Sex vs Fireworks

Welcome back for a new comparison on 2 fun events.

Sex and Fireworks

Over the summer I had the opportunity to help set up and set off show grade fireworks with a friend. I don’t mean the sparkler grade fireworks you buy at the store, but the ones you can’t buy and can only see if there is a celebration somewhere.

Hopefully after this you will have a better respect for what those “shooters” have to do just for you to see that beautiful display of dancing lights and BOOMS. First you get up at about 5-5:30 am, drive to a warehouse and pick up a box truck. Then you go to the loading dock, and load up the padded boxes of firework shells and boxes of what’s called “cakes” (smaller fireworks that are linked together in a pre-assembled box with one fuse). After those are all loaded and secured as to not move, you go over to the other side of the yard and load up all the tubes and “racks” (those are the tube that the shells go into and are shot out of), and when you have all that set it’s time to figure out where you’re going. By now its about 7 am and it’s time to get this party started!

^^^ PREPARATION = THE FIRST FEW DATES ^^^

      Just like in dating, once you have PERMISSION TO PROCEED the setting up begins. You unload the truck and put together the racks using strapping to bind the tube making sure there going in the right direction. One false move and it’s all over–nothing shoots right, there’s no show and DEFINITELY no finale. Now that the tubes are tight it’s time to prep the shells.

Each shell must be placed just right or the show will NOT be pretty. You delicately place each shell in it’s right spot, caring for it as if it could kill you. You wire in the fuse in snug, assuring good contact. Now you are ready to shoot your load. Mind you, this has taken all day and it is now about 8 pm and starting to get dark just as all the shells are set.

After 14 hours of baking in the sun, assembling something to make it beautiful for about 20 minutes of fun leading up to one grand finale, just to be left with a great big mess that needs to be cleaned up. And if all went well, you’ll be asked to come back and do it again.

So the moral to the story is: 14 hours of set up, 20 minutes of oohhh and aahhh, one grand finale and then home to sleep.

See ya’ll later.

 

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Should have seen that coming

Welcome back to Just Jeb, where I, Jeb, share my thoughts, ideas, theories, and best of all; things I have seen.

 

Today on my trip into work I had the privilege of seeing one of the funniest things ever. But before we get to that part, let me take a moment and set the scene.

 

We have all seen the bumper stickers that say, ” My other ride is a bike” or “I’d rather be biking” or something to that effect. We have also seen the biking enthusiast on the roads, traveling with the flow of traffic, wearing the reflective vest, extra water in their back pouch and the aerodynamic helmet moving almost as fast as the cars do. Got the idea? Great. Moving on.

 

Take one of the die-hard bikers and add side saddle bags covering the back tire, the little red flashing lights under the seat, and as an added bonus put a couple of those saddle bags on the sides of the front tire too.

 

Please understand that there is pretty much no possible way you could miss this biker on the road at all. This high-speed biker traveling down the road with all the reflective material, signal light flashing away and the little mirror attached to his helmet, odds are he would see you too. So beware of bikers, they’re everywhere.

 

OK, so there’s that. Now take a basic car, 4 doors, a running engine, headlights, tailights, directionals, pretty basic right? So when we’re younger and dumber, we see the biker on the side of the road and we watch the biker blast right through an intersection as if it doesn’t apply to them. Living higher than life with no time to get there and we think to our self, “What would happen if I open the door just before this little bastard gets here, send him sailing over the door and then onto the ground to learn his lesson.

 

OK, it might just be me, but I would never do it (you’re thinking of it right now, aren’t you?)

 

There is a stretch of road I drive pretty much every day that’s about a 1/4 mile long. So by now I have a good idea what’s coming. It’s straight, no obstructions and about 5 or 6 feet on either side for the breakdown lanes. Normal. I see a smaller 4 door car just ahead with the rear flashers on and the hood up. there is that “can’t miss him ” cyclist about 50 yards in front of me. Fine. I slow as to not stop him from moving over and passing the broken down car. Well apparently, something about this car said to the rider, “Hey over here. Yeah, this is the finish line, so ride in-between my tail lights and you will win.” (by the way, there was no oncoming traffic). Sooo do you see where this is going? Not seeing the biker moving or slowing I hit the brakes and wait to see what happens. SLAM, BANG, SLIDE into the back of the car he goes, bike, dead stop, rider not so lucky. He goes onto the trunk, up to the roof into the hood which was open, slammed that down hard, slides across the hood and BOOM onto the ground and rolls another 10-15 feet in front of the car’s bumper.

