Call Me E.

Call Me E.
all stories and essays by Sean Rein

My Cousin's Friends Neighbor

I used to start up conversations with "So my cousin's neighbor's friend runs a stud service near Hugo."

The scary thing is that it is true. I do know this guy and his name is Kyle.

Kyle is a crazy bastard.

One sordid affair I had with Kyle involved an old Plymouth station wagon, 4 sticks of dynamite, 2 bottles of Tequila, 3 cases of Old Milwaukee, 1 surplus flame thrower, and 5 older gentlemen who only identified themselves by their Soldier of Fortune code names: Stick, Monkey, Brock, Corn Fist, and Steve.

Their bright idea, after half of the booze was gone, was to put the car in the middle of Kyle's field, place the TNT on the front seat, and light the car bomb from 100 feet away with the flame thrower.

Now, being a sane person, I grabbed 3 beers and hid behind the barn to watch this madness unfold.

There was some debate about where to put the explosives. One of these geniuses wanted to put one stick in each corner of the interior. Another wanted to tie it to the half full gas tank. That guy won and soon was underneath the car, attaching dynamite to the underneath of the car.

When they stepped back, the flame thrower was lit and soon the car was showered in flames. They quit after about 30 seconds and the entire car was burning. It looked like the evening news coverage of a bombed out car in the Middle East somewhere. The upholstery and all 4 tires were on fire, but no explosion.

Just then, Brock, the dummy with the flammespritzring, realized that the dynamite was under the car, not on top where he had been shooting the flames. The charge ignited instantly when he shot under the car.

The blast threw the car 30 feet in the air and showered the brain trust with glass shards. I saw the whole thing from a safe distance and thought it would be best if I left before the authorities showed up.

Needless to say, Kyle was the first person that I thought of when I started seeing several old men driving around my block with the Jolly Roger attached to their car antennas.

If the idea of pseudo-pirates doesn't ring a bell, please read my Buffet article from last month.

As I was helping Kyle attach a bronze cannon to the hood of his pickup truck, a brick came crashing through my garage window with the following note attached...

Yar, no man attacks the Captain and gets away with it. You will walk the plank fer this one!

It actually said Yar in the note.

Kyle drove out of my garage with the loaded cannon welded to his truck in order to fight the good fight.

I'm going to owe him for this one.