The Atomic Marshmallow
When I was 12 years old I got to go on a cross country trip with my sister my father and my stepmom. At one point we found ourselves at a fireworks warehouse and I bought myself a grip of m-80's.
Most of these little tests made it back to California with me. For those of you who don't know, I grew up in the northeastern corner of Cali. My family was part of a sprawling counter culture community that occupies northern cali, southern Oregon, and northwestern Nevada.
Shortly after we arrived home from our trek, Planet X threw a party out on the vast, ancient dry lake bed known as The Black Rock Desert. These parties were always anticipated with enthusiasm due to the sense of absolute freedom one experiences in the truly wild places.
On Saturday night, the party is in full swing. The fireworks show already split the intensely dark desert sky with its bursts of booms, yells and fire. The band is rocking on some weird post-modern mohawked tractor trailer and our parents are to busy dancing to pay any attention to the stupid shit a couple of 12 year olds and a fifteen year old can get up to.
We had grown bored with stealing pieces of spiked watermelon and riding bikes with rocket propulsion improvised from Roman candles, when Aaron says, “what if we wrap one of those m-80's in a marshmallow? I'll stick it on the end of my marshmellow roasting stick and put it in the fire. “
“Oh, shit!” Jason and I exclaimed.
“These drunks will never know what hit ‘em!”
We were at a fire set off a ways from the dance floor and there were only a few drunk guys there cooking some chicken on a grill over the fire. Fucking perfect set up for a prank.
So, we go to work. Took us two marshmallows to fully hide the m-80. Aaron squats down with a quarter stick of dynamite glued to a three foot stick by aerated (and highly flammable) sugar. Jason and I are lurking in the background, trying not to give up the game.
Boom does not do justice. How do I type words that can describe the event. Loudness, concussion as the shockwave hits all our bodies. Aaron turning a perfect backward somersault from his innocent Marshmallow roasting squat. Peices of chicken, the grill, coals, firewood. All flying through the air. Drunks staggering in surprise.
Aaron comes to rest on his ass, looking at his perfectly mushroomed Marshmallow roasting stick and, with the perfect dose of surprise, states, “my marshmellow!”
One of the staggering drunks proclaims, “an atomic marshmellow!”
Jason and I fall out laughing. Literally rolling on the playa. Crying. “An atomic marshmellow!” Fuck. Fucking perfect.
And Aaron… “My marshmellow!”
Omygod…
With the daffy duck splintered stick.
It was awesome.
Then Jason's mom grabbed him and I by our ears and gave us the riot act. She thought we had set Aaron up. So perfect was his acting that he got off Scott free and laughed his ass off while watching us catch hell.
Fucking atomic marshmellows.