Thunder Volcano

Boundless enthusiasm for something stupid

Archive for January 2013

When I Were Young

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I grew up in a small town in New England called Rumford.  It was small enough that it didn’t have its own high school, so middle school involved a fair number of largely-nonsensical extracurricular activities designed to help make students look more appealing to private high schools.  At least, that’s the only reason I can think of that anyone would even pretend to give a shit about Junior National Honors Society.  But oh man, did my teacher ever give a shit about Junior National Honors Society.  Looking back, I attribute it to the sort of tunnel vision that people get when they’ve been at a particular job for too long – eventually even the mundane and/or nonsensical starts to seem Critically Important.  Given the objective silliness of the situation, combined with the fact that I spent the bulk of my adolescence honing my skills as a smartass, my teacher and I didn’t always see eye to eye.

What I’m saying is that I was thrown out of Junior National Honors Society.  Twice, in fact*.  The first of these two instances happened as a result of a small assignment we were given just prior to induction (yes, I was thrown out before I was formally admitted): pair up with a classmate, fill out a short survey, then write an essay on your classmate based around the answers to the aforementioned survey.  What follows is the essay about me that managed to cause a great stir in the Rumford Middle School community:


Baron Volcano

By Augustus Smith
Baron Swifthammer Volcano, also known as “that man, officer” was born on September 8 in 1983. He has to live with one brother named Duke. Baron has two dogs named Shelby and Liebschen. As for his favorite sports he likes to watch soccer and play it as well. His favorite sports team is any of the Rumford T-ball teams. Baron Volcano is his favorite athlete. He likes to spend free time by sleeping and eating. Baron’s favorite color is black and his favorite movie is “Herbie Rides Again”. His favorite book is The Signs of Leprosy. He likes to eat brown sugar. The Simpsons is favorite television show. The song Breathe is the song that Baron likes best. He enjoys listening to the music group Rage Against the Machine. His special talent that was recently not known was that he could take off his underwear without taking off his pants. He admires Bob from Bobs Discount Furniture because he is so loud and obnoxious. One day he would like to visit a Vietnamese sweatshop. The best advice that he has ever been given was “don’t put that in your mouth.”


*The second such occasion, which is a far less entertaining story, resulted in my dad – the most mild-mannered person I’ve ever known – screaming at my teacher and gesturing in such a menacing manner that my mom (ordinarily the hot-tempered one of the pair) felt the need to physically restrain him.

Written by Baron Volcano

01/27/2013 at 2:14 pm

Posted in I am Lazy

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I recently came across a case of Dogfish Head beer carrying this quote (sans context) from a review by Playboy: “Over the top smoothness.”

Is it just me, or does that sort of completely contradict itself?  Isn’t it a bit like saying “overwhelming subtlety?”  I expect this kind of stupid crap from Dogfish, but what the hell Playboy.  I used to hold you up to a higher standard of journalism.

Written by Baron Volcano

01/20/2013 at 11:17 pm

Posted in Beer, I got opinions

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Curiosity Killed the Libido

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Life Lesson #7: If, when browsing for pornographic material you happen upon a slang term you’re unfamiliar with, you will assuredly regret it if you give in to curiosity and click a link bearing that new word.

Written by Baron Volcano

01/13/2013 at 11:14 pm

Figured Out

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Part of my job involves receiving beer deliveries every week, a job which is as terrifying as it is physically taxing. Once every few weeks, one of the guys who regularly did this job with me would insist that we “have a beer and play some Big Buck Hunter” at the bar upstairs. That “one beer” almost inevitably turned into something more like “eleven beers and smoking weed in the parking lot of the Sleepy’s next door*.”

On the day in question, my friend Desmond had shown up. At some point circa pitcher number four, he started talking about the blind date he had planned later in the evening. At first I thought it strange to have Many Beers before a blind date. But once he invited me along for some reason** it suddenly became the Best Idea I’d Ever Heard. I agreed to go along and a celebratory pitcher was ordered.

