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Well, there are a few things that I love to think about, just because they're so incredibly cool.

...Like that time a couple years ago when I got to see an implosion in the middle of a fire twenty feet wide and thirty feet high. So here's what happened. I was at an orphanage in Mexico, because I love doing volunteer work down there. Well, we were doing some spring cleaning that was about twenty years overdue.

Now, in Mexico (at least in the area I was at), public services aren't quite the same as in the U.S. of A. You see, they don't put their trash bins on the curb and wait for the trash truck to come and pick it up. For one thing, the orphanage doesn't have curbs. They don't have garbagemen either. That's really a shame, because it takes a lot of explaining for them to properly appreciate the movie Men at Work, starring Charlie Sheen and Emilio Estevez. I kind of like that movie. It's the only movie I've ever seen where a garbageman impersonates a phrenologist.

At any rate, because they don't have garbage pickup, they have to dispose of it themselves. This is done by one of my favorite methods of disposal of anything: fire. Usually, they toss their trash bags into a brick structure I helped build: the Incinerator. This replaced a pit in the dirt, which was affectionately nicknamed Gehenna. The incinerator wasn't big enough to hold all the stuff we were planning on burning, so we had to take the trash to this big dirt lot behind the orphanage. We were burning old furniture, old supplies, rotted wood, papers that were decades old, broken appliances, books that were falling apart, and all kinds of other things. Then we set them all ablaze. The heat was incredible. It was also a bit dangerous, since heat rises, it rose along with a few hundred pieces of paper, which caught fire in flight. So we soon had a torrential downpour of flaming paper to go with a roaring ground fire, which I believe had at least two chopped palm trees fully engulfed in flames. Clearly, there was a problem. There simply wasn't enough destruction. That's when Brent (a very odd guy who it would take several journal entries just to describe) stepped forward with a rock. He aimed it at the perfect target: an early '80s computer moniter, the kind that only displays in green. The first rock didn't hit the screen, so he picked up a second rock. This one pounded the side of the moniter nice and hard, but it didn't hit the sweet spot. The third hit the screen, but it was a glancing blow. The screen rang the way only a glass vacuum tube can. That's when it was introduced to Rock No. 4, which pounded the center of the glass and forced its way into the heart of the monitor. That's when the bang came. In less than a second, every last shard of glass was sucked into the monitor, along with some gravel and leftover paper. The metal frame actually bent inward from the sheer power of the implosion. All of this happened in less than a second. It was amazing. I won't lie to you. I very nearly broke down and cried at the sight of such a beautiful thing. Instead, I simply joined the crowd in pointing at the remnants of the computer, attempting to put the experience into words but able only to produce incoherent, excited syllables. Truly, it was a great day for Mexico, a triumph of international relations, and just a really cool day for a bunch of teenage boys. Besides, we needed something to cheer us up after the disappointment of seeing an old toilet refuse to melt or catch fire.

Or something like that.