the missus and I went to this island off the coast of malaysia. it was low season, and only one place was open
the hotel had a chain of little thatched bungalows, arranged in horseshoe shape around a bar restaurant facing the beach, though we got the cheap room above the bar. After lunch one day, smoke started coming out of one of bungalows. before our eyes this quickly turned to flames and spread to the roof. I don't know what was in the thatch, maybe tarpaper, but it burned rather well. In an unfortunate design the roofs of the neighboring bungalows were so close that the flame spread first to one joining roof, then the other. the guests in one were caught by surprise and had to crawl out the window.
we all pitched in, making a human bucket chain to the beach but it was quickly apparent to me that the water this delivered was inadequate. I had my go up on the roof of an unburned bungalow trying to stop it catching, but the intense heat soon forced me off and the roof went up shortly after.
It was then I noticed some large blue plastic barrels stacked quite close to the blazing fire. They were already too hot to touch. And they were full of diesel. I alerted the hysterical owner and a few of us kick rolled the barrels to the relative safety of the beach.
The bucket chain was fighting a losing battle. About eight of the twelve or so bungalows were on fire, and I noticed the last bungalow was connected the main building with a wooden trellis and hoarding. I got a German bloke to help me and together we kicked it down so at least that wouldn't go up too. I guess with my stuff already safe I was able to assess the situation with a slightly clearer head.
They lost all the bungalows in the end. The owner was sobbing and inconsolable. I gathered he'd invested everything. Another german couple had been out skin diving and returned to find all their possessions, clothes and passports had been burnt, leaving them with only their bathers and rented snorkel.
My lesson: Despite movies of people running into burning buildings, proper fires are really really hot, even several metres away. And don't build highly inflammable roofed bungalows too close together.
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Mon 2 Feb 2015, 5:34, 3 replies)

World Trade Center 7 burnt down from a fire which weakened the internal structure and not from controlled explosives.

( $$ ✅, Sun 1 Feb 2015, 9:13, 3 replies)

A cigarette dropped into petrol will not cause a fire.
I have tried it and it doesn't work -- not with a shallow spill nor a bucket of petrol. In fact petrol is a lot harder to set fire to than any film or petrol station notice would lead you to believe.
Similarly, cars are fairly hard to set on fire.
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Sat 31 Jan 2015, 20:25, 13 replies)

FIRST
wankers
(Synchromesh gearbox, overhead cam, Sat 31 Jan 2015, 17:46, Reply)

As a student, one of my studenty housemates decided he'd move his bed into the living room, for reasons best known only to himself
So me and one of my other housemates amused ourselves by flicking lit matches at it. As it turns out, flicking lit matches onto soft furnishings is quite a good way to start a fire. As a result we got to use the fire extinguisher for the only legitimate time that year. The original housemate was annoyed, but as we pointed out, if his bed hadn't been in the living room we'd have been flicking matches into an empty corner.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Sat 31 Jan 2015, 12:14, 3 replies)

Dyslexic
She had a paper towel in one hand and a tea kettle in the other. Instead of putting the kettle on the stove's flame, she put the paper. I gazed in horror as she turned towards me with a happy grin, the flaming paper rising behind her high to the ceiling.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Sat 31 Jan 2015, 9:39, Reply)

Back when I was a foolish youth
A mate of mine and me decided it would be a ripping wheeze to take all the powder out of a couple of boxes of black cat bangers make a tasty pryramid of the powder.

Being foolish, I decided, that, nope, this was not enough, so we stole a half dozen of my dad's shotgun cartridges, and deftly sawed them open, and added the gunpowder to the pile also.

This pile, might I add, was just sat on our patio, on a handy concrete slab, so we were having a devil of a time getting it lit.

Soo. We leaned in over it, cupped our hands about it, and went at it with clipper lighters until:

FLOOM! It went up like a bastard. Massive flash, both blinded, faces singed, was deaf for about three days. Freind assures me he thought we were rather dead afterwards.

The concrete slab bore a brilliant star shaped singe mark until I moved out, and I guess, it still does today. A monument to idiocy if you will.

Now, I've noted a few folks saying in the other posts that facial fire trauma made them or their mates beards grow slow. Dunno if it has anything to do with this but my beard grows well patchy and never fills in on the sides.

