Blunt Wit

One lazy summer afternoon in my youth with nothing better to do we devised a wicked new game. Using a rickety ladder I climbed up on the roof and threw darts at a dartboard propped at an awkward angle against a tree down below. My two younger brothers sat under the eaves of the house. They came out to collect the handful of darts after I let off a volley and would then gently toss them back up for me to launch the next round.

I know at least half of your brain is thinking … hell, what an invention. Roof darts, I wish I had thought of that. JD you’ll be rich beyond your wildest dreams! While the other half is thinking … that JD, what an idiot, that’s got to be the stupidest idea since the bass-0-matic.

Anyway, after a few gripping minutes into this endeavor, I fired a volley of three darts simultaneously while withholding another three for individual throws. My elder younger brother thinking that I had sent them all, suddenly came darting out to collect them. At that very moment I loosened a single red dart at the bull’s eye. And I still contend to this day that never as true a twang as ever been tossed in the history of the sport, and I clearly would have hit the bulls eye square, if not for his bone-headed move.

Anyway, the dart entered smack in the back of his head.

The terror I felt in that moment still haunts me to this day. I thought I had killed him … a direct dart to the brain! Without thinking, I jumped down from the roof thus spraining my ankle in the process. Ouch! Such agony as I hobbled over to him. He just stood there looking at me with a blank stare like I was some sort of lunatic.
“Are you alright?” I yelled.
“What?” he returned quizzically

Hell, he didn’t even realize that he had a red dart sticking out of the back of his head like some bloodied single feather on an Indian scout.

I told him to be still as I reached around and plucked the dart out of his head. Like an idiot, I explained to him what had happened. When full realization he had been red-darted hit him, he began balling.

“Wah, wah, wah!”

In the ensuing mayhem, as usual, I got blamed for everything bad in the world. I was subsequently punished. He, no worse for wear, got the sympathy of friends, relatives and complete strangers. Life’s so unfair sometimes!

So what’s the worse you’ve ever done to your brother or sister? What the worst thing they’ve ever done to you?

© 2008 Bluntwit.com

So tell me, what is it about the human species that drives us to pursue extreme experiences? Why do we often invite pain and suffering against our better judgment?
So the other night under an orangy sunset and the warm intimations of summer I drove the whole family down to Baskin Robins for their 31 cent scoop night. Out front, a gaggle of firemen stood eating their ice cream.
“Where’s the fire?” I asked good-naturedly.
The Captain, or a least the self appointed leader of the flock, seemed surprised and deadpanned, “There’s no fire here.” I smiled to lighten the mood. He came round and responded, “We’re just protectin’ the place.” We all laughed. Although, my guess is he won’t be opening any comedy clubs soon.
The next day I wandered into my newest, favoritest eatery, Firehouse Subs. Apparently started by a couple of firemen, the place had old axes and oxygen tanks hanging on the wall, which I guess would come in handy if it ever caught fire.
Also on the wall to the right hung a plaque of small individual pictures of all the town’s firemen, including the crew from the night before. All over the room fire engine red chairs sat nestled up to Dalmatian spotted table tops. I hadn’t come here for the subs, although I will admit they taste good. I had come for the sauces. (cue ominous music.)
Like a dangerous police line-up, there were (and I counted them precisely) fifty bottles of various chili laden hot sauces on the counter behind which the faux firemen prepared my sub. Each bottle kindly wore a pasted-on white tag with a hand-written number denoting their relative heat index.
To the wimpy left stood “Melinda’s Habanero Pepper Sauce” at a measly 3. Next to that, also a 3, stood “Bee Sting Honey ‘n Habenero”. After several more came my personal favorite, “Georgia Peach and Vidalia Onion Hot Sauce” at a respectable 5. After several more stood “Contempt of Court” at 6 followed by “Elvis I’m all Shook Up” with the King himself on the bottle’s label at a 7. Now at the far right stood “Pain 100%” at 10 with just two bottles to the right of it. So I grabbed those two bottles and my favorite Vidalia Peachy and sat down at one of the 1001 tables. After my sub arrived, I embarked on my adventure.
I slathered my sandwich with the Peachy sauce. Then, to add a little umph, I sprinkled some “Spontaneous Combustion” (a simple 10) on to it. The back of the bottle read “For the pyromaniac who says nothing is too hot for me.” Well, one bite and I cried (from happiness.) It felt as if someone had used my tongue like a strop to sharpen one of those old fashion razors. Within seconds I had lost all sense of taste. I might as well have been eating rocks and hay for all I knew. After three cups of iced tea, my mouth simmered down enough for me to open the very bottle that had been mocking me every time I had ever stepped into this infernal shop – “Dave’s Ultimate Incendiary” at a whopping 10+++ (this link is hilarious). Determined to lick it, I poured some on the second half of my sub and proceed to chomp down.
Sweat beaded instantly on my forehead. My mouth practically exploded in scorching pain. I puffed mushroom clouds. Who says you need fissle material for a nuclear reaction. I downed 5 cups of tea and still could not cool down the meltdown in my mouth. I rushed to the bathroom mirror to check if my tongue were still attached. I didn’t recognize it. Swollen, it looked like a red sea cucumber.
I then glanced at the label to find the following warning: Use this product one drop at a time. Keep away from eyes, pets and children. Not for use by people with respiratory problems.
So as I write this my tongue still hurts and I think I might have lit upon an answer for the questions I set out at the beginning of this odyssey.
I seek out extreme experiences to prove to myself that I’m alive. I torment myself because I alone have earned that privilege. I hunger for the full range of human experience because in a flash it’ll be gone. I’ll be gone. Possibly cremated into happy ashes. That, in essence, will be my ultimate incendiary.