Life, Death, and Flying Potatoes

In an ever expanding effort to remain "Green" (and it was a lot easier than writing something new), I offer this recycled essay for those of you who have not seen it.

Life, Death, and Flying Potatoes


Back in the dim dawn of prehistory, some of our forebears discovered that you could kill an antelope by throwing a rock or a pointed stick at it. Ever since the first proto-redneck discovered throwing, mankind has been searching for better ways to fling things. The aboriginal throwing stick made his arm longer and throw harder. The sling protected David’s sheep and brought down Goliath. The mangenel and trebuchet brought medieval Castles to their knees and tumbled kingdoms. The flintlock gave birth to this country. The caplock and howitzer decided the fate of the Confederacy. The V-2 terrorized London. The Saturn V put men on the moon, and the space shuttle supplies men in orbit over our heads. The history of throwing things parallels the history of the world.

But, as y’all know by now, I live in a place where a lot of folks check out of life with the words, “Hey! Y’all watch this!” Friends, “The Dukes of Hazzard” was not fiction. There really are folks down here who look for places they can launch an automobile. Unfortunately, the cars usually wind up looking like the V in an old Cadillac emblem, but this usually goes unnoticed due to the low level of blood in the alcohol systems of the jumpers.

But I digress. The purpose of this is to detail the development and social uses of a device that was spawned in an eddy in a backwater of the stream of history: The Spud Gun.

Imagine if you will, two good old boys sitting on the porch, sucking suds, and wondering what to do with the pile of tin cans decomposing at their feet. “Coy,” says Billy Bob, “whut are we gonna do with all them cans?” Billy Bob, feeling the effects of August Busch’s finest, says, “Well, I got a bran new roll of duck tape. We kin cut the bottoms out of ‘em, tape ‘em together, stick somethin’ flammable in there, and launch those ol’ tennis balls that Blue’s been chawin’ on.”

So, aided by their trusty jackknife, Coy and Billy Bob proceeded to tape a half-dozen cans together, and punch a hole in the side of the bottom one. A little lighter fluid, a tennis ball, and an in-judicious application of a Zippo, yielded a satisfying “Fwoomp”, a long-range serve, and a broken window. Convinced they were on to something, they pulled another pop-top, and reloaded. Flingin’ things had become an art form. No cat, dog, barn, pickup truck or grazing ruminant was safe.

Well folks, things are a little more sophisticated now. Lowe’s and Home Depot have come to the south and, through no intention of their own, become the armory of the March 31 Trout Assassin’s Camping, Fishing, and Prevarication Society.

The last weekend in March marks the opening of trout season in Georgia. This eagerly awaited event is celebrated by yours truly, his sons, friends, and some total strangers, by loading every variety of camping gear known to man into pickup trucks, trailers, and dog carts and migrating to the mountains for four days of mental rehab. We haul tents, dining canopies, Coleman stoves, lanterns, food, water, beer and firewood into a wildlife management area, and set up a small city. (Yes, we take firewood into a national forest, being respecters of nature, and generally too lazy to gather the stuff.) After setting up camp and downing a few cold ones while listening to Jimmy Buffet extol the virtues of dissolution, we are ready for the entertainment.

Entertainment is the Spud Guns. These are an evolutionary improvement on Coy and Billy Bob’s engineering triumph. The typical spud gun is built of PVC pipe, and can throw a piece of Idaho’s finest a couple of hundred yards. The barrel is usually about 4’ of 1½” diameter pipe, joined to a combustion chamber of 3 or 4 inch pipe. A screw cap on one end serves as a breach, and a lighter button for a gas grill replaces the touchhole and Zippo. Fuel is almost anything flammable. Cheap hair spray works pretty well.

The contraption is loaded by forcing a piece of potato down the barrel from the muzzle, unscrewing the breach, giving it a 3-4 second shot of Aqua Net, and quickly screwing the cap back on. The thing is aimed by pointing it in the general direction of nothing breakable, and fired by pushing the button. Usually, this results in a pretty good report, about 2’ of blue-orange flame (visible at dusk), and a hunk of hash-browns-in-the-raw flying downrange to become raccoon food.

Doesn’t sound real useful, does it? Let me tell you something. This device is not merely an instrument of anarchy, but a time machine. It can transport any man who shoots it back to when he was twelve. It can make a Game Warden laugh (I’m an eyewitness). It will make you forget your boss, love the idiot who chases your dog, and will draw a crowd of strangers and transform them into your best friends. Everyone who sees it has to try it. Once they try it, they want one. (I’ve given away 3 of the things.) As a social icebreaker, it is the best thing in the campground. As a vent and spiritual cathartic, it is a wonder. Blast a dead tree with 4 ounces of potato at 300 feet per second, and you know that your boss can never get under your skin again.

Fun is infectious, and I guess the sight of a 60-year-old bald man laughing like an idiot as he plays with a spud gun will draw a crowd. Fun and companionship are why people go to the mountains. The spud gun is a Swiss-Army toy. It does a lot of things.

Play keeps us young, and I intend to live forever.

So far, so good.