Pyromania!
Inspired by HSH, tell us your stories of pyromania and setting fire to things.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:07, 33 replies, latest was 17 years ago)

I once
burned down half of Windsor Castle.

Sorry mum!
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:19, Reply)

Good call!
I've put it here:
b3ta.com/questions/questionsyoudliketoask/post396488
( Cawl, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:19, Reply)

nice topic
my most recent setting myself on fire story is as follows: (there will be more I'm sure)

On the way back from a recent surf trip I had skinned up in the back of the car and was toking away. The end of the reefer had gone a bit pointy and when I flicked it out the window the pointy bit flew off and landed sizzling right in my hair line, crisping some of the hair, and leaving me with a little burn scar...

I had to slap myself in the forehead to put it out
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:21, Reply)

Chickens
When I was a kid we used to have two chickens as pets. They were boring little fuckers, just used to sit under the shade of the hedge in the garden and wallow in their own filth. I hit on a genius plan to get the little feathery fuckers moving so they could entertain me - I went to the shed, found some meths, went to the kitchen and found my mum's stove matches.

Then I doused part of the hedge above where the two chickens were sitting, looking up at me and clucking inquisitvely as I happily hummed a tune.

Then I set fire to the hedge.

And from that day on the shed had a padlock on it bigger than the Isle of White.
( SpankyHanky, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:25, Reply)

I once
got caught burning a horse hair mattress...in the basement of our block of army flats.

Got caught trying to set light to a sodastream bottle!? WTF.

Got sent to boarding school not long after!!
(Set your faces to Stunned Bigly, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:28, Reply)

Ahaha!
Vipros, that's ace! Edit: and Spanky!

I once set some small fires in the local woods when I was but a boy. When I got home, my mum asked if we'd been making fires, and I lied through my teeth, and swore blind I hadn't.

In hindsight, I must have completely stunk of smoke.

Kids are stupid sometimes.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:30, Reply)

Short one:
I was messing around with a cheap lighter, trying to "pimp the flame - TO THE MAX".

I went a bit too far with the valve, and didn't notice that it was slowly leaking lighter juice over my drunken hands.
So, I sparked the lighter and had a "FIST OF FIRE" for a few seconds before the pain set in. And the flailing.
( Cawl, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:31, Reply)

Fucking Falklands
At least I got something out of it all.

Simon Weston.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:36, Reply)

Oh, the flailing!
Another one...

Why do they put 'Keep away from fire' on stuff? I've always seen that as some sort of challenge.

After much testing with various cans of Lynx, lighter fluid etc, I think the pinnacle of my experimentation was a full can of hair mousse on the local fireworks night bonfire, after everyone else had gone home.

The can exploded and showered droplets of burning mousse over a large area.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:41, Reply)

Kaol
I've done exactly that!
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:41, Reply)

Morning Vipros
were you at Metallica on saturday?
( Bazongaloid, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:43, Reply)

I'm glad I'm not the only one, Mr. V.
A friend of mine and I decided to make a "nail-bomb".
We didn't have any nails, so we filled a Pringles tube with broken glass, a diesel/petrol mix and the biggest firework-with-the-stick-cut-off that'd fit in the tube, as a kind of fuse/main charge.

We learned several things that day:
Getting fire on you hurts.
Getting glass in you hurts.
Need to run further.
( Cawl, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:48, Reply)

Once when I was a wee Ethel
My mate and I had a great idea; buy lots of deodorant cans and matches!

We found an old speaker box in the woods and made a little fire inside it, nothing nuts that'd burn the forest down (we did have, erm, some sort of sense).

It was starting to go out, so we fed it a bit of kindling (being scouts et al) and some bright spark (i.e. me) decided to get it going by spraying the deodorant directly onto the flames.

From above it.

WHOOOMPF (I remember the sound well)

I must have leapt like a ninja cat being spooked, for I escaped unscathed! woo!

The speakerbox wasn't so lucky though, in my primeval urge to get out of the way of the 6ft flames, I dropped the can into the box.

We looked at each and ran any which way!
(Ethelred is watching cheese grow, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:53, Reply)

I love the satisfying thud
of deo cans going up.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:55, Reply)

at work
We have a blow torch that's probably a lot larger then necessary for making creme brulees.

One of the favourite tricks is to creep up with someone and blast it right next to their ear.

Brad took it too far one day and singed most of Mike's eyebrows and hair off "by accident".