My mate however, can grow a full on Brian Blessed, so, I discount the fire = less shaving theory.

tl/dr 6 pack of bangers taken apart + gunpowder pile, meets teenage idiots, with lighters, goes exactly how you would think.
(yeswehavenopasties, Sat 31 Jan 2015, 0:44, Reply)

Hidden Naplam
Christmas 2013, a kind guest of ours brought us lots of delicious treats for our Christmas feast, including a Waitrose/Heston "Hidden Orange" Christmas Pudding.

I was the only person in the house that wanted some, so on Boxing Day, I cut off a slice, and followed the instructions on the back of the box to warn it up in the microwave. The box said to heat it for seven minutes, so I had time to wander off and do something else more productive, so I did.

Five minutes later, my poo was rudely interrupted with the manic screeching of the smoke alarms. There was a faint smell burning. I leapt up and ran down the stairs to find the ground floor with thick smoke filling up the top half of the kitchen, living room and hall.

Genuinely concerned now, I opened the front door to take the edge of the smoke I took a gulf of fresh air and dived into the grey cloud and made my way to the kitchen, where the microwave was now popping and spitting, with copious amounts of grey smoke billowing from every vent.

With the help of my New Zealand Rugby oven gloves, I pulled out the plate of carbon from the microwave and took it to the garden. Heston’s hidden orange was glowing like lava in the centre of the plate, which shattered on contact with the patio. Seeing that, I opined that Heston’s “Hidden Napalm” Christmas Pubbing would have been a more appropriate name.

Now, over two years later, the microwave still smells of Heston’s seasonal dessert. I am no longer trusted near puddings.
(lardaholics anonymous, Fri 30 Jan 2015, 17:27, 4 replies)

Twisted Firestarter
Camping with friends, we staggered back to the site after hitting the local pub. One of our number announced that it wasn't a proper camping trip without a camp fire. It was pointed out to him that fires weren't permitted in this site. "No problem," he replied, "We'll have it over in the woods there." It was further pointed out that we were in the middle of a drought, and there were brushfire warnings posted around. But, undeterred, he set off with a group of others, and disappeared into the trees.

Personally I was thraiped, so I crawled into my tent and took no further part in the night's activities. In the morning I headed into the woods for a morning piss, and discovered the site of the bonfire - it wasn't hard, as the underbrush was smouldering in a ring that had expanded from the fire to about three metres across. I emptied my bladder over it, but even with several pints of Hampshire's finest begging for release, it was clear that the burning area was too large for one trouser-snake to defeat.

So I ran back to the others, and told them that the entire New Forest was about to burn down. Naturally, the only supply of water was several hundred metres away, but after a frantic period of shuttling water cans, we managed to put it out.

At this point, the Firestarter himself emerged from his tent, and we set upon him with boots and sarcasm, letting him know what an utter knob-end he'd been, leaving the fire still smouldering like that.

We really thought he would know better. He was an actual fire-fighter, after all...
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 30 Jan 2015, 13:20, 2 replies)

I set fire to the living room rug when I was eight.
Surprisingly my folks went easy on me.

They must have remembered what I told them in 1955.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Fri 30 Jan 2015, 9:33, Reply)

Putting a ciggie out...
My ex was smoking a ciggie at a party and looked around for an ashtray. Not finding an ashtray she stubbed the butt out in a metal waste paper bin. Being a waste paper bin, it had waste paper in it and within 15 seconds it was smouldering nicely. My ex then tried stomping out the mini conflagration with a booted foot. Alas the metal bin collapsed into an oval shape neatly trapping her foot and preventing more stomping! Apparently collapsing in fits of laughter is not the right thing to at this point.
( Vambo, Thu 29 Jan 2015, 23:12, Reply)

FIreproof boots and bonfires
Yeah I didn't have them on that day... trying to stamp out a bonfire whilst your boots on fire is an interesting experience (lucky i was a few meters from the sea!)

top tip - do not piss on the fire - it smells like burning piss
( SkUG >_O i got a couple of stitches in my eyeball... ow, Thu 29 Jan 2015, 22:03, Reply)

Self Immolation
When wedged into a tight corner of a barely accessible attic to do some plumbing, it's advisable to be a little careful where you wave the blow-torch!

Had I not had a thick leather glove on that I could "pat" out the promising little inferno with, I would certainly have been on fire before I could have made it back out of the loft. Oh, the times we had.
( Ugi , it's a game of give and cake, Thu 29 Jan 2015, 17:52, 1 reply)

I set fire to my parents sofa when I was about 2 years old.
My elder brother put the fire out.

