I spent my Independence Day watching and rewinding the scene where Randy Quaid yells "alien assholes" at a giant spaceship before blowing himself up, and I think that's about as good as a Fourth of July can get.
Fireworks are illegal here, but I sure am hearing plenty of them. Actually, all I've really heard all day are bunches of firecrackers going off directly before a single bottle rocket. Not sure what's up with that, but it sounds like a monkey cheering at the sight of a package of Jiffy Pop cooking on the stove. The cops around here are usually pretty lax about the fireworks laws, so I expect to see bright lights in the shape of urchins, stars and vulvas filling the sky any minute now.
I wanted to write about something distinctly summery today, and in lieu of actual fireworks, I'll turn on the waterworks.
Many of you will look at the above photo and think, "big deal, it's just a Super Soaker." Oi. In fact, that's one of the first Super Soakers from 1989, which I had and loved right in the prime of my water gunning years. It's nothing special today, but back then, owning a Super Soaker was a ticket to instant superstardom.
I was never good at any of the things the old neighborhood kids competed against one another in. The biggest regret of my childhood is that I lived two blocks from a schoolyard with an attached grassy field, dictating that every weekend would be full of football, baseball and other words that felt like four-letter ones to me. Even when we had a good ol' fashioned dirtbomb fight, my aim was so terrible that I had to scratch all offensive maneuvers and focus on using dirt to mound up a defensive wall.
It was the same deal with water gun fights...until I got a Super Soaker. It'd be a gross understatement to say that those who were still warring with regular water guns were unprepared to match wits with a Super Soaker, and my friends could barely wipe the "HOLY SHIT HE GOT ONE" looks off of their faces before I aqua-pummeled them into the forty-seventh layer of Hell.
Despite its cool name, loud colors and possibly exaggerated size, the Super Soaker wasn't just popular for its glitz and glamour. It really was the most powerful water gun on the planet, or at least, the most powerful one that underage folks could legally carry. I went from being an inconsequential moving target to the absolute star of the neighborhood, and if people weren't kissing my ass to get my Soaker-enhanced talents on their water gun team, then they were kissing it in the hopes that I'd let them try shooting the thing. It isn't easy to purchase popularity for around twenty bucks, but this did it.
Course, my run on top was short-lived. Within a few weeks, every kid in town had a Super Soaker. It went from being a luxury item to something completely mandatory. Even with my Soaker-enhanced talents, I still had bad aim, and I still ran as if an unseen investor was paying me to run poorly. It was fine when I was the only one with a Super Soaker, but once the streets were full of them, my shine turned to shit.
Over the years, Super Soakers have only grown bigger and more intricate, making the originals seem like baby toys. Still, for a few weeks back in '89, I was the ruler of the universe, and my constant edict was to saturate every fucker who ever dicked me over with an unholy barrage of H2O.
As mentioned in past entries, the woman and I share our apartment with several cats. If you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go see if any of them are currently engaging in unfavorable activity. If they are, I know just the thing to do.
Happy 4th...you alien assholes.
Posted by Matt on 07/04/2008. E-mail me!
Chestnuts roasted by 
doho
Nobody…calls me…a chicken!
No, I graduated college and there just aren’t that many opportunities to play anymore. Plus, I have to take my hearing aids off so it was never all that fun for me, anyway, stumbling around deaf in the dark waving a water gun…
Click my name for the pictures I took of the fireworks from last night!