I learned something interresting last night. I was on beer five when I decided that 53deg and rainy should mean fire in the stove.
After beer seven, I found that I couldn't untangle the bellows from the pile of wood, so I decided to blow on the fire to get it going (or at least get it aroused). Being not effective enough at first, I got closer the opening and blew harder. It went something like this:
Hey this is working, but I need to get closer.
Better, but I have to blow harder.
What's that odd smell?
OH SHIT! MY MUSTACHE IS ON FIRE!
The burning wasn't that bad (not like John's hat), and I was able to trim everything up, but all night and so far this morning I was reminded of Birkenau.
4 comments:
Well, let's all be grateful that you didn't try to blow with the other end...
The goal of fire nights on the porch is that I wish to meet neither the firedepartement nor the ER staff.
at least it wasn't your favorite hat
When did you grow a mustache?
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