No C-4 Was Harmed in the Destruction of This Lasagna: Whiskey Tango Foxtrot and the Gang of Reprobates

Ground (beef) Zero on the Lasagna Bomb.
The blast radiated outward to the left.

There is a lesson, here. I think it has to do with not talking smack about Army Rangers when you don't know what they've got in the secret arsenal. But I can't be certain. In any case... things were intense this weekend at the Keating Compound. Very, very intense.

So there we were. The usual Gang of Reprobates: Uncle Jimbo, Concrete Bob, and me, along with Team C&C and a couple young mil-pals. One of our band, Chad, had not yet arrived.*   At that point, we all still were innocently mingling in the kitchen. I was prepping the giant double batch of lasagna, while everyone else nibbled on chips and sipped the usual buttermilk. We talked in general terms about an upcoming event that combined a cookout with a shooting competition against a bunch of Rangers. With a little billiards contest thrown in.

All was well.


And then.... two things transpired at once.


1. I began stirring the room temperature meat sauce inside the room temperature giant glass bowl atop the room temperature counter top (notice, everything was room temperature, including the room).


2. Jimbo got worked up about us taking down the Rangers. He was fully confident we could win the upcoming (and yet-to-be-fleshed-out) contest with ease. We were going to out-shoot and out-billiards the Rangers. And yet, we would feed them because we are magnanimous victors. As I recall, the last forcefully-delivered words out of Jimbo's mouth prior to the incident were something akin to, "Rangers are [synonym for Weak Pathetic Wimps]!"


Upon which there was an instantaneous:


* ! KABOOM ! *


Yes, Dear Ones. The room temperature giant bowl exploded. As if someone had detonated an attached C-4 charge. Or shot the bowl from afar with a precisely placed round to the base.


I repeat:


* ! KABOOM ! *



The bowl exploded. It sent (room temperature) meat sauce and glass shards everywhere: Across the (room temperature) counter top; the kitchen floor; towards the kitchen table; into the dining room; and onto our hands, arms, shirts, etcetera. Okay, almost everywhere. Not into our throats, eyeballs, or other body parts. Good thing, too. When the bowl blew up, it splintered into some large pieces. I measured one shard at eight inches. It also dissolved into tiny, luminous, glistening specks of glass. I even sprinkled a few on the Christmas tree. Okay, so that's a lie. But, still... pointy-edged sharpness abounded. So much so that Bob insisted that the barefooted Courtney remain stock-still until I brought her a pair of shoes.


But I digress. Back to the moment...


Instantly we sprang into defensive and investigatory mode. It went something like this:


Bowl: [as previously reported] KABOOM!
Me: Is it me... or, did the bowl just explode?
Random Individual Gang Members: Hey.
More RIGMs: What the hell? The bowl blew up!
Additional RIGMs: That was a shot. That was a bomb. That was terrorists. That was a laser. That was a poltergeist.
Yet Even More RIGMs: Check the window. Look for a bullet hole.
And Still More: Who was packing C-4?


Followed by... A moment of clarity!


All: The Rangers did it!
Me: Jimbo! Did you have to trash-talk the Rangers right then? You couldn't have waited?
RIGMs: [glancing around for Ranger footprints, Ranger dust, or actual Rangers skulking along the ceiling or on the roof of the house across the streeet]. They have strange weapons, you know....
Team C&C and Mil-Pals: [hysterical screaming laughter]

The window is declared clean

All: [after much investigation, rule out a sniper-round through the window and temperature-induced mayhem. Not convinced it wasn't one of our number playing an elaborate joke with the help of some C-4, but leaning toward a laser beam fired through the electrical socket. Still allowing the possibility of poltergeists. Ranger poltergeists.]


And:


Me: [contemplating lasagna] I guess we shouldn't eat this.
All: Let's get pizza. The kind without glass in it.


And so we dispatched two of our intrepid party to score some pizza. Whereupon, who should arrive but.... Chad. All innocence and shock. But oddly not as terrorized as he should have been. Until we showed him the shards and explained that it could have gone down differently. He could have walked into a house where seven people lay dead on the floor impaled with pieces of glass and covered in lasagna. And him being placed in the awkward position of having to tell the cops what happened. As if that would have gone well for him.


Chad then realized there had to be a lesson.


We're still not sure what it is. But we think it has to do with not talking smack about Rangers.


Take it from me. Just. Don't. Do it. Leastwise, not while you're stirring a giant bowl filled with lasagna sauce.

*Hmmmmm... [contemplates]  Nahhhhh....