As a famous man once said: Celebrate the birth of your nation by blowing up a up a small piece of it. Anyone know that quote? Apu from the Simpsons…actually, I think it may have been his ‘cousin’ out at the cottage.
I am the marshmallow man. Not only does it refer to my sculpted physique, but it also refers to my ability to pack kids full of roasted marshmallows (usually moments before they’re about to leave). As you can see from the picture…that didn’t happen because some ass-clown neighbors decided to call the fire department on us. Ended up the windspeed exceeded the bylaw by 2kms (ours was 17, the limit was 15).
Luckily, Kari got the kids to start crying on command (look kids, these men have come to put out your fire and take away your marshmallows). The firefighters were extremely apologetic…so we calmed down the kids in return for letting our offspring climb all over their rig, hit buttons, and screw things up.
Kari and I aren’t in the picture because 1) I was talking to the fire officer, still, filling out forms in triplicate — sign here, here, oh, and here and 2) Kari was taking the picture.
When I asked the firemen when they left what the bylaws were on the $150 worth of fireworks in my garage, he smiled and said that was out of his hands. Good. So we can aim it at windows and stuff?
Once the kids got to climb on the truck, they didn’t care about marshmallows anymore.
Then $150 worth of fireworks, and it was all good….
Luckily during the fireworks another twat of a neighbour asked if you could turn them down.