He tried it on me once. Once. I nearly shat my pants I got such a fright - jumped, got the shakes, everything. He didn't find it funny when I started wrestling the blow torch off him, pointed it just beside his head and squeezed the nozzle. Especially not when it went off so spectacularly.

ahhhh happy days.
(Poppet some assembly required., Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:58, Reply)

If this gets chosen as QOTW...
(Go click!)

I've got a video of a 40-foot-fireball that my brother and I made with gunpowder and hairspray.
( Cawl, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:59, Reply)

Bindun?
www.b3ta.com/questions/fire/
( rubberduck should only be used after consulting with your GP, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 10:02, Reply)

Yeah, but that
Was 4 years ago :p
( Cawl, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 10:05, Reply)

I
remember when this was all fields...
( rubberduck should only be used after consulting with your GP, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 10:06, Reply)

That's
'cos you're an old git :p
( Cawl, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 10:07, Reply)

True
I've even got the old man's car :(
( rubberduck should only be used after consulting with your GP, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 10:08, Reply)

Haha, yeah!
How's it working out for you?
( Cawl, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 10:10, Reply)

It's hewn
from solid awesome.

The best thing about it is the effect it has on other drivers when I'm wearing my high vis.

I might keep it a while.
( rubberduck should only be used after consulting with your GP, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 10:20, Reply)

Awh,
Rubbercop!

What colour is it then?
( Cawl, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 10:32, Reply)

Kaol you girl!
It's a sort of metallic dark grey. The same colour that Warwickshire police seem to have some unmarked examples in.
( rubberduck should only be used after consulting with your GP, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 10:45, Reply)

Pffft!
I meant "is it white or something, if you get mistaken for a cop"!
( Cawl, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 10:48, Reply)

I like to tend the fire on a Sunday afternoon
with a nice bottle of something red whilst watching sweaty mens endeavour on the telly as something dead cooks slowly in the oven - very relaxing is real fire heating.

rafter
baz
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 11:01, Reply)

posted this in Darwin awards qotw so apols if read already
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, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 11:16, Reply)

Accidental fire
I got the front part of my hair singed off in an accidental fireball mishap. Now though I have strange yearnings to do it again. I must be sick.

Remember back in the early 90's when teenage girls had the strange desire to have the highest "fringe-quiff" possible? You know the sort, brushed over to one side and backcombed to death. Usually went with a ponytail and about a million gallons of Elnet hairspray.

It is not a good combination with trying to light a fag stolen from your mum's handbag on a windy day. *woomph*
(The Apeface Cherub is not a cunty-uber-cunt, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 11:26, Reply)

I was working in my fathers shoe shop...
This was the late 90's and I must've been about 13 or 14 years old. Although I knew little about shoes, my father was a bit of an expert and could mend just about anything. The new-fangled Nike Airs and Reebok Pumps and what not were a bit more troublesome, being made of synthetic plastics instead of the more traditional leather and proved to be in most cases impossible to repair. These had to be shipped off to the original manufacturer at little profit to us.

Therefore our main customer base was a dwindling older type, who generally knew how to look after their quality leather footwear. To cut a long story short we were starting to lose a lot of money thanks to the global corporations and my fathers health was suffering for it. In fact much of our workshop lay with semi-complete shoes and boots in varying states of disrepair. Things were looking grim...

It was late one Thursday night when I was playing 'Zombies Ate my Neighbours' on the SNES that it first happened. In the murky darkness of the repair room I could see one scurry across the floor. Spookily illuminated in the blue 16-bit haze of my T.V. I saw another pack of 3 or so dart behind a lathe, dragging some expensive Italian leather in their wake.

I'm a pussycat at best so immediately discarded the SNES control-pad, callously ignoring the plight of my Zombie-afflicted Neighbours and escaped to my bedroom in a panic, knocking over an plush pair of Roger Vivier custom womans heels. Amid heavy breathing through a brown paper-bag I knew that something had to be done. If word got out that we were infested then we would surely be shut down. With my father bed-ridden then the solution was clear - and somewhat final.

Taking my MAG-light I ventured to the basement to look for the rat poison. The almost comedy skull and cross-bones on a paint-tin full of what looked like 'hundreds and thousands' was re-assuringly menacing although I was careful not to get any in my eyes which were now tired and weary. The weight of the future of our shoe-shop lay awkwardly on my back, like a decaying Capybara.

