. I was going to a karate seminar at August‘s new dojo, go to a cookout, watch UFC 100, and get the fuck drunk.  I was only able to do three of those.

About three hours into our training, Mr. Capella was having us work on harai goshi. I was going pretty well. I was a judo player when I was studying at Oxford*, and harai goshi was one of my signature moves. I was kind of leery when people were practicing on me, because four years and nine days earlier, I had dislocated my left shoulder in a harai goshi accident.

I was practicing with August for a while, then I went to work with Joe for a bit. He was throwing me, but it wasn’t harai goshi. He was having problems with working the swinging leg into the equation, as Joe throws are typically of the “pick them up and drop them” variety. They work, but tits not compatible with the sweeping part, which makes harai goshi a faster and more brutal throw.

In order to help Joe get the feel of rolling the opponent over the hip,  Mr. Capella was showing him how to do seoi otoshi, which is basically the standard body drop (tai otoshi) executed from a front stance rather than a side-facing stance.

Seoi otoshi is a good move to have.  Seoi nage, the standard judo throw, can be easily countered if your opponent places the palm his hand on your hip when you comes in to throw him. This way, you never get close enough to have good leverage, and your opponent retains his balance, making him impossible to throw. If this counter is used you on,  the setup for seoi nage can quickly be changed to a seoi otoshi setup, allowing you to counter the counter.

Rather than pulling me straight forward, Joe pulled at an angle, so rather than fall forward, I fell at and angle. On my way down, my arm hit his knee.

I laid face down on the mat motionless.

“Ahhhh,” I said lackadaisically. I didn’t feel a thing, but I knew something was wrong. My arm was numb and paralyzed. I couldn’t feel my arm, but if I could have felt my arm,  it would’ve hurt.

That’s when my day got weird.

___________________________

This is Chapter I of the Shoulder Saga. Please read Chapter II.

Babies won’t mind if you abort them, so go right ahead. Sure, they might haunt you, but since when was that a bad thing? I mean, they owe you.

Don’t look at me like that. Don’t shoot the messenger. No, seriously, don’t shoot me — I don’t think this way. These are the thoughts of Doreen Virtue, a “fourth-generation metaphysician and clairvoyant spiritual healer, with B.A., M.A. and Ph.D. degrees in counseling psychology,” a faculty member of the American Institute of Hypnotherapy, and an advisory member of the Depossession Institute.

In addition to multiple TV appearances, Doreen Virtue has written a number of articles in popular publications, and penned forty-eight books and cartomantic aids with a lowball combined sales estimate of 500,000 copies. Among these, is The Care and Feeding of Indigo Children, which is one of the seminal texts in Indigo studies. As I will demonstrate later, there is a shadiness to many of these claims.

The nefarious Dr. Virtue channels the power of the Dread Dormammu to cast "Magic Missile," dealing 1d6+1 points of force damage.

Stevie* was the one that introduced me to the machinations nefarious Dr. Virtue, as she bought her books, attend her workshops, and became one of her evil henchmen. It’s all she would talk about, and she became more and more detached from reality with each phone call. For every problem, Doreen sold a product, and Stevie was sold on its central theme, that if you bought enough of them that you’d gain a couple of extra senses or mental powers “like the X-Men.”

I thought that these chinsy Hay House books, like Doreen’s were silly nonsense enjoyed by harmless hippies. After seeing what they had done to my friend, did I see their true, malevolent nature — that it is indeed, a monstrous institution, like some sort of low-budget Scientology.

I knew what I had to do.

I began to look into this Dr. Virtue, and it became eerily captivating. Imagine if Hunter S. Thompson were to watch Tetsuo: The Iron Man, through a kaleidoscope. This accurately describes how Doreen must view the world. That’s when I landed upon this gem:

Several years ago, a woman named Melissa became pregnant by a man she adored and loved. However, the man wasn’t interested in a relationship or a baby. Melissa didn’t tell her young son, Liam, that she was pregnant. However, one day Liam drew a picture and handed it to his mother, explaining that it was a portrait of his little brother (Melissa only had one child at the time).