The end.
(eViLegion Chief Commissioner of the Scottish Lunacy Board, Thu 29 Jan 2015, 14:48, 3 replies)

Touching table cloth
I sat at the age of ten underneath the dining room table with a box of matches. I lit the tassles of the Indian cotton table cloth that trailed over the edges. Then woomph. On hearing this strange sound I crawled out from underneath to see the entire table on fire. My mother put it out by patting it out. I think she used her blackened hand to wallop me across the legs.

I did progress to making pit bombs from camping "gaz" tins, car stopping roadside flashes using fertilizer mixed with sugar and a mortar from a drain pipe and Guy Fawkes rockets. How easy it would have been to become an arsonist.
(The Eightball Says Yes, Thu 29 Jan 2015, 14:26, 4 replies)

Once I set fire to a car or something
Oh yeh dont forget to Help Get Monty a George the Hofmeister Bear Costume
( Peej, Thu 29 Jan 2015, 14:25, 3 replies)

I was seven and I wanted to make a bomb
can't really remember why but had decided that the best way to go about it was to the wrap a nine volt battery (the square ones that make your tongue tingle) in string soaked in petrol then light and throw , hey presto bomb.

So checklist

Battery yes
String yes
can of petrol yes
Cigarette lighter yes
Out of the way place to do the deed Yes

Having soaked the string in the petrol , mmm nice smell , I wrap it careful round the battery till it's completely covered then light the string and throw .

Problems

Other end of string still in petrol can .
Have therefore just learnt the concept of 'fuse'
Hot flames all over but mainly round the can.
Kicking the can made it fall over and spread firey water everywhere but not go out.
Out of way place to do the deed is in fact a wooden frame garage that my dad and uncle built a few years before .

Luckily the river of fire is away from the door and I am able to run and run and run to the top of the hill near the house where I can watch the garage burn down , four fire engines turning up , and my Dad's yellow car driving round and round looking for me .

I went home when it got dark and my mum put some stuff on my burned hand , and my Dad was drunk but not mad angry like I expected .

Rubbish bomb top fire .
(happyjoy last changed sig on, Thu 29 Jan 2015, 12:38, Reply)

Great Balls Of Fire!
Back in year 9 I studied Electronics as one of my 4 "options" at school. We had this great teacher that would make us etch our circuit boards from scratch, using plastic B&W templates, light sensitive chemicals, and acid etc etc. The final step was to lacquer the circuit board and leave them to dry for 2-3 days until the next lesson.

About 2 weeks prior, this amazing, eccentric teacher of mine showed us how normal steel could catch fire. He place a couple of fibers of steel wool across 2 car battery terminals and WOOF! Up she went.

So I'm at class and everyone is gathered around teach as he explains something. Being my usual easily bored self I wander off unseen, where I spy a HUMONGOUS ball of steel wool next to a car battery. You know what happens next....

This huge ball of steel wool, about 30cm in diameter, instantly becomes an inferno in my hands. In a panic I randomly toss it across the room and it lands SMACK BANG in a pile of 30 freshly lacquered circuit boards from the previous class, laying out to dry.

Amazingly.... AMAZINGLY.... this whole 3-ring circus act went undetected by teach and my fellow students [the burning steel didn't smell like, say, paper would smell, and it burned very quickly]. I'm guessing I ruined at least ¼ of the circuit boards, but I wasn't exactly going to be making enquiries over the next few days so don't quote me. One of the best get-out-of-jail-free moments of my life.
(Big Ramifications, Thu 29 Jan 2015, 6:31, 17 replies)

Brightening up dinner
A professor of mine once told me of one of his favorite childhood pranks. He had gotten some magnesium ribbon, so he took the candles off of his parents' dining room table, used a hot knife to slice them open, laid the magnesium alongside the wick, closed the candles up again and put them back.

Halfway through dinner the room suddenly got very bright...
( Wanderer, Thu 29 Jan 2015, 4:34, 1 reply)

How to avoid shaving - burn your follicles
A friend at school decided to genie a box of matches. Now, I don't know if this is general UK slang, but what this means is to take a match out of the box, strike it, then put it back into the box, thereby lighting every match in there.

Burny flaming fun, but don't try to blow it out.

