After what felt like an eternity, the sun finally set, ushering in my favorite 5 hours of the year: the 4th of July Night. My friend Dan, pictured above with the ginger bread and camo shorts, picked up a trunk full of fireworks on a his five show tour with fish throughout the American Midwest. Despite the spineless and, for lack of a better word, unAmerican firework legislation in the People's Republic of Massachusetts, my bros and I honored our country's birthday with an ample dose of gunpowder smoke, cheep domestic beer, laughter, and explosions.
Does any one see anything wrong with the picture above? Dan and Tucker are giving Edge the green light to put in a mortar upside down. Roughly 15 seconds later, the mortar backfired, exploding tube, spilling everyone's beer and burning Nick.
"Thank god, the fuse finally lit, my thumb was starting to burn..."
"Ohh shit that fuse burns fast..."
"I hope my bush-league taping job holds..."
After five mortar rounds the tube split completely in half. For a few moments we considered reinforcing a Pringles can but opted out of it in favor or waging battle with a dozen or so Roman Candles lying in Dan's trunk like arrows in a quiver. After a few exchanges and heckling laughs from accurate shooters, the night wound down. In proper, sunburnt exhausted fashion I crawled into my sleeping bag for some much needed sleep.