Ultimately, Melissa made the difficult choice to terminate the pregnancy, without telling Liam. About a week later, Liam said that his little brother told him, “I decided not to come yet, but I’m okay, and I love you.” The little brother said that he was taking care of Melissa like a guardian angel until he was ready to be born as a child. When that time came, both the little brother and Liam would take care of their mother.

–Doreen Virtue; excerpted from The Crystal Children, pg. 49.

I figured that was a good place to start as any. From the notes that I’ve taken from the couple of her books that I’ve stumbled across, I believe that I can generate six months worth of posts.

Rest assured, gentle reader, my story with Stevie has a happy ending. I, and later, her boyfriend kept poking at her, asking more questions than she could find adequate answers for. Then, by the grace of Carl Sagan, through the noble works of the Amazing Randi and his Foundation, she was freed from oppressive yoke of crystals, trinkets, and doublethink. Having repented her ways, Stevie enrolled in a Ph.D. program in biomathematics, where she furthers mankind through her studies of plant interactions.

For this, I am fortunate. I realize that this situation only turned out well because she was surrounded by people who had the tools and the talent to deal with the situation.

I’m a scientist. It’s my job to ask questions and solve problems. But not everyone has had the training I’ve had. Some young lad somewhere may be in the same situation I was, and would seem powerless to stop it. He is not powerless, for I will aid him.

In a world where blind obedience was made the highest ideal… and questioning is reprehensible… justice will have a new name!

I, Ryan Coons, as part of my Crusade of Justice, and acting as the Purveyor of Truth, vow to stop the machinations of the nefarious Dr. Virtue!

______________________

*Name has been changed as per her request.

Hello again. Ni hao. Konichiwa. An Nyoung. Welcome back. So I have spent a great deal of time this summer in deep meditation (and by deep meditation, I mean slacking on my blog). But now I’m back. And in honor of my triumphant return, I would like to tell you about my personal favorite movie in the kung fu genre, Jet Li’s Fist of Legend.

Jet Li pays homage to Bruce Lee through this remake of The Chinese Connection (1972). Though the plot is different (you should watch both) the premise is the same. In 1937 Japanese occupied Shanghai, the master of the Jing Wu school has been killed. Chen Zen (Jet Li) returns from boarding school in Japan to sort through the mystery behind his master’s death. We meet Chen Zhen in class in his Japanese boarding school as the local Kendo club invades the classroom to force the Chinese to leave. This film does a nice job of highlighting the racial tensions of the occupation. A sweet fight scene ensues in which Chen Zhen disables all of the kendo players and provides a physiology lesson by dislocating a variety of joints in each of his opponents. This just sets the tone for the rest of the movie. All of the fight scenes are epic, the characters are interesting and well developed, and there is even a (tolerable) love story so you can watch it with your significant other.

Jet pays his respects to Bruce in a few other ways as well. We see hints of Lee’s fighting style, especially in the final fight scene, Jet discusses some of Bruce’s fighting philosophy in his fight with Funakoshi, and he even does the cool back-flip kick popularized by Bruce.

All in all, this is just a great movie. It was released in 1994, before Jet Li gained a lot of popularity in the US, so it is not really well known, but if you like kung fu movies (and if you are reading this, you likely do) you should watch this movie. You’ll love it.

“That’s right, I’m Chen Zhen…the best.”

Apparently this past weekend was final time Casey Kasem broadcast his Top 20 Countdown.  This is the end of an era; it really meant a lot to me.

In 1995, finding some decent 80′s music on Erie radio was an exercise in futility. Those bastard DJ’s wouldn’t even consider my requests:

“What? There is NO WAY that I will play ‘Tainted Love’ by Soft Cell! OH MY GOD! That song is SOOOOOOO lame! You wanna hear ‘Boom Boom Boom’ by The Outhere Brothers instead.”

