Are you fucking kidding me?
Now, I�m no fan of Bush. I was just recently seen wearing an ABBA pin, as a matter of fact (Anyone But Bush Again). Then again, Kerry doesn�t exactly instill warm fuzzies either. Truth be told, I�m just plain frightened of this coming administration, no matter what. But I digress.
Back to Mr. Michael Mooronic. Well, you know what.. I�ll let Christopher Hitchens do the talking, as he�s said everything already.
Right, so, anyway.
Now that I�m living in a new house, I�ve been BBQ�ing at least 3 times a week, sometimes more. With this new insurrection of BBQ�d delights, my general neurosis about all things have made comic debuts in visions of the propane tank erupting like some world war 2 pineapple grenade.
I�ll be standing in the kitchen and glance through the sliding glass door and will see this little white tank-o-death explode sending metal bits and flame through the window, ultimately reducing me to so much cherry pie.
I�ll be near the wall where the propane tank sits outside and imagine what kind of damage it could do as I study the walls support structure and material makeup. Meaningless figures of force and velocity run through my head. Meaningless because I have no idea what sort of force is released when a propane tank self-destructs.
I imagine a gas leak near the burners that carries the flame to the tank as my yummy morsels sizzle on the grill. I wonder as I stand over the BBQ if any of my guests inside would also be killed. I wonder if anyone would cry out frantically at my funeral �He went before his time!!�.
Probably not.
Since there has been no propane blast, as of yet, I�ll continue to cook on my ancient propane grill, delighting taste buds until such a time as the tank does indeed self-destruct and exact it�s deadly fee for the delicious meats I grill on it weekly.
-G