Rainy hazy Guy Fawkes Thursday

Prometheus and Bob, best cartoon about men, that is cavemen, ever!

In the great tradition of New Zealand Guy Fawkes, it is cold, grey and drizzling. Tonight, the nation will stand outside under umbrellas, or huddled under porches, watching pyromanical Kiwi males glory in setting off fireworks. It takes only a tiny scratch on the surface to find the caveman dancing around the fire beneath. Fireworks names always seem to have vaguely sexual undertones (golden shower anyone?), and in keeping with that theme, go on for a far shorter time than expected – “Is that it?”
The acrid smell of gunpowder gradually fills the night air and forever remains one of those scents that instantly transports us back to our childhood. The women will drift off  to sit down and have a glass of wine after putting the younger kids to bed, while the older kids pick over the backyard like crows on a battlefield, seeking any fireworks that failed to go off. Short fuses, I fear thee not! The men will then scramble around in the box hoping by some magic a particularly good one lies at the bottom, as they lament the banning of thunderbolt crackers and skyrockets. Ah, those were the days, although it has reduced the mortality rate of letterboxes and rubbish bins considerably. Several days later the household pets reappear, unless they have taken refuge in the bed, then they are found quite quickly when their claws connect with your toes.

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