First, a confession: During my freshman year in college, several friends and I—perhaps after a handful of beers, perhaps not—would occasionally shoot bottle rockets horizontally down the long, narrow hallway of our college dormitory. It was all kinds of unsafe and reckless and immature. It was also a freakin’ literal and figurative blast. But I was 18 years old; 18-year-old boys are supposed to do unsafe, reckless and immature shit with illegal fireworks (this might even be mandated by the Constitution).
Alas, this kind of moronic behavior has an expiration date. And I’m quite sure it’s long before you cross the 40-year-old barrier, father a couple of kids and buy a nice non-flame-retardant home in a nice non-flame-retardant community. Seriously, why is it that every Fourth of July, some middle-aged men around my neighborhood (and I know it’s not just mine) feel the need to light up the sky with an arsenal of fireworks not all that dissimilar to what you’d see after a 51s game? Newsflash, asshole: You’re not a professional pyro, which is plainly obvious every time one of your black-market rockets barely clears my damn roof before detonating!
You want to celebrate the Fourth by setting off a bunch of fireworks that don’t defy the laws of gravity? Have at it. Anything more, leave to the pros. Because while I’ve got homeowners insurance and a fire station nearby, I’d just as soon not use either because of your unsafe, reckless, immature actions.