Sooo.... spent the New Year's over at the little secret beach, practically nobody there but us.
Fired the smaller rocketsi in between cakes, coffees, drinks and walks in the wake, with some incident (still not entirely clear why, but one of them decided to go curly and fucking bombard us, ended up blowing up literally two meters over my head sending incandescent metal debris everywhere around except nowhere anything sensitive stood) ; then once the bottle was emptyii tried to use it as a launchpad for the submarine sinker depicted above -- a whole pound of gunpowder if it was an ounce. I still have the fuse cap -- it's big enough to feel like a roadcone when going up that daintiest of a girl's holes, from what I hear.
Anyway, I abandoned that idea as the whole arrangement seemed suspiciously unsteady, and instead fired it as god intended, from the hand. The stick is long enough you actually need an artificing assistant, but eventually we got it going. I shot it very low, so it exploded right over the ocean lighting it up beautifully.
There were also blowjobs ; and reminescings. It turns out that with the possible exception of that one time I took the girls into the postapocalyptic bare concrete of the-secret-floor-under-the-garage-where-mysterious-machineries-are, this was the best New Year party ever.
- Depicted in the mantling of The Most Chauvinist Serene Order Of The Holes Gloriouses escutcheon (or at least I think that'd be the mantling). [↩]
- For some reason Veuve Cliquot (a good French wine) says Rich in red all over the label, don't look at me, I didn't come up with it. [↩]