Fourth of July may sound like fun to you. You may be looking forward to barbecuing and busting out your favorite patriotic napkins. But to pyro-entertainment enthusiasts like me, it’s serious business. If nothing else, my inability to count to ten on my fingers is a clear sign of how earnestly I consider my duties. It’s like what they say about eggs and omelets: you’ve gotta blow off a couple fingers to have a truly epic Fourth of July.
I know from personal experience the awesome power and majesty of mildly-explosive entertainment. Each missing digit and Fourth of July mishap is like a badge on a four-star general. They are a sign of bravery and resilience in the face of catastrophe. Who could forget the tragic loss of my left pinky after the roman candle duel of ‘04? Or the rose bush fire of ‘06? Let us always remember the unexpected departure of my right ring finger after the fuse shortening last year. Additionally, let us not erase the memories of countless windows, lawn furniture, and novelty garden gnomes lost in the struggle for a better fireworks display.
These missing fingers should tell you one thing: the words “duck and cover” are sacred to me.
You may think that “certified professionals” with their so-called “expertise in chemistry” may know what they’re talking about, but they’re wrong. I have real boots-on-the-ground, fingers-in-a-bag experience while those eggheads are twiddling their thumbs behind desks at Big Firework all day. The bottom line is, when a guy like me with six and a half fingers and a missing eyebrow tells you to stand clear, you can bet the last beer in your cooler he knows what he’s talking about.
Also, if you need any advice on wrangling snapping turtles, I’m your guy.