Stephan went to his first practice burn last weekend...
(I typed FIRST, F-R-I-S-T, and Stephan said, "Isn't that a Jewish ceremony?" "No, that's a Bris.")
Anyway, he says, "..."
(He's shaking his head at me. Now he's banging it on the table. Apparently his "soul is sad," although I don't know why he said that.)
"I told you I felt like an Oscat Meyer Weiner."
"And..."
"I was standing next to a 10 foot wall of flame without my face shield in place and I got a bit singed. I got to fire the water cannons and the hoses. I got to put out an innocent tree from flame, but I couldn't save the electric fence from melting. All told we left the 50 yard by 30 yard patch of scorched earth to mark the day's festivities. Then we went back to the fire house and had a burger and a beer"
"What did you burn?"
"It was an old brush pile left over from a blizzard that knocked down a bunch of trees 2 or 3 winters ago."
"How many guys were there?"
"I think between 15 and 20."
"And how many were working?"
"About 10."
"They set the fire on purpose?"
"Yeah. It was bordered by the... uh... poop pond on the South, the dump on the West and an access road on the North."
"Who brought the matches?"
"Matches? We don't need no stinking matches."
"Does your refusal to answer my question mean we're done?"
Stephan just deleted a whole paragraph of funny things he said to the dogs while refusing to answer any more questions about the fire. I yelled that it was censorship, that he was trampling my first amendment rights. We're having some creative differences right now. I'll post more later when he's not looking.
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