(This doesn't qualify for a Darwin due to a lack of death and/or sterilization, but I thought it would be a humorous read for the fans of this site. It is but one example of the manifest stupidity of our race.)

A few friends, my brother and I had this nasty habit when we were kids. We would scrounge (i.e. steal) various building materials from all over the neighborhood and erect ungodly rattletrap "forts" all over the place. These forts generally didn't last too long before a rival gang of kids tore them down to steal the boards, but we remained undeterred. We were prolific fort builders, the sons of carpenters and cement finishers, and we would leave our mark on the land!

One such eyesore, and our greatest architectural accomplishment, had 3 seperate rooms, two floors, an observation deck, and an awning made from an old garage door. It took us three weeks to gather the materials, scratch out a plan, and build it up. My father, a master carpenter and framer, gave it 4 out of 5 stars.

Unfortunately, our masterwork was built in a bad place. It was directly beneath a set of low tension power lines. Florida Power and Light arrived on my front step one day and informed me that the fort had to go, as it was a violation of easement rights and my father could be fined if we didn't tear it down.

We set to work on it the next day. We were not very subtle in our deconstruction methods. So much of the wood was damaged in the process of destroying our crowning achievement that we decided it would be easier to just burn what we couldn't save in place instead of carrying it to the dump. We dug a large hole and filled it with all our scrap, which was quite a large mass of junk. It started to rain before we could set our blaze, so we covered the mess up with a sheet of plywood and decided we would burn under more favorable conditions.

A few hours later the rain stopped. I went outside and headed to the pit to see whether or not the wood was dry enough to burn. A little water had made it into the hole despite our attempts to the contrary. We couldn't get it to light using conventional means.

Tommy, the neighborhood pyromaniac and son of the most paranoid woman I have ever had the displeasure of meeting, came up with a potential solution. He ran home and returned to the pit with a gallon of gasoline.

This is where the story gets interesting. Tommy shifted the plywood over and exposed a small hole, about 3 inches long, at the side of the pit. He then began pouring in the gasoline. I thought at first that he was going to uncover the hole before he threw a match in. I became rather worried when I realized what he was about to do; his plan was to simply pour the gas into the hole and toss the match in without taking off the cover! I immediately retreated to what I thought would be a safe distance. I thought the resulting explosion would hurl flaming debris for hundreds of feet. I stopped about 50 yards away and yelled back, warning Tommy not to throw the match.

He threw it anyway, and the result was... pretty much nothing. I don't understand why, but all that gas failed to ignite completely. It made a deep WHUFF! sound, and the lid over the pit jumped a little, but otherwise... nothing. My brother later told me that a slight puff of smoke came out of the crack Tommy had made, but was quickly sucked back in. Makes one think of the movie "Backdraft."

Tommy was quite perturbed at this turn of events. He stepped up to the side of the pit and grabbed the lid. My brother started running at this point, yelling at Tommy and telling him not to lift the lid. Everyone around the hole scattered.

Tommy gripped the edge of the plywood and, with the battle cry,"Don't worry man, I'm an outdoorsman!" he lifted the lid...

As soon as he did that a huge fireball roared out of the hole and engulfed his entire body. He screamed bloody murder and fell to the ground. His hair and eyebrows were on fire, as were various bits of his clothing that had residual gasoline on them. He rolled about in the wet grass like a landed guppy until he put himself out, then ran home and cried to Mommy that I had blown him up. I really don't understand how I was at fault in this, but I was.

My guess is that the match ignited the fumes, but what little oxygen that was present in the hole was quickly consumed before the fire could really take off. The match continued to smolder, and as soon as Tommy lifted the lid and exposed the volatile mix to oxygen... BOOM!

As for the fire pit, well... it burned rather merrily for most of the night. My brother and I, along with a few friends, sat out there drinking beer we stole from Tommy's dad and laughing about his stupidity for at least four hours.

The moral(s): NEVER trust ANYONE who claims to be an outdoorsman, especially if they are from Detroit! (And never leave your beer cooler unsecured in the company of teenage hooligans.)

Submitted on 05/25/2005

Submitted by: Jason
Reference: Palm City FL, 1993

Copyright © 2005 DarwinAwards.com

Daniel said:
Maybe Toss: Lacks Excellence
A good write up, but this sort of thing is way too common.

Kelly said:
Definitely Keep: Personal Account
I like this one. well written and a great cautionary tale.

Jack said:
Definitely Keep: Personal Account
While this probably comes under our maturity guidelines, the story is amusing enough to warrent breaking the rule (as we have been known to do in the past...). Thanks, Jason.

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