I’ll Build My Own Damn Barrel
My attempt to purchase a barrel to go over Niagra Falls in has proven fruitless, but as that old saw tells us: if you want something done right, do it yourself.
For most of my life, the statement above hasn’t proven to be the case. If you were to believe my junior high shop teacher, I wasn’t the most industrious person with a tool in my hand.
“A danger to myself and others” was the phrase he recklessly bandied about.
Hey! I’m not the one with only eight and a half fingers, buddy.
The half finger was his nose-picking finger; it looked like he was shoving the whole thing up there.
All I’m trying to do is construct a barrel sturdy enough to go over Niagra Falls without being smashed into bits–how hard can that be?
Not dying is my second highest priority; my top priority is that the barrel be spacious enough to contain both myself and my pet pig Napolean.
You may think that sounds stupid, but you’re willingly reading this drivel; how smart can you be?
Napolean and I have long ago accepted the idea that we would probably die together in some weird and grizzly manner.
But we survived the tandem skydiving, so maybe we should put those fears to rest.
You only need a handful of items to build a barrel:
- A mullet
- Assembly jig
- Four large iron hoops of varying size
- 2 barrel lids cut to size
- 24 to 36 aged wood staves
I am well on my way: Napolean has the mullet; he’s had it since his Billy Ray Cyrus phase. I don’t know why you would need a mullet to build a barrel, but I’m not one to question the wisdom of the internet.
I assume an assembly jig is some type of Irish Folk Dance; I’m sure I’ll pick that up quickly.
I can meander down to the local smithy to grab some iron hoops of varying sizes.
I own a handsaw to cut the 2 barrel lids to size.
I am almost certain I have a piece of sandpaper somewhere.
I have a SpongeBob SquarePants bath sponge.
I can borrow my neighbor’s winch.
Then all I need is 24 to 36 aged wood staves; piece of cake.
Correction: apparently, you need a mallet to construct a barrel, not a mullet. That does make more sense, although Napolean was a little disappointed.
I’ve run into a few additional problems.
I’m told an assembly jig is not an Irish Folk Dance, and I am terrible at modern interpretive dance.
Also, it seems the local smithy closed his shop a few years ago, give or take a century.
And I lied about the handsaw; I don’t have one of those; I’m not some master carpenter.
Napolean has refused to use my Spongebob Squarepants bath sponge; he thinks it’s disgusting. It’s a pretty haughty attitude coming from someone who rolls around in the mud. Although, that sponge has been in some intimate places.
Napolean has also pointed out that what I have is not a piece of sandpaper but some sand and a piece of paper. It was an easy mistake to make.
Borrowing the winch from my neighbor might be more complex; he’s installed security cameras since that time I borrowed his riding mower and inadvertently drove it into the lake.
I also have to look up the word stave; seriously, what the hell is a stave?
I fear I am a bit further from the completion of my project than I hoped.
But Napolean and I will continue to strive forward.
More updates to come.