 

STOP I DID.

 

First, parked my car as to let other drivers know we are there. Hop out of the car (after checking to see if there are any other rogue bikers coming), made my way to the cyclist and checked to see if he was ok. “Yea I’m fine. How’s my bike?” wasn’t the response I was expecting but, ok. Then I went to check on the lady who was in the car waiting for the tow truck and yep, she was scared shitless. Had no idea what was going on. All of a sudden there was a flying body moving across her car from end to end. She looked like she just came out of the scariest horror movie ever.

 

A few minutes went by and they where both fine. As we looked at the damage it broke down to this:

 

Bike needed new front rim and tire, front forks and a headlight; nothing more.

 

Car: scratched rear bumper, new passenger side tail light assembly, roof scratches repaired, hood prop rod and latch and scratch repair on the hood.

 

Estimated damage totals. Bike $130-140. Car $425-475 parts and labor.

 

Moral to the story: Just because we can see them, doesn’t mean they’re smart enough to ride a bike.

Crop Circles, Natural Beauty OR Lonely Farmer ?

Ever wonder how or why these visually pleasing works of art seem to only pop up in farm land crops?

I have a theory and this is it, lonely farmers. That’s right. I mean think about it, these people wake up hours before the rest of the world, work all day in the blistering heat on a tractor that rumbles and vibrates, tickling parts that some people have to pay to have tickled that way. Only to go home at the end of it all too exhausted from the heat to indulge in the personal companionship of their significant others. So in the midst of the day when break time is about, the closest companion is a sheep. Hold on, don’t get mad, this is just a  theory after all. Now a sheep, like some females I know, want no part of physical activity that is one-sided, soooo  the sheep RUNS LIKE HELL. Dodging, swerving and moving in..  ( pause for dramatic effect ),  Circles.  Or there are Aliens trying to communicate with us.

this post is for humor purposes only, no actual sheep were molested in the creation of this post.

Books and Blue Balls

A friend of mine thinks she’s some slick shit posting a conversation she had with her mother. Fuck that. I’m posting the conversation I had with her. XXXXXXXX is a buddy of mine who would kill us both if we said who he really was in the book.

HER: I’ve got an idea for a book I want to write.

ME: Really? What’s it about?

HER: It’s about guys (and girls) who grew up like we did. I’ve already got most of it written and one of the characters is XXXXXXXX. There’s another character I want to base on you. But don’t worry, it’ll only be a little bit. So…can I use your name?

ME: My name? But my name sucks.

HER: That’s why.

ME: Fuck you.

HER: Come on. I’ll make you awesome!!!

ME: Oh yeah? How?

HER: I’ll make the hot girl from the book fall in love with you.

ME: Do I get laid? Because no deal if I don’t get laid.

HER: I promise you’ll get laid in my book. Just trust me on this.

ME: Can you swear this book will get me some pussy?

HER: FUCK YEAH IT WILL!

So…I said yes. Cut to six months and about 200 Kinkos made novels later:

RANDOM CAMPUS HOTTIE: Are you the Jeb from that book?

ME: Why yes I am.

RANDOM CAMPUS HOTTIE: Oh…ok. Hey, is that guy River real too? Me and my friends think he’s hot. So if he is can you hook me up?

ME: Uh…did you read the book?

RANDOM CAMPUS HOTTIE: Sure, why?

ME: So you know River’s a dick.

RANDOM CAMPUS HOTTIE: No he’s not. He’s just misunderstood.

ME: Yeah, River’s real. He works over at the Rathskellar. But River’s not his real name. Ask for Doug (Doug is the jacked up drunk who sleeps on a cot out back and earns his keep cleaning the toilets).

Cut to me two years later with blue balls and a bunch of numbers for River.

MY WOMAN HATES MY MUSIC

We listen to HER music in the car.
We listen to HER music at the house.
We listen to HER music in bed.
Now that’s where I draw the line. Especially when I hear this:

I don’t know about you, but this is bullshit. How the fuck am I gonna get the job done listening to this estrogen fest? Dude, I’m not. Do you think she listens to anything I’m into? I’ll answer for you. No, she doesn’t.

Disturbed is too scary and Godsmack is too loud and there’s nothing romantic about Metallica. There’s something sad and wrong about a man who knows every word to every song PANIC AT THE DISCO ever recorded. But that’s the price of pussy in my life. My woman wins. Every damn time.