Pyro City, Pyro City, PYRO CITY!

You know, whenever we travel through Missouri, I'm always tickled by the gigantuous fireworks store just off the highway (conveniently located for yokels to drop in and pick 'em up 'splosives, perfect for the pyro on the go) called "Pyro City." If you've ever traveled along the highway around these parts, I'm certain you've seen it to. It's just a scooch down yonder from "Guns, Gas & Chicken" and just a holler away from "Porn Empornium."

But after I nearly burned down our house recently (twice!), I'm less hesitant to make a dumb joke about it, particularly while riding shotgun with my wife. To say she wasn't pleased is an understatement.

I blame it on the stoopid crab cakes (of course they're artificial crab cakes, I can't afford the real deal). When they go on sale at the grocery store, I snag about ten of them and freeze 'em. Ideal for microwaving, right?

WRONG!

Apparently, I had forgotten how long you microwave them from frozen. I wildly overestimated and tossed them in there for fourteen minutes. (I'd say I was having a "blonde day," but everyone knows that ain't right as I'm follicularly challenged).

I retired to the TV room awaiting the crispy, golden delicacy soon to be mine. After about seven minutes, it started smelling good. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! Another five minutes go by and I'm thinking gosharoonie, I wonder if I should check them?

When I lean back to look into the kitchen, there's a huge cloud of smoke swirling in the air.

In a panic, I race to the kitchen, dogs coughing at my heel, and whip open the microwave door. Smoke billows out like an unfolding foam  mattress, clouding the kitchen to the point where I can't see in front of me. The smoke alarm goes off. Using an oven mitt, I take the offending crab cake out of the microwave and take it outside, where it continues to smolder.

Naturally, this all happened on a day when my wife was working upstairs. She left her online meeting to race downstairs and holler, "What happened?"

Well. Crab cakes happened. The work I had to do to try to air the house out was a gargantuan task. Candles were lit, windows were opened on a chilly day, and fans were set to spinning. Constantly, I microwaved vinegar in hopes for a "ta-dahhh" resolution to no avail. If you've ever burnt popcorn in the microwave, imagine that smell multiplied 300 times.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's been so long since I've microwaved crab cakes, I forgot how long to do it, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

But no manner of penance could change the horrific odor lingering in the house. For days, it reeked. My wife even threw in the towel and bought a new microwave, as I forlornly said goodbye to my old electrical appliance pal.

After about a week, the house was pretty much back to normal and all was forgiven. Or it would've been if I didn't do the exact same thing again. Hey! I cut the microwave time down to seven minutes! I was pretty sure that's how long I did them years ago!

For a while, my wife forbade me to use the microwave. Probably a good idea. Welcome to Pyro City!

Speaking of people making some incredibly bad life choices, meet Tex McKenna, teenage male witch. He makes quite a few dumb decisions, but hey! They're all in support of catching a high school serial killer, how dumb could they be? (In Tex's defense, he's excused because he's a teenager. Whereas, I'm still making poor microwaving choices.) Read about Tex's eerie, funny, socially topical escapades in the Tex, The Witch Boy trilogy available here!