Some Ideas Are Better Than Others
EVERY YEAR ABOUT THIS TIME we see stories on the local news or in small items on the inside pages of the newspaper about some poor kid who has had an accident with a firecracker and blown off his thumb or lost an eye.
And then every so often we see a story about someone who does something incredibly stupid and ends up as a corpse – Diving into the shallow end of the gene pool and sewing up a nomination for a Darwin Award.
I feel sorry for the kid who, because of a lack of adult supervision, is now thumbless, but it is hard for me to churn up any sympathy for the theoretically grown up idiot who offs himself doing something truly stupid.
Such a story surfaced this past holiday weekend.
Dateline: Calais, Maine.
It seems that a 22 year-old young man, who shall remain nameless here out of consideration for his family who is stuck with his memory, who decided to celebrate the Declaration of Independence by making a declaration of his own. We don’t really know what he said, but my guess is that it was something similar to, “Hold muh beer.”
Shortly after this stirring oratory the fellow demonstrated to everyone present the quickest way to kill oneself with flash and dazzle.
He figured out that the best way to join in the July 4th festivities was to launch a skyrocket from the top of his head.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re saying to yourself, “That doesn’t sound like a good idea to me.” I would tend to agree with you.
The several articles I’ve read about this holiday event included a short biography of the … damned fool.
It seems that he was a resident of Orlando, Florida and, like what I imagine is a common resume entry of folks down there, he was a former employee at Disneyworld. My guess is that he became a “former employee” by exhibiting such good judgment as he later did in Maine while visiting family.
After leaving the employ of Mickey our very own Goofy had been supporting himself as a dog walker. I’m not sure if that was a step up or not.
I guess that when it is the high tourist season in Orlando and you have to spend your days walking packs of dogs through the congested streets of Central Florida a visit with the family back in northern Maine can seem attractive.
Cut back to the July 4th hoopla scene and our hero getting ready to launch a rocket from his Mensa Reject head. (I just can’t picture Werner Von Braun doing something like this – no matter how many beers he would have downed.)
He has come up with an idea he thinks is good and is holding a skyrocket to his skull. His brother (family still waters run shallow) has volunteered to be “Launch Control” and proceeds to light the fuse.
At this point in the account of the story things became a bit muddy. There are conflicting opinions about whether or not, when the rocket exploded while still on the launch pad, our dog-walking, ex-Disney employee was actually decapitated or merely, and very suddenly, became considerably shorter.
A moot point if ever I heard one.
It is too late to say to him, “Maybe you shouldn’t do that.” It is also too late to round up that entire family and say, “How have you managed to survive this long?” It is too late for too many things.
At this point in time my only hope is that nobody at that holiday party has had children. If they have been breeding then it is just a matter of time until another story datelined Calais, Maine will appear.
And it won’t be pretty.
Unless they have a successful launch and the skyrocket lights up the sky in addition to taking a few inches off the top.