|Man owes the foundation of modern civilization to two discoveries, fire and the wheel. The significance of this is not lost on us here at TheInsaneDomain and we decided to put them to good practice. How so? Well, by killing Peeps with them.
It’s a strange thing but both of my parents have become somewhat smitten with the idea of killing Peeps. So much so that I was, in many ways, a spectator in the following exercise. Fire had always been part of the plan for JCP and I to undertake – it was the agreed fate of at least one Peep. Truth be told, I had to hold my parents back from burning my whole stash and robbing you of any future articles. Mostly this was my father’s idea; he - being an example of the less-evolved, older male - wants to burn things when the moon is in a certain part of its cycle. Similar traits have been demonstrated throughout mankind, indeed, I remember the occasion on which my uncle danced around the barbecue and poured methylated spirits onto it, all the while cackling as the flames roared forth. Since then I have been somewhat convinced that, if Satan exists, he’s Irish.
Anyway, simply burning things doesn’t make for much of an event: ideally, I wanted to strap one to a firework or something but cost implications and laws restricting the sales of fireworks in the low-season prevented it. Instead, I tried to turn the Peep into a matchstick porcupine. Hopefully, that would make the burn more interesting.
The whole process of burning the Peep is a hard one to explain with mere words so we attempted to document the whole process with the video feature on my mobile phone. The results were crumby but, hopefully, with some techno-wizardry from TheInsaneDomain’s tech support, they are available to you here on this very same website. Still images, as always, abound.
Video One - Burning with matches
Video Two - Burning with methylated spirits
So, unfortunately, my plan that the Peep would go up in a series of bright and violent ignitions was sorely misplaced. It did, in fact, take a long while to slowly burn down. This was also mostly due to the fact that I used the original matches to build a pseudo-bonfire around it. In the process, it did bubble a bit and smell pretty bad but, for the most part, it didn’t do much.
This was not a good thing. I was about to be foiled AGAIN. These bloody Peeps are slippery buggers.
Enter my Dad and his male desire for occasional pyromania. A tool shed is a handy thing; they contain many trinkets of interest and manifold use. In this instance, my parent’s shed had flammable materials. Notably the afore-mentioned methylated spirits. Now we were on for a fire that would REALLY burn.
So, I start pouring the stuff into the Peep’s tray and my Dad is yelling: “put more on! PUT MORE ON!!!” and my Mum is just striking matches and throwing them onto the fire. I’m beginning to think that my quiet, suburban upbringing is some sort of creepy façade.
Anyway, at this point, the Peep is at the centre of a burning pool of burning fuel with flames whipping around it. Finally, I have my fire definite kill, no repercussions and no comebacks: the Peep is dead and dead it shall remain. At this point, I am filled with a warm feeling – it might be that I am warming my hands by the fire – but it might also be that I have finally had the last word.
What is left is nothing more than a crisp, charred mess that my Dad proceeds to poke with some glee. Taking some mercy, I decide that the Peep has suffered enough and give it the sort of burial it duly deserves: in the trash with the beer bottles, catfood and frozen vegetable packet.
GOOD FUCKING RIDDANCE!
Go ask him questions about this.
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