Yes, again. I've been having quite a few near-death experiences lately. It's almost as though Death, having missed the boat with his Death-Range-Rover the other day, has been pulling out all the stops to wipe me off this mortal coil. Like in that film Final Destination, except much less successfully. And less hilariously.
Let me set the scene. It's bonfire night, the most exciting night of the year. People are setting off fireworks left right and center. It's like the fucking Blitz, except with fewer Germans. My dog is quivering under the table somewhere. We are ignoring her. Being far too tired to bother walking into Walton to spend £6.50 on a 45 minute long firework show and freezing off my ass, I'm standing in the garden, enjoying other people's fireworks like the cheap mooch I am. Then it happened.
My near death experience. Just thinking about it scares me, even now. I was literally inches from death. Hell, it's a wonder that I wasn't scarred for life, at the very least. Because all of a sudden, there was a lit firework IN MY GARDEN. It just LANDED IN MY HAND. Literally 40cm away from my head, shooting around and spurting off sparks all over the place. I was unable to move. I just stared, transfixed, as the white hot bits of flame flew everywhere. It could have exploded at any point, and I WAS UNABLE TO MOVE OUT OF THE WAY. The firework had somehow attached itself to my hand and would NOT COME OFF.
That's right. I was playing with a sparkler... WITHOUT WEARING ADEQUATE HAND PROTECTION.
Shit, man.
Just thinking about it gives me the willies. Just imagine. That sparkler could have suddenly leapt out of my hand, buried itself into my eyeball, and then seared my brain. Or spontenously ignited and soldered through my skin, entered my bloodstream and become lodged in my heart where it frazzled my vena cava, resulting in massive haemorraging and an eventual slow, painful death. Or perhaps the sparkler could have been carrying some highly exotic disease which it spread to me through its sparks and resulted in my skin turning into bile and dripping off in a red/grey/green gooey mess of STINKING PHLEGM. Or perhaps the sparkler could've pushed me off a cliff, claimed the insurance money then run away to Rio. All these things were equally possible.
It was a near escape, I'll tell you that. As I was twirling it around, I did feel a bit of a kick in my arm, almost as though it was trying to jump free. Possibly it was heading towards the gun cabinet, or the laudinium cask. Fortunately, we'll never know what its plans were, as I recognised its evil intent and hurled it in the air, cackling as it sailed away, forming a cool light show. It then fizzled to a pauper's death on the lawn. Take THAT, you sparkly bastard.
TOP TIP: If you are unwilling or unable to afford a decent fireworks show, just buy some sparklers, and throw them directly into the air above you. The results are, I assure you, awesome. This works even better if the sparklers are lit.
But seriously, what was I thinking, to fool about with sparklers in such an irresponsible manner? I could have been killed! And it wasn't as if I hadn't had plenty of prior warning. I mean, tv adverts are on every hour of the sodding day. My personal favourite one is an oldie, but a goodie, and it gets its chilling message across well.
The first shot is of this guy walking down the road. We can't see his face, but we assume that he's totally non-deformed.
"When I was 16, all I wanted was for girls to notice me," he says. He walks past some girls. They both look at him. 'Hmm', we think, 'he surely must be an attractive and well groomed young man for these females to pay such attention to him. Perhaps he he has a nicely shaped beard, or perhaps he is part of to top Scottish rock group Travis. Whatever the reason, it sure must be good to be this fellow.'
CUT TO: Our hero as a young lad, playing with some fireworks, holding one in his hand and flinging it about. 'Hmm' we think. 'That certainly looks like it could have some sort of tragic outcome. But what could possibly happen? Playing with fireworks is a fun and totally riskless pastime.'
CUT TO: Our hero walking down the road.
"And now, they all do," he says. Then we see his face and OH MY GOD he's horribly scarred from the firework hitting him in the face. His eye is all white and crazy looking. He looks like that guy in Harry Potter with the one eye. One-Eye Pete, I think his name was. He wasn't a major character. Then we see the girls, and MY LORD, they're not looking at him with female lust, its with disgust and pity. Because every time you walk down the street and see a guy with a slightly burnt looking face, you respond with a horrified look. Instead of just ignoring it and getting on with your life.
'Wow,' we think 'His life has been totally ruined by fireworks. I certainly shaln't be playing with them any time soon. Thank you, television, for imparting this lesson!'
And then, in a totally amazing bit of lexical wordplay, the word COOL appears on the screen, but TRANSFORMS into the word FOOL. Because you THINK that you're cool, playing with fireworks, when you're actually a FOOL, and your life will be melted by the high explosives that you're holding in one mittened hand. Sheesh.
Actually, there's a poster of this advert somewhere on the internet. Like... HERE:
Its not the same guy (our hero from the advert has a gippy eye, this guy's cheek is fucked) but it has the same basic effect of SHOCKING YOU. And as the top English-speaker in the world, I have to say that this is an INCREDIBLY clever advert. You see, 'branded' means TWO things in different circumstances, and in this advert BOTH meanings are utilised to give a grisly idea. As this boy has literally been BRANDED A FOOL, as the fireworks have burnt their dark message into his white virginal skin. He's forever cursed with that hideous scar that will ruin his life. He'll die alone and unloved in a dark motorway service station, hunched over the cracked toilet bowl with three bottles of non-presription painkillers in his stomach and a bullet in his brain and he won't be discovered for two weeks because nobody cares enough to even look for him because of his hideous scar. And all because he was playing with fireworks as a child.
Except, sorry, what am I saying? That scar is AWESOME. I would love to have a big mofoing scar like that on one cheek. Not big enough to be offputting, but enough that people will go up to me in the street and ask if they can touch it for money. And if I get into a knife-fight, I can pretend that I got the scar in a previous fight and I'm in no way afraid of death. And if I wanted a job, and they didn't give it to me, I could sue them, claiming that I was being discriminated against and then I'd be really rich. And for Halloween, I wouldn't need a costume, I'd just go as a zombie. A zombie who'd died in a fireworks related accident. I'm not joking, it'd be AWESOME. Getting a big fucking scar is one of my goals in life. Like being hit by a car. Or falling down a really big flight of stairs. So, to be honest, the poster should look something like this:
Actually, this poster could be used for a whole HOST of other charities and worthwhile causes. The charity for those who have suddenly turned grey, for example. Greygivitis. Or, like, a Christian charity that patronises young people who've had mishaps with superglue and have managed to permanently attach themselves to metal sheets.
Or perhaps its an awareness poster for the charity for boys who have large grey bits of cardboard instead of jawbones.
Or maybe a recruiting poster for the new James Bond films. "We need sinister henchmen with cool looking scars. Extra credit will be given to those with metal arms, cool appendages, or the ability to breathe fire."
Maybe its for people without thumbs? Who knows? It could be anything.
Personally, I think that this is a highly controversial poster. I mean, if you just change a few letters and add a colon, it becomes the most blatantly ageist thing that I've ever seen:
Shocking. Just shocking.
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