Remember, pyromaniacs will be pyromaniacs.
Burn what’ll burn. That’s what they think.
Be the friendly neighborhood arsonist. That’s their ambition.
Actually, it’s probably a better idea to constrain oneself. Anyway, I recently made a torch from a couple things I had lying around–ah, I mean, a couple things I had been saving for just that moment.
I started with a pair of jeans that I had saved since they ripped from some forest espionage–I guess. I don’t when they broke. I also used an old holey sock I had fished out of the trashcan. In addition to what would be the body of the torch, I added the fuel. Items in category one were five or so packages of artificial butter that I’d kept for a couple weeks in a drawer–seriously, they didn’t smell that bad. Please don’t ask where I got them, because it’s a secret that I honestly prefer to die with. Okay, now that sounded really nefarious. Actually, I got them in a to-go box from a restaurant. I really don’t remember for sure. Back to the narrative. In addition to this culinary combustible, I added the remnants of a couple of wax candles that I had saved from the trash also. I thought they would make the torch smell simply wonderful. Spoiler alert. They didn’t. Plus, I had a couple Bacon Candles worth of bacon grease. More on Bacon Candles at a later date. For the support of this terrific torch, I had a pole made of thick plastic and a piece of wood for the torch head center.
I bound the pair of pants around the pole, smearing them with fuel–like a giant pyromaniac cinnamon roll. Then–with my hands covered in a slippery layer of grease–I cinched it all together with a bit of wire that I had saved from the last roll of chicken wire we had used. After that–really the cherry on top of the metaphorically ice cream–I added more fuel and tugged the sock–which I had been using as a glove–over the top. My pictures are a little blurry. Trust me, I tried my best–but my hands were a bit full.
I didn’t light the torch immediately.
Instead, because we weren’t having a fire that night, I tossed–not literally–it into my dad’s tool closet. And yes, he was cool with it. I still don’t know how my family puts up with me.
As an antithetical anecdote I would like to share a story. I was disappointed when my mom said I couldn’t keep live spiders in my room–which I share with my two bruvs. My sister helped my catch three very nice spiders. And, no, I have no idea why she wandered around in our forest with me, scrambling after spiders. Guess cuz’ she’s my wild sister. It was quite a shame though, that my mom said I couldn’t keep them in my room–but probably for the better anyway. I kept my spiders in the garage for a while. I still can’t figure out how that black widow escaped. JK.
Memorial day, I lit my burning beauty up.
Honestly, I was surprised and quite pleased at the results. The torch was a huge flaming brand in my hands, lightweight and bright–ready to set conflagration.
There were two downfalls. Make that three. One, the flaming masterpiece was fiercely malodorous.
I guess jeans and socks don’t make the best torch. Strike that. But I thought it was awesome–odor and all. Two, it was dripping fiery liquid (not really a bad thing, but it ostensibly impeded locomotion. But I mean, it really wouldn’t matter if you were just entering the lair of a deadly gold-hoarding dragon, storming the castle of an evil despot, or lighting a pyre for a fallen comrade while on a conquest.). My third and biggest problem? My support structure gave out. The ‘thick plastic’ melted a lot faster than I had anticipated, so within minutes, my torch head plopped off into the fire pit, where it burned with fortitude for hours. That was one of those ‘come on!’ moments when I realized the mistake of using a plastic handle, but I think I got all I needed from that torch–a bit of experience and a neat profile picture.
John 8:12. Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”