As I passed the Grandfather-clock I noted the time as 3 minutes past 1 in the morning. Shit - I had spent far too long playing that damned Nintendo. On a school night as well. I pushed this thought to the back of my mind as I liberally sprinkled the brightly coloured Zinc Phosphides in corners and work surfaces, being careful to avoid the footwear of the customers. My pulse was racing - painfully aware that any one of those bastards could leap out at any second and sink their rabid little fangs into the space between my toes. The scene from Arachnophobia with the old man getting out of bed was playing on my mind.

Having emptied something like 2 Kg's of sheer powder death upon the room I slinked off to my room, cramming a towel at the base of the door like I was escaping an inferno.

My alarm woke me at 6am - enough time to get up before father and remove any incriminating evidence. I tentatively made my way through the house. I was scared, but excited in a way that fishermen get excited. Forgive me lord but I was eager for a mass rodentcide on the grandest of scales.

I entered the workshop - the brilliant white light of the morning sun blinded me through the shuttered windows. When I rubbed my eyes and came to my senses I could not believe them. Each and every one of the mid-repair shoes had been lovingly returned to a point of prominence, standing proud at their now sublime completion. There was the custom Vivier boots, grand and glorious in their splendour. In my mind I pondered whether my father had made a miraculous recovery and toiled through the night, having been woken by my murderous twilight folly.

I spotted a small pile of what looked like vomit at the foot of a table. I followed the trail, a murky brown/green colour towards a small hole in the skirting board at the base of the wall. I slumped to my belly, careful not to disturb the liquid mess and put my eye to the rat-hole. Surely the poison had worked a treat! What a success this morning had become!

I could make out the faint outline of what looked like a number of bodies. But something was different. With the impatient fervent of a boy unwrapping a Birthday present I dragged open some more of the hole, letting further light in.

I looked intently at one of the poor blighters sad, cold glassy face and let out a howl. These were not rats. These were the lifeblood of the shop. These were benevolent Shoe-Elves and I had murdered them. Clearly they had completed the work for the night, feasted on some treats and crawled back to their den to die a slow and painful death.


To answer the question, I cremated the bodies of 13 Shoe-Elves behind the shop using Lynx Africa and a 10p lighter. Sometimes I think about that fateful night and cry myself to sleep.
( whenanimalsattackhumans clad in global hypercolour, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 12:40, Reply)

I set myself on fire
lighting a cigarette on a gas hob a few years ago.

Didn't have a lighter, so it seemed logical. Unfortunately, I was drunk, turned the gas up too much, and singed my fringe, eyebrows and some of my eyelashes off :/
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Tue 31 Mar 2009, 13:30, Reply)

@DG
I've done that one too, but it was the fringe again. The Apeface never learns...

(It's one of my endearing qualities)
(The Apeface Cherub is not a cunty-uber-cunt, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 13:48, Reply)

Behind the family home...
... was a shared grilled drain partly covered by a partition wall with a nicely creosoted fence on top. On our side of the wall was a brick built outhouse/loo/store room and conservatory - on the neighbours side, a rickety rotten, but frequently used wooden lean to/conservatory.

It was the end of summer and in said drain had collected a sizable quantity of bone dry leafs, as this was my youth when we still had seasons.

My 11 year old brain wanted to do 2 things, tidy this mound of garden detritus and play with my box of cooks matches.

I've never been the sharpest pencil in the sky, so I decided it would be perfectly fine to combine the two acts by setting the pile on fire - whooomph, the flames shot - and then started to spread...

Panic, panic, panic - I flailed and screamed silently, not to arouse the suspicions of my loan mother baking in the kitchen. Flames flicking ever nearer the tinder dry support beams of the neighbours coveted plant growing room.

And this is where I thank the lord, as fast as it started, the flames settled down sufficiently for me to poke and prod with my size 10 and a half's - until there was just smoke rising - a bucket of water later and my first dance with death over, I own up to my mother what I have just done. She marches me next door to ensure no damage has been done, it hadn't - and there, it began the first of many small fires - which have included a plastic bath in a house, a garden shed with 1960's chemicals, exploding asbestos - mending fireworks and my greatest ever feat, removing all the skin from the palms of my hands and left leg with methylated spirits.
(feedingtimeatthezoo day 1 of his bikini diet started, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 16:19, Reply)