Tag Archives: humor

The Day my Dad Caught Fire

I was twelve years old when I saw my father catch fire for the first time.  It was the summer of 1992 and I was hosting a sleepover for a couple of my grade school chums.  My father was also hosting a party, this one for a few bottles of Thunderbird, some cold Schaefer, and a few old Navy friends. It was a party that was destined to go down in flames.

The evening started routinely enough, us kids launching rockets from the end of Thor’s Hammer (an old section of PVC pipe used for fireworks) and watching as they erupted in the distance.  Many of the rockets were lost from sight as they traveled over to distant neighborhoods and foreign roads . It wasn’t until we heard the sounds of tires squealing and folks yelling that my father decided it was time for us to check in for the night.

The fellas and I retired to the basement for our regularly scheduled Street Fighter tournament while my father began to prepare us some fresh popcorn on the stove. It was about 30mins later when we began to smell smoke.  I was in rare form that night playing as my favorite Street Fighter, E. Honda, killing it with his “hundred hand slaps” and bringing glory back to the Sumo world.  I had just finished blasting Zangief back to Siberia when a few of the fellas mentioned that the smell was becoming stronger.

By the time my friends and I began to investigate it was too late. I was climbing up the stairs from the basement when I witnessed my father come barreling in from the back deck. He ran immediately to the stove and grabbed the flaming pot in both hands. He made it just outside the house when the lid gave way and a series of giant flames erupted from inside the large pot.

I still remember that look of pure terror as his body went up in flames like Nakatomi Plaza. At this point it was too late to turn back, he glanced over at me and muttered, “Alea iacta est”, as he pushed onward, pot in hand, flames engulfing his upper body.

Being the resourceful folks that we were, our house had been equipped with an outside shower that my father immediately utilized. It was while under the shower’s cool stream that he instructed all who could hear to start the Batvan and prepare for immediate departure.

While there was no official time keeper, most folks agree that my father’s run from cold shower to the driver’s seat took roughly 4 seconds.  After commandeering  the helm of his 73 Volkswagon Camper, we set course for the nearest hospital, or at least that’s what we thought.

Ten minutes later we pulled directly to the front entrance of our local 7-11.  Clad only in a pair of soaking swim trunks, he barged through the front door and made a bee-line for the cold beer section. After grabbing a 12 pack of heavy Bud, he proceeded to the front of a long, Friday night line and placed his beer on the counter.  Slamming down a 20 dollar bill, he then turned to the now hostile crowd and using his outdoor voice, he bellowed, “Listen up folks, we got an emergency situation here and I need these beers for medicinal purposes”. By the time the waiting patrons had any idea what was going on, we were already back on the road, heading towards the hospital.

Some witnesses claim 6, others 10, but nobody knows for sure how many beers it was.  What we do know is that a lot of beer got drunk on that short drive to the emergency room. After my father was checked in it marked the end of one highly eventful sleepover. It wasn’t until the next morning at check out, when doctors tried to prescribe Tylenol Three for his third degree burns, that shit would break loose once again.

Things started cordial enough as my father questioned the nurse about the doctors choice of pain medications. After informing him that the doctor’s decision was final and that no changes could be made, he continued to give protest until he was asked to leave the premises immediately. Thats when my father, heavily bandaged in the fashion of King Tut, advised the staff to phone the police because they were about to have a belligerent mummy tearing some shit apart. This comment seemed to strike a chord with the staff as a new prescription was written and everyone parted on good terms.


The Guru On The Mountain

This is an old story that’s been told a thousand different ways. I recently heard it on the radio when the host was speaking about sharing wisdom with closed minds.

A young man from New York travels to Tibet determined to learn the wisdom of the ages. After quitting his job, selling all his worldly processions and saying goodbye to his friends and family, he sets out to find a guru that will show him the light.

While traveling through the wilderness he comes upon a small shack at the foot of a large mountain. There is a small stream that works its way around the mountain and sitting beside this stream he comes upon the “old man of the mountain”.

The man is dressed in simple garb, he has a long gray beard that falls to the top of his tattered sandals. One look at the man and the traveler is certain he has the truth he’s been searching for.

Traveler: “Master, master! I’ve come a long way in search of enlightenment. Do you know what wisdom is master?”

Old Man: “Why yes my son, I know where you will find wisdom. Wisdom lies at the top of this mountain. If you go there you will find the truth you so desire. Once you reach the summit you must sit and meditate in silence, only after long self reflection will you become wise.”

Immediately the traveler sets off for the top of the mountain. After walking for several days he reaches the top and finds a suitable clearing for meditation. The traveler ends up staying on the mountain for several years, living off of bark, grass, bugs and whatever else he can find.

The traveler spends his winters near death as the temperature plummets and the howling wind tears at his clothes. It’s not until his fifth summer that he decides it’s time to travel back down the mountain.

When the old man sees the traveler again he can hardly recognize him. He has aged twenty years and looks near death. The remains of his clothing hang loosely on his bony frame. His face is covered in wrinkles and his beard has grown down to his waist.

Traveler: “Master, master! I found wisdom master! But first I must know master, what do you think wisdom is?”

Old Man: “Well my Son, wisdom is to always be humble and pious. To be cordial to your fellow man. To respect your elders and to treat others as you would like to be treated.”

Traveler: “What a crock of shit old man! You’re an asshole. Wisdom lies in the river you nutty old bastard. I’m getting the hell out of here, screw you!”

Old Man: “Yes, you’re right my son, you’re right”