Hey Ya'll! Watch this!!!

My boss just pointed out to me that the busiest time in trauma centers is around 4th of July. Not surprising. As anyone who grew up in the south can attest, fireworks are not only rampant, they're used in a most, well, idiotic manner. I'm sure it's not limited to the south, but that's where you most expect to hear this phrase.

My boss and have agreed that all beer and fireworks related issues should be treated under my variant of Darwin's rule which goes "Hey you! OUT OF THE GENE POOL!" It seems like we could spend the money it takes to save these morons on something more important like Viagra prescriptions for the homeless.

How do I know "they" are morons? Well, first, they were me and my friends.

10th grade. Church camp. High entertainment? Shooting bottle rockets into the lake.

Same year, Halloween. 3 guys and a girl riding around in BDUs (we were in a military town). Mission? Shooting bottle rockets from the car, taking the smallest among us trick-or-treating in the rich part of town, and shooting at Pepsi machines with a BB Pistol. My role as Munitions Specialist was rescinded after I landed a bottle rocket on top of someone's house.

Late spring canoe trip down some river or another. All of us making our way lazily down the river, aside from the frequent cross canoe splashing, rock throwing and such. While we were stopped for lunch, a few of the guys came out and told us in a very giddy tone that we should be moving down the river. As Ricky R. was carrying a glass peanut butter jar along with a maniacal face into the woods. Yep, nothing like black powder and a sealed glass vessel. RUN!!!

Summer of that same year. The sociopath I was dating tossed an M-80 at me. Supposedly, it wasn't supposed to get stuck in my waist-length hair and go off as it passed my leg on the way to the ground. Supposedly, it wasn't supposed to tear the hell out of my leg. His response? "You weren't supposed to run." And I dated THAT gem off and on for the next two years.

Much younger days. Out at the beach with mom, step-psycho and friends. BIG rockets. Into the sea oats up on the dunes. Fire ensues. I don't remember how the hell that one got put out. Probably involved a humorous group of jackasses running back and forth from the water to the fire with the shrimp pot and beer bottles.

Ah...good times.

Anyway, the point is that any injury proceeded by this comment is probably well deserved and if it results in something life-threatening it should fall under the "he needed killing" category. Not that I don't revere my distinguished white trash origins. I'm just saying.