Me and Gilbert Steve was cookin' taters out back of the office in a charcoal fire when one of them up and exploded blowing hot burning coals and tiny, vicious, wet tater fragments every darn which way. One beelined at Shelly Belavaqua's eyelid at jet speed and landed thereon with a sound akin to a tiny slap. As Shelly began his dance, screaming and cussing, Gilbert Steve tried dousing him with what was left of the charcoal fluid.
Maybe not such a good idea. The static electricity created by Shelly's polyester slacks sparked the fluid and Shelly went up like a February Christmas tree. Mushroom cloud and all. As luck would have it, someone had already called the fire department - something about starting a fire in the trunk of a car. But hey, we didn't have a proper charcoal grill and we agreed the trunk on Gilbert Steve's Hyundai Elantra closely approximated a Weber.
As you can imagine, the Hyundai was a total loss, Shelly was badly burned and the taters exploded and/or burned to cinder format. But, there was a silver lining. Me and Gilbert Steve learned a valuable lesson about cookin' taters. Taters can blow up in a fire, the trunk of a Hyundai is very close to it's gas tank and Shelly Belavaqua is a big, fat, crybaby wussy.
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