PrS (that means prescript, here): This isn’t a late post on 4th of July that I was too lazy to make yesterday, this is actually a story-ish thing! Rejoice!

Why, is that a tail? Nope! It’s impending doom. Read on!

Now, I used to be a big fan of the 4th of July. Not because I had any national pride; no, when I was a kid the only things I cared about were dinosaurs, cookies, and explosives. The thing you may not glean from my current high strung, hippy attitude is that I used to be quite fond of watching things burst into flames. My fondest memories of Independence Day were trying to talk my dad into buying $500+ in fireworks so that we could have a display that was the envy of all our neighbors, setting off a few artillery shells every night prior to the actual day. It was Pyromaniac Heaven.

Then I grew up and became lame. Kidding! I’m still (sort of) awesome. But the effervescent joy that radiated from my skin when I had witnessed a rocket dissipated as I grew older was replaced by yawns. Been there, done that.

Enter in Fruit -Blow-Up Day.

Last year, my friend Chloe’s mother, Joan, who is quite famous for being an exceptionally insane woman — Montana’s own mad scientist — invited my family and me to her home to blow up fruit. Well, how could the Clems refuse such an offer? While I may have had my penchant for colorful explosions leave me, I was still a little boy at heart, fond at the prospect of playing with gun powder and matches.

We went to Joan’s and feasted on Moroccan food (hey, that’s pretty much American food, right?). A jolly good time was had pretending we had any idea how to construct munitions. Some explosions were tiny, some were huge, some people ended up having rotten melon all over them. If that isn’t your definition of a party I am appalled and flabbergasted!

Joan says: Goodbye, cruel world! The only non-fruit to be blown up. We never found its remains…

If you choose to be like me and my posse and trade boring and expensive fireworks for extremely fun fruit-detonation, here is a very simple guide. For liability reasons I also want to say you should never, EVER try this, especially if you’re younger than 40.

1) Do your best to hollow out rotten fruit. Pretty much anything works, from melons to avocados to apples. or, if you’re really mean like us, you can blow up some childhood stuffed animals.

2) Cut out a square of plastic wrap, at least 6 by 6 inches.

3) Poor a few tablespoons of gunpowder onto the wrap, avoiding spilling.

Mehehehehe!

4) Place a fuse in the center of the gunpowder and then close the plastic wrap, doing your best to make a tiny ball.

5) Use as much duct tape as needed to tightly secure the gunpowder in the wrap.

Da bomb — though it needs more tape than this

6) Place the gunpowder sac in the fruit cavity.

7) Use duct tape to tightly secure the sac into the fruit — we also ended up just wrapping duct tape around the entire fruit.

8) Place in a safe place where you won’t cause a fire, light the fuse, and then run the hell away. 10 feet away at least!

Wait for it…

Remember readers, nothing shows your devotion to America like blowing s— up! It’s your Second Amendment rights in action! And it’s also really cool.

PS: I should mention that blowing stuff up is not a normal occurrence for us Montanans, really. Especially not this group. The people present at Fruit Blow Up Day were all pacifists (myself included), so please don’t think that Montanan’s all keep a stock of gunpowder in their homes just in case they need to rig up some bombs.

PPS: I dressed as Joan for Halloween this year by wearing one of her old bathrobes and bringing a wineglass filled with grape juice to university this year. On the way to class someone from inside a passing car asked, “Are you Hugh Hefner!?” And I shouted back, “No, I’m Joan!” They didn’t respond.

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