There were two more: a couple of Zippo lighters. I've been learning how to do some Zippo tricks. At this point, I can:
- breath fire - don't panic
- make fireballs (in a controlled environment - again, don't panic)
- take the flame away from the wick, hold it in my hand, then snap it back.
I read on the internet and heard from someone (probably a moron) that I need to use butane. Which didn't quite make sense, since butane is a gas and the lighter is a wick, so....one would assume it needs fuel, but I was being stupid. I made a foolish choice and went to sell my soul to that devil known as Wal-Mart. Nothing good has EVER happened from me going to Wal-Mart, and tonight was about to prove it. So I get the butane, only 98 cents, figure maybe Wal-Mart is about to redeem itself. I get back to my apartment and start pumping it into my Japanese lighter, and the whole thing starts to get encased with this layer of strange-smelling ice.
(All you proud graduates of Zack Knappenberger's class are already laughing at what will happen next.)
I hit the switch. Nothing happens. I hit it again. Nothing happens. I hit it once more. The whole thing, case and all, erupts into a burning ball of fire that starts to consume my hand. I drop it on my desk and it starts to light the desk. I blow, slam, and stop the flames.
And then I promise myself out loud that I am never, ever gonna set foot within one hundred feet of Wal-Mart again. Karma has never been so bad.