5 pistols, 3 shotguns, 4 aerosol cans, 2 bottles of lighter fluid and 2
Apple Macintosh Classics (circa 1986).
Add 5 psychos and you have a recipe for certain destruction—or certain
fun if you happened to be one of the lucky psychos. I was the leader of
those destructive fools and I’m here to tell you my story.
It all started one day when I got an e-mail letter from Alan, a friend
who lives in New York. "I can get two Mac Classics for free. Would
you have any use for them?" he asked. "Of course not, you fool!
I already have a good doorstop," I replied. "What use could I
possibly have for two stupid macs??"
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Fortunately, I couldn’t get those macs out of my mind for the rest of
the day. I could only imagine what fate would come to those valuable
antiques if nobody claimed them. They would probably get tossed into a
landfill and smashed by some bulldozer. I immediately realized one thing:
I needed to save those macs! Why should some stupid bulldozer have the fun
of destroying them when I can do it creatively?
Ideas began to form in my mind. Violent ideas. Sadistic
ideas. So I quickly fired off a letter to Alan and asked him ever so nicely
to bring those ugly little plastic boxes down to Pennsylvania.
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After I hinted to what I had in mind for those overpriced footrests, he was
happy to oblige. All he wanted in return was the opportunity to be involved
with the reaping. I decided that was an acceptable trade, although I knew I’d
have a long line of friends willing to join in—maybe even too many friends.
You see, there’s something I haven’t explained to you yet:
I’m sick in the head.
And so are my friends. That’s why we get along so well. We like to blow
up inanimate objects for fun and videotape it. We know this isn’t ‘normal’
behavior or ‘mature’ behavior and we just don’t care. As a matter of fact,
we embrace our immaturity and revel in it. Surprisingly, most of us are
terminally single (are you listening, ladies?).
Equally surprising is the fact that we all have busy schedules.
Arrangements were made and we each took a day off work, skipped classes,
etc., to make it all possible. The five of us collected our pistols,
shotguns, and other assorted weapons of mass destruction in anticipation
of the big day.
Judgement Day:
Thursday July 24, 1997 11:17am
The rain conveniently stopped shortly before we arrived at ground zero.
We chose the location based on very specific criteria: it’s gotta be out in
the middle of nowhere so that people don’t call the cops when they hear the
gunshots and maniacal laughing. I chose my team of destruction experts with
the same brutal discrimination. I’ll spare you the intricacies of the complex
selection process and just tell you who was there that day:
Alan - A basically respectable guy with obvious deep-set psychotic
tendencies. Also brought the computers from some great guy in
New York, which explains why I overlooked the "respectable"
part. Alan brought some cigars and his timeless wit.
Motto: "I hope this doesn’t end up with us in jail"
John - More sadistic than psychotic. Prefers bar fighting with humans
to blowing up inanimate objects. Came along anyway to bask in
our darkness. John brought a video camera and some guns.
Motto: "Screw it"
Chris - The psycho I grew up with. I blame him for most of my own
violent and pyrotechnic-related tendencies (based on our early
adolescence spent playing with things that blow up). Both of us
bought the same first handgun (9mm S&W Sigma). Chris
brought guns, lighter fluid and the aerosol cans, which proved to
be very entertaining.
Motto: "They’ll never take me alive"
Gary - Picked up instruction responsibilities for my psycho
education when I went to college. Little respect for own life. Scares
small children. Once, while walking around campus with me,
was threatened by punks in a car. He dared them to shoot him
in the face. They drove away. Gary brought his crazy-ass self.
Motto: "Save the last bullet for yourself"
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We decided to start with the crappier of the two macs (if you can
imagine such a thing), the one that didn’t work and has no keyboard or mouse.
We set it out in the middle of the field and cataloged our equipment:
2 9mm Smith & Wesson Sigma pistols
2 9mm Ruger pistols
1 .22 Remington pistol
2 20-gauge shotguns
1 12-gauge shotgun
4 aerosol cans
2 big bottles of lighter fluid and a lighter
2 video cameras (one on a tripod, one shoulder-carried)
Starting with the 9mm’s sounded like fun, so John volunteered to run the
loose camcorder while the rest of us grabbed up the guns. Once we were sure
that everybody was familiar (and somewhat safe) with their chosen gun, we
were ready to begin.
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I fired the first round: one 9mm jacketed hollowpoint right into the center
of the little gray screen. Unfortunately, the CRT didn’t put up as much
resistance as I had hoped it would, so the projectile passed right through
the whole computer without mushrooming out and causing more damage. Stupid
plastic cases. My disappointment was short lived, however, because it was
only a matter of seconds before the other three gun-wielding maniacs started
to spray hot lead at the mac.