Grrr.

I couldn’t listen to the music I wanted too, since no one would play it, and I was strapped for cash. So after enough denial of the 80′s cheese that I so desperately needed, I hatched a brilliant scheme to get my songs played. I would sit around and write sob stories, and then I would send them in to Casey Kasem as “Requests and Dedications.” I sifted through my archives and found a few. They went something like this:

“I’m Casey Kasem. Well now we’re up to our request and dedication. It’s about friendship. It comes to us from Trixie, who writes:

Dear Casey,

I’m a seventeen-year-old girl living in Pennsylvania.  All my life I felt lonely and awkward.  It seemed that I always felt like nobody was there for me.  That was until one day, when I met Alex.  Alex was cute, charming, smart and witty.  No matter how bad things got, he could always brighten my day with a joke, and he helped me get though the toughest moments.  One day when I was at his house, we were listening to the radio, when I told him my true feelings.  He told me that he had a crush on me for years, but was to shy to say anything.  We both agreed that “This will always be our song.”  We were in love and were to be engaged as soon as I graduated from college.

That was until he was killed in an automobile accident last year.  When Jessica, my best friend since Kindergarten, told me that he was dead, I just couldn’t believe it.  How could it have happened?  How could somebody so wonderful be dead?  There isn’t one day that passes that I don’t think of my beloved Alex.

Casey, could you please play “Wishing,” by A Flock of Seagulls for my late friend Alex?  It was our song.  Oh, and Alex, if your out there listening, I just want you to know, that I love you.

Thanks,

Trixie

Trixie, Here is your request, and dedication.”

What? You honestly thought those people were real? A few weeks later they played this one too (its my favorite):

Dear Casey,

I am writing this letter today to tell the world about the woman, who I had loved so dear.  Linda was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.  She was funny and outgoing but also kind and gentle.  During our junior prom, her boyfriend left without her so that he could attend a wild party.  She was distraught by his callous action, but I managed to calm her down and give her a ride home.  Soon after that, Linda and I became the best of friends, a friendship that grew — into love.

Linda and I did everything together. We’d spend hours after school talking about nothing at all.  I cherished every moment I spent with her.  I would learn to cherish it even more after what was yet to come.  You see, about a year ago, she was diagnosed with melanoma.

When we found out, we cried for hours, but soon found out that we had to make the most of the little time we had on this world to spend together.  And as she fought the cancer that was slowly eating her life away, I was there to support her, every step of the way.

That was up until last month, when cancer claimed another life, and I lost my beloved Linda.

Casey, there isn’t one moment of one single day that I don’t think of Linda.  So could you please play “Look of Love,” by ABC, for Linda?  I want her to know that even though she has passed on, I shall always love her.

Thanks.

Adam

Adam, Here is your request, and dedication.”

Writing fake letters got old after a couple of months, so I found a new hobby – submitting false information to “Unsolved Mysteries.” I would just walk up to a payphone and dial their 1-800 number:

“Unsolved Mysteries.”

“I saw Jessica in Toledo last week boarding a Greyhound bus,” I’d say, then I’d quickly hang up and scurry away. I couldn’t wait for “Unsolved Mysteries” to come on, and I would tingle with anticipation until Robert Stack got to my story:

“Update! Sheriff’s deputies have stopped dredging the Florida Everglades for the body of Jessica Johnston, because there is a chance that she is still alive. Thanks to an anonymous tip from one of our viewers, Jessica was reported as boarded a Greyhound bus in Toledo, Ohio and traveling to some unknown destination.

Jessica Johnston was reported as being a dark haired female between five and six feet tall. She may be suffering from amnesia, and may fervently deny that she is Jessica Johnston. If you see anyone who matches this description, call your local law enforcement agency, the FBI, or our toll free hotline, 1-800-876-5353.”

