nali

A few years ago, when I was still in and out of college, and living with my parents, I would throw parties when they went out of town, like any good teenager raised on John Hughes movies would. We lived in rural Maryland, and my house was surrounded by farmland on three sides, so my friends and I could be as loud and obnoxious as we wished.

At one of these parties, some friends of friends of friends showed up, I'm sure you know how that goes. These particular individuals I recognized from highschool, as they were well known as being completely batshit insane. I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, figuring that well, high school was a couple of years ago, and I wasn't exactly 'normal' myself then either.

So these cats have brought a bottle of grain alcohol with them. Still being the death-metal, satanic, pyromaniac fucks that they were in high school (I was wrong, they hadn't changed), they said to themselves Boy, I wonder if this shit that's 100% alcohol will light on fire? So, they poor a small splotch of it onto the cement patio outside of my basement, where everyone was, smoking cigarettes, and light it on fire.

One of my friends alerts me to the fact, saying "Uh hey, Mike, your house is on fire." Seeing the small blue alcohol fire not more than a yard away from my house, I run to the utility sink in my basement and start filling up a bucket of water. When I get outside with the water, one of the pyros is wondering why I'm so distraught over the fire, but he starts to stomp it out with his foot.

Now here's where it starts to get funny...
I'm not sure if he had the thought Hmm, liquid puts out fire, or if he knew what would happen, but pyro #2, who's holding the bottle of grain alcohol, splashes some at the fire, and the stomper's leg shoots up in flame. He immediately starts panicing, dancing around and screaming "I'm on fire! I'm on fire!" sounding very much like Beavis.

At this point I have a full bucket of water and two choices. Option #1; put out the fire very near my house, or Option #2 put out the fire consuming the dumbass who started it in the first place.

Of course, I choose the first option, ensuring that I have a place to sleep that night, and that my parents won't come back from vacation to a burned-down house.

I start directing the alit pyromaniac to jump in the pool, which is maybe thirty feet away, and completely visible. Instead, he does the stop-drop-and-roll in my back yard, which doubles as my dogs' toilet.

Once the flames are out, his 'friend' who splashed the grain alcohol on him drives him to the hospital, but makes him sit in the bed of his pick-up truck because he is covered in dog doo.