I’m happy to report that the mac didn’t take the punishment well. In less
than 10 seconds, there was a hole from front to back big enough to toss a
chihuahua through. Too bad we didn’t have a chihuahua around…
Anyway, once we all emptied our 9mm clips, we walked up to check out the
carnage. It was cool, but not quite enough damage was done to make the
statement we wanted to make. This mac had to PAY! Simply having it’s guts
splattered all over the lawn wouldn’t suffice. We didn’t plan to stop until
the mac was a completely unrecognizable, useless hunk of plastic, glass and
metal (as opposed to just being a useless hunk of plastic, glass and metal
like all mac classics usually are). It was time to get the shotguns.
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I almost felt sorry for the poor little mac. Almost. I don’t
think it even knew what was coming. Two shots from the 20-gauge and it
was cut in half (we decided that the 12-gauge would be overkill for the
shoddy construction of this "computer"). It was all downhill
from this point. Adding insult to injury, Gary even shot it a few times
with the .22-cal pistol at close range.
As much fun as we were having, we knew there was still more fun to be
had. We used the common solution to most of our fun-deficiencies: fire.
A lot of lighter fluid and a lighter would raise the fun factor exponentially.
So we kicked the assorted mac-parts into a small pile, soaked them with fluid
and lit the bitch up.
Beauty, they say, is in the eye of the beholder. If that’s the case, then
I must have had a big chunk of burning mac in my eye right then. It sounds
painful, but don’t try to tell me that wasn’t beautiful.
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We continued to shoot it, of course. Burning chunks were flying this way
and that way. Like I said before: fun. We also experimented with exploding
cans of air freshener. One can set on top of burning mac parts makes quite
an explosion when shot with a 9mm bullet.
Once the first mac was beat down into pieces no bigger than a golf ball,
we brought out the second victim. This one was complete with a keyboard and
a mouse and I do believe that it was functional (if you can call any mac
classic "functional"). I wanted to have it plugged in when we
shot it, so that sparks would fly and we could watch the CRT die a quick
death. That would have been a nice touch…
But, alas, there wasn’t a power outlet for a 10-mile radius and we
couldn’t find an extension cord that long. You can be assured that we
didn’t let that little setback hinder our jubilance. Not since the last
time we watched Pulp Fiction have I heard such a mixture of gunfire
and laughter.
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We lit this mac on fire almost right away. I’m not sure why, but there
was something infinitely captivating about that keyboard and mouse burning…
burning… burning. That damned one-button mouse… We also made an effort to
spray lighter fluid into the 3.5" disk drive, followed closely by a lit
match. That god-forsaken, constantly malfunctioning "power eject"
disk drive… I think the moment deserves a haiku:
Little useless mac,
your plastic melts, so pretty.
Hell’s fire awaits.
I knew I could count on Chris to think up some fantastic destruction
techniques. His best idea of the day was to put a can of air freshener
into the lighter fluid-soaked CRT cavity of the second mac. After tossing
a lit match inside, Gary and Chris opened up with the 20-gauge shotguns.
That’s when it happened: the most magnificently divine sight these eyes
have ever seen. I thought I could almost hear the popping sound of jaws
dropping, but the roar coming from the mac overpowered any other sound.
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For about 10 seconds, there was a solid, 8-foot flame spewing from the
CRT cavity of the mac, which suddenly looked a lot like a beige-colored,
plastic jet engine. The mac actually rocked backwards and nearly fell over
from the thrust of the blazing aerosol can. It was nothing short of
extraordinary. The Fourth of July is forever ruined for all of us, because
there will never be a fireworks display to rival our flamethrowing mac.
Afterwards, the mac’s plastic case was all squishy and stretchy from the
extreme heat. Pretty damn cool.
It was relatively uneventful from that point. The second mac ended up
in pretty much the same condition as the first, that condition being defined
as "totally unrecognizable." A few souvenirs were taken from the
wreckage. We started to put the guns away.
It was a tough high to come down from. We had to slowly bring ourselves
back down by shooting up some other random junk we found. The day ended with
us going back to my house in order to view the video footage and eat some
chicken wings or other messy, manly food.
A huge success, our Macintrashin’ excursion will forever be scarred into
our minds and into the ground of that field (it didn’t take long to change
knee-high grass into a large patch of tilled soil). Gone, but not forgotten,
those stupid little macs brought joy and sunshine to an otherwise dreary day.
Well, I guess the guns played a larger role, but I’m trying to give the macs a
little credit.
Would I do this again, given the chance? Bet yer ass, I will. Now if I
can just get my hands on one of those damned iMacs…
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