Life was so boring before the internet, you have no idea…

Joe called me up one July 4^th, and told me to travel to Easy Street, where Ted Thompson*, brother of Tom Thompson* was going to “…set off some big ones.”

It took me considerable time finding the place, because “Easy Street” is apparently not an actual street, though it was clearly specified as such in Joe’s directions.

I introduced myself to Ted Thompson, and from what I was later told, though a convoluted chain of events which I do not fully understand, he was thoroughly convinced that I was an undercover cop, and was plotting my murder for most of the night.

Joe, Ken, and I spent the afternoon in the pool, flinging Joe’s teeming legions of cousins around in the pool, and into each other.  When we got out the pool, the cousins kept on coming, and in greater numbers. Ken and I were immobilized, as we had children latched onto our backs, chests, legs, and arms. We tried to walk away, but were encumbered by the 300 lbs. of people we were wearing. Eventually, Ken and I mustered every ounce of strength into having a fist fight, using the horde of Joe’s leech-like cousins as a form of ablative body armor.

Once freed, Ken and I were surrounded, but we were able to hold our ground by throwing Joe’s cousins into Joe’s other cousins. By “throw,” I don’t mean “push,” “knock over,” or “shove,” I mean “lift over our heads, and in a shoulder-press like motion, launch into two other people like goddamn Lou Ferrigno,” as shown in Fig 1.

FIG 1: The Incredible Hulk finds a grizzly bear, and proceeds to completely ruin its shit.

This went on for about twenty minutes. There was simply no reason — including divine intervention — why anyone survived, let alone escaped uninjured. I later learned that this was a re-occurring theme at these parties. Eventually adults who the children feared and respected stepped in, and told them to leave us be. Ken and I were relieved. The powers that be then told Joe, Ken, and I to play with a near-infinite supply of fire and explosives for the amusement of the children, to tide them over until dark, and the real insanity began.

Joe made an immediate B-line for the Roman Candles, and gave me one, because no one ever gave me Roman Candle before. And that was pretty neat. When my dad would smuggle fireworks across state lines, he only bought ladyfingers and Moon Travelers, because that is where dFun/d$ is a maxima. I set off a Roman Candle, Joe sets off a Roman Candle. We both set off a Roman Candle.

See, the thing about explosives is that showmanship is a huge component — each feat must be more and more spectacular than the last. Thus, Ken had to dual-wield Roman Candles, while spinning them around. However, unbeknownst to all of us, Ken, through no fault of his own, had damned us all.

He didn’t pick up Roman Candles, he picked up Happy Bees, which look like Roman Candles in every shape, way, and form, except they have a different name and behave in no way like a Roman Candle would.

See, a Roman Candle is a stick, about 1 foot long that when lit, periodically shoots 1 cm fireballs of various colors.  But these weren’t Roman Candles, these were Happy Bees.

Happy Bees are like Roman Candles, but they shoot their fireballs in random directions, with a distinctive “Vvvvwwwooo! Vvvvwwwooo! Vvvvwwwooo!” noise. It would’ve been great if we knew that. Live and learn.

So, we light the Happy Bees in Ken’s hands, and run back.

Multicolored sparking death spews forth towards all of the defenseless women and children, who threw themselves to the ground and hid under blankets. Ken went into shock and screamed maniacally. Eventually he gained enough composure to turn away from the general direction of the innocents, towards the safer path of directly at me and Joe.

This story takes place shortly after The Matrix was released to DVD, so the bullet-dodging scene was a popular meme at the time, which everyone mimed for comedic effect, and in our case, as a survival mechanism. That shit is real, I know.

After this, it became sufficiently dark to set off the real fireworks, and all the males spent the next two to three hours setting off approximately $1,800 worth of Wile E. Coyote rockets and amusement park grade mortars.

The rest of the night passed without incident, and we all left happy, and with a healthy fear of Happy Bees.
____________________________________________________
* Names have been changed to protect the guilty.