At school (and college)
we were pyromaniacs. One science lesson saw a mate of mine throw an ethanol-soaked paper towel through a bunsen flame at another mate. He dodged it and it landed on the floor behind a table. The flame could be seen over the table as it hit the floor. My favourite though was at the pub during lunch break at college. Someone 'borrowed' a bunch of those wooden splint things from their science lesson. We made a tower out of them by weaving them together (which took bloody ages) and put it on the table as an ornament. Then someone set fire to it, producing a two-foot-high wall of flame on the table of the pub which had to be put out a bit damn quick before the landlord saw it.

Of course nothing beats another story featuring the same friend with the paper towel. After he had - er - borrowed a few tins of paint from a warehouse one night, he had to escape over a railway line. He tripped, sparks flew and the paint cans exploded in his arms. He suffered third degree burns to about 20% of his body, and had to have skin grafted from his bum in order to rebuild his face. Last time I saw him he was fine, but since then we've always insisted that our statement about him talking out of his arse is completely true.
(Ash Oops, Wed 3 Mar 2004, 11:53, Reply)