Eventually, we retired to Desmond’s place to get ready*** and soon headed out to the bar… two hours early****. The original plan had been to go to the sister bar of the bar I work at (the same one we had been at earlier, incidentally), as it is one of the few places in the neighborhood that has pool tables. Thankfully I managed to convince everybody to go to a different bar, based on the fact that it still had at least one pool table. I’m not exactly known for making the best decisions while inebriated, but I still had the sense to figure out that it would be a bad idea to run into my boss(es) whilst hammered. At seven PM. On a Tuesday.

Anyhow, the girls showed up to see a couple seriously classy dudes with bright red eyes wolfing down a shared trough of mac and cheese. As the icing on the cake, I was still wearing my work clothes which can be somewhat charitably described as “grubby and torn.” Nonetheless, the night seemed to start quite well despite our stellar first impression. Shots abounded and I spent much of the night talking to Desmond’s date Beth*****. In the interest of not ruining my friend’s date, I was on my best behavior: trying to be nice (for once), avoiding crass jokes (for once), and all around acting like a gentleman (as always).

All of a sudden, Beth turned to me and said flatly “I think I’ve got you figured out.”
“Okay, lay it on me.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Shit! How did she figure that out? I thought I was doing so well! Maybe she’s more perceptive than I think?
No. The general gist of the rest of her long, spirited, unjustifiably angry rant centered around the idea that I’m a rich kid who never really had to work for a living and I’m just living off of my parents and I was obviously in a frat in college. It may or may not have involved a phrase along the lines of “I hate what you are with every fiber of my being.” Now, it’s not like I grew up poor or anything, but if there’s one thing I don’t have at this (or any) stage in my life it’s money.

Desmond did the smart thing and ordered us more shots. Booze got us into this mess, and I’ll be damned if booze wasn’t going to get us out of it. Shortly thereafter, Beth – who had been complaining about a group of people that had been hogging the lone pool table the whole night – decided that it was Her Turn on the table. She went over to the group, which consisted of five or six large men and one girl, and demanded that she be able to play. Upon being told that they would not immediately acquiesce to her extremely rational demands, Beth did what anyone would do in that situation and physically attacked the one girl in the group, who had been sitting quietly to the side at the time.
As Desmond ran over to try and break up the fight, he spotted one of the guys in the group getting up and moving towards Beth in a menacing manner. Desmond decided that he wasn’t going to let a stranger lay a finger on somebody that he showed up with – no matter how crazy she was (the dude has manners) – so he ended up hipchecking a guy twice his size and giving him a stern lecture about the inappropriateness of hitting women. (Yes, seriously).
At this point, Beth had the aforementioned lone girl of the group by the hair and was thrashing her around as Desmond was being bodily hoisted away from the group by several additional guys who were also twice his size.

Nobody’s really sure where I was during all this. It’s entirely possible I hadn’t noticed.

As soon as Desmond got Beth untangled from that poor girl’s hair and outside, she tried to charge back in and restart the whole fight. Finally, Desmond’s patience and/or politeness ran out.
“BITCH. You are NOT going back in that restaurant.”
Miraculously, that worked. She lost all her momentum and just walked away. Her friend, who had presumably been observing the action from afar with me, followed shortly thereafter.

I’m told that Beth assaulted several passersby on the walk home, ostensibly because they had the gall to be walking on the sidewalk near her.

Acting on autopilot, Desmond and I did the only thing we could possibly think of – return to the bar and resume drinking. How the bar staff allowed us to do so remains unclear to me, but I think there were shots.
We ended the night by meeting some friends at Desmond’s apartment. I’m told that amongst a series of repetitive, incoherent accounts of the night’s festivities, I whiled away the remainder of the evening yelling nonspecific gibberish about science.

*I don’t really like using this blog as a venue to brag about How Wasted I Got That One Time (those stories are seldom actually interesting), but I feel like this is contextually relevant information.
**The main reason was that his date was bringing a friend, but alcohol was a strong secondary reason.
***Smoke a blunt.
****It’s probably worth mentioning that I don’t smoke drugs particularly often, so it’s a minor miracle that I was able to walk at this point.
*****While I am in the habit of using fake names on this blog, that may well be her real name. I’m bad with names even when I don’t have eight beers in me, and Desmond wasn’t any help with the matter later on.