The wife’s away this weekend, an opportunity for me to make some of the dishes she bans because they stink up the kitchen; linguini and clam sauce, cedar planked salmon, weapons-grade plutonium.
Just like that guy in Angelholm, Sweden who tried to build a thermo-nuclear bomb in his kitchen. He got caught when he called the Swedish Radiation Authority to ask if there were any laws against testing a homemade atom bomb in his back yard.
Duh. I guess nobody ever told him the first rule of Stupid Male Do-It-Yourself Tricks: It is easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.
Like many men, I’ve undertaken several large-scale projects when my wife wasn’t around to hinder my efforts with carping criticism, upraised eyebrows, exasperated sighs. I’ll share one with you: Needing a piece of wood to fill the gap between a screen door and a spring hasp (if you don’t know what that is, I can’t explain it to you), I dismantled a bookcase, removed the back, stacked the books on the floor, and cut off a teensy-tiny piece of fiberboard, solving that problem. In the process, however, I created another; I now have the story of my handiwork thrown back in my face at every social event we attend, as if I’d done something…foolish.
I’ve stocked up for my bomb manufacturing surreptitiously, a sort of mini-Manhattan Project. Thankfully, most of the materials needed to build the bomb that’s right for you are on sale at your local hardware superstore. Instructions? The miracle of the internet—another military spin-off with civilian uses—puts easy-to-follow directions to in-home nuclear explosions just a mouse-click away!
I start with the Uranium 235 isotope. I’ve bought a twenty-five pound bag—should be enough. The recipe I found on the web varies slightly from the traditional version in the Fannie Farmer Boston Cookbook—hers calls for turmeric, which will impart a rich, custard-like yellow color to your mushroom cloud. As a pending member of the community of nuclear nations I don’t want to draw too much attention to myself at first, so I stick with the recommendation of my anonymous source on the internet.
“Pipe uranium hexafluoride into cylinder of a gas centrifuge, then spin at high speed.” I had decided not to spring for a centrifuge—a good one can run you $825—until I determined whether I liked atom bomb-etry enough as a hobby to stick with it. I rummage in the pantry to see which of our many underused countertop appliances might do the trick.
Let’s see, there’s the yogurt maker that has served as an impromptu spice rack for a quarter of a century. The panini maker, the rice cooker—nope, I need more of a muscle appliance.
Ah, the Cuisinart–just the thing! I pick through the detachable blades—slicer, shredder, puree. Where’s the—here it is; centrifugal isotope separator.
I pour in the uranium, check the plastic lid to make sure it’s firmly secured, and let ‘er rip. I’d forgotten how handy these things are; you can’t buy this stuff from Iran because of school-marmish “trading with the enemy” laws, and enriched uranium that comes out of North Korea is about what you’d expect from a dictatorship run by a cult leader who wears platform shoes; you don’t order out for Korean food, do you?
What would have taken me literally hours to produce by hand is the work of a minute. I use a plastic spatula to separate the heavier U-238 isotopes on the outside from the lighter, fluffier U-235 isotopes in the center. You can put these aside and use them for cake frosting; Mother-in-Law’s Day is the fourth Sunday in October.
Now for the explosives to start the chain reaction. You’ll need a hundred pounds of TNT to git ‘er done, as my redneck friends like to say. If you’re not comfortable mixing volatile materials, contact your local high school chemistry teacher who may be looking for freelance work due to budget cuts.
No nuclear explosion is complete without a detonator and I’ve selected an ultra-safe, radio-controlled servo mechanism that…
Publisher’s Note: original printed article was found on Upper Volta Glacier, Westland, New Zealand.
Things that go “ka-boom” in the night….
Con: Your comic imagination is a nuclear detonation itself! And this–”The recipe I found on the web varies slightly from the traditional version in the Fannie Farmer Boston Cookbook—hers calls for turmeric, which will impart a rich, custard-like yellow color to your mushroom cloud”–had me laughing so hard I think I hurt myself. It’s often said that technology reduces the sense of accomplishment, producing only evanescent satisfaction. Your hero finds it produces evanescent being!
What the hell is turmeric anyway? Sure sounds dangerous.
It would definitely let people know they’d been in the 20 mile radius. It stains skin that lovely shade of yellow you mentioned. Other than that, I have no idea what one would use it for.
I hope you clean up after yourself.
You never fail to make me laugh…
Con – You know you need help, right? Did you take your meds today? Go quietly when they come for you.
LMAO before breakfast. No fair!! Yeah, what is tumeric?
Turmeric, and I only know this because I’m married to a disgustingly healthy man, is a kind of ginger that’s used in a lot of Indian and Thai food, and is credited with all sorts of health benefits. In my opinion, it also tastes like sand and turns everything it touches a lovely urine yellow.
“Yes, hello – Southwest Airlines? About that flight I booked for Thursday, can I cancel it? The emergency? It seems my husband will be left to his own devices and I am starting to get a bad feeling about that.”
Atom bomb-etry! My new favorite word …er … phrase, or whatever the heck it is. I like it.
Con, I love this swipe at everything from marital relations, to North Korea, and wrap it all up with a Rachel Ray kitchen chemistry. And I’d go with the turmeric if I were you–the aroma alone will make you the envy of all the other nuts on the planet.
I’m checking my spice rack right now. Lee
This is why I try to discourage my wife from EVER leaving town. All of this is way too real. And tumeric? Every day. 4 tablets. Haven’t had herbs that good since Jerry Garcia allegedly died.
Jerry Garcia’s dead? I hope somebody told Pig Pen.
Makes me wonder what you would do if you needed a nightlight.
And I can’t wait to read about your extrapolated uses of Jell-O.
*goes to the stove to see how his gelignite is doing*
You should see me try to build a swing set with slide. More deaths than the Children’s Crusade!
Your character is in the same club as my husband. the one with the motto
“It is easier to ask for forgiveness than permission”.
His gumbo has been compared to napalm, but he hasn’t built a bomb yet as far as I know…
Made me laugh :laugh: !