As you can probably guess, my mate attempted to blow the flames out. That backfired BADLY and he ended up badly burning his chin and mouth area. No permanent scars, but it was a mess for a while.


Now wait a few years... and as he headed into later teens he noticed he had a big advantage over other male friends. He didn't need to shave! That rather nasty accident as a younger teen had remove all the hair from his face. He only needs to shave every couple of weeks.

Not sure if I can recommend setting light to your face to save on the cost of razors... but it worked for Andy.


(I am starting to worry how many pyro-based stories this QOTW has dragged out from my mind...)
( Batter Pudding Hurler is a figment of your imagination, Wed 28 Jan 2015, 21:01, 7 replies)

We Were Young, Then
A group of us used to go up the hill and have a bonfire most weekends. We lived in a small rural village and it was mainly an excuse to get away from our parents and drink in peace. But everyone loves a good fire, too. My friend Steve and I were budding pyros in those days. We insisted on being in charge of building and tending the fire, after which we would wow the girls in our group with our pyromaniac displays, by which I mean force them to watch in weary concern as we endangered our lives. I have some great memories of our bonfire spot - on the top of that precipitously steep hill, under the stars. But there's one truly terrible one as well.

I'll never forget the last day we ever had a bonfire. We were actually taking it easy on the fire tricks that night; it had been a long, hot summer's day and we were more concerned with drinking ourselves into a stupor. But as the twilight closed around us and the buzz of alcohol settled in, Steve and I felt our energy return and for some reason we decided that taking turns to leap over the flames was a manly and clever thing to do. Somewhere around the twelfth run it all went wrong.

Steve's foot caught on something in the grass and he went flying hands-first into the fire. With my help he managed to get out of the flames reasonably quickly but a sudden scream from one of the girls prompted his discovery that his top was now quite enthusiastically on fire.

"Put him out!" someone shouted, but there was nothing but spirits to throw on him.

"Stop Drop and Roll!" I roared as I looked around frantically for a solution. It was at that moment that I noticed the heavy pelvic weight of my full bladder. It was a revolting idea, but worth it to save the life of my friend. I charged forward, undoing my flies and belt. But it was at that moment that I noticed, to my horror, that my own trousers had caught fire as well.

I don't know if you have ever attempted to run away from your own legs, but it is an extremely difficult thing to do; even more so if you are drunk and your trousers are making their way down towards your knees. I pitched forward, down the steep slope of the hill.

I hit the ground with a tremendous thud, knocking the wind out of me. I bounced and somersaulted forward, gaining speed as gravity began to take command of the situation. My trousers slid off, taking my boxers with them.

Another great thud, only this time a rock embedded in the hillside crashed straight into the middle of my pelvic area, putting my bladder under enormous pressure. As I bounced forward again, I felt that pressure release and my bladder begin to empty.

Time slowed down to a crawl. I was on my back in the air, looking up at the first gentle stars of the evening. As I tumbled forward, I noticed the hot jet of wee arcing up towards my open, screaming mouth.

It tasted awful.

Finally I came to a soggy stop at the bottom of the hill. A noise pulled my attention back to the top, where a miraculously unharmed Steve, along with the rest of the group, were hooting at me with derision and spiteful glee. I knew in that moment that they hated me. I let out a wracking sob.

And then I shat myself.
(Frank Snow, Wed 28 Jan 2015, 17:49, 7 replies)

pay attention in school kids
Scene: Secondary school science lesson.

Teacher:" When using a bunsen burner, open the air valve to get the blue or hot flame. When not in use keep this valve closed to get the yellow or 'cold' flame. "

Class numpty: "A COLD flame??" *sticks hand in bunsen burner*
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Wed 28 Jan 2015, 17:02, 7 replies)

Anyone got a light?

( Fork Has lost his bash virginity!, Wed 28 Jan 2015, 15:10, 1 reply)

I applied for a job, working with Alan Sugar.
Dozy pillock thinks he can fire people before he's even hired them.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Wed 28 Jan 2015, 14:57, Reply)

Some daft bint threw me on a potter's wheel, turned me into a vase and then I got fired.

(Baggenfrock get fucked, Wed 28 Jan 2015, 13:21, Reply)

Some crazy prick grassed me up at work about things I said on a comedy website and I got fired.

(McChinaman banned, Wed 28 Jan 2015, 12:52, 1 reply)