| 10:35 p.m. | The littlest hibachi | 2002-02-15 |
| Reaped | Tamela and Johnson. Tamela is my roommate. She was also became my best friend in high school when i decided to shed the band polyester, get a job and start doing drugs. We've lived together 2 years. This is the first decent boyfriend. Johnson, Tamela's s.o. A reformed frat boy. Like, he used to model and date sorority girls and shit, but now he works on the docks and is an anarchist. Wants to write screen plays. So anyway, they came home from Busch Gardens all drunk and giddy with love to cook steaks Johnson bought from some meat peddler on the new grill. First, put the new grill together. Not to complicated. Johnson's dog sees cat, pees on the carpet. No biggie. Grill completed, it is compact, shiny and clean, like a new Beetle. Even has a little metal container under the bottom to regulate heat. Okay, time for fire. So they take the grill to the porch and place it on the table. Add charcoal. Add lighter fluid. And a little more charcoal. And just for good measure, a little more fluid. Then the smell of sulfur, and a pleasant whoompf of flame. Actually, alot of flame. It's almost touching the rafters, licking at the piles of sheets and towels and pillows our cats have lovingly marked. But it looks okay. Let's put the lid on it, just to be safe. And it is, until the handy heat regulator begins dripping fire. At first it looks cool, dripping molten orange, boiling the plastic blue polka dot table cloth, inches away from stinky polyester and moldy camping sheets. "Oh shit! oh shit!" Johnson picks up the cute and deadly hibachi. Flames still drip from the bottom. The lid falls off. Flames shoot up inches away from now "Browless" Johnson. He drops the grill. Onto the leafy, greasy, litter ridden porch floor. The fire scatters and still burns, flamed by the lighter fluid and the...SELF LIGHT CHARCOAL??!! The small porch seems to explode with people. Water. we need it. someone comes running up with 2 cups. I search in vain for a fire extinguisher, apparently the one we own is unattachable from above the stove. So I go back to porch and watch. Wait for my wooden planter to spark up like lighter. Wait for the recycling to explode like a molotov. Ponder what worldly possessions I want to save. Johnson mops the flaming porch floor with a stinky towel. His dog sniffs the leaves. Lifts his leg. Finally it's out. Tamela: "Oh, heh-heh, it says here to shut that little heat regulator, or something like that might happen, heh heh heh..." Johnson: "Yeah, well, the self-light charcoal didn't REALLY need all that extra fluid, ahem, I guess. That's what you get when you barbeque and inebriate." So at least we learned a lesson. How to burn responsibly. Deadly and cute, like the little hibachi.
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| Fresh Cut
New digs - 2004-05-25 Bachelor hell - 2004-05-10 Grumble - 2004-05-07 Coachella pt. 2, or goddamn do my fingers hurt - 2004-05-05 Coachella part one, or, this monkey's gone to indio rawk heaven - 2004-05-05 Random Shearings Rings |
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