DEFUNCT PLAYGROUND EQUIPMENT CONVERTED TO CATAPULT
Launches flaming tire into outer space or something

Thanks to boredom, along with the combined ingenuities of several unemployed trailer park residents, Tinbox Acres now boasts a feature to rival the bar at Buzzards -- we have a brand-spanking-new catapult.

t all started when management asked the maintenance guy Edgar to haul away that rusty old playground equipment that's been decaying down by the duckpond for the past decade.

Edgar was having problems disassembling that big, heavy teetertotter, what with it being made out of a solid iron bar.  Edgar enlisted the help of new resident Skip Bodell to disassemble the cumbersome teetertotter, and also the swingset while he was at it. The swingset was constructed of the same kind of solid iron bars as the teetertotter.

Skip saw all those iron bars and freaked. He didn't want to take them to the dump. Skip wanted to build a catapult. Then Edgar told Skip about that huge slingshot Harold mounted in his kitchen window in space #56 and used it to launch all that fruit at the Feral family. He suggested Harold could be useful in the design of the catapult, since he has recent experience with launching large projectiles.

Edgar, Skip and Harold headed down to the duckpond and started disassembling that rusty old playground equipment. They was using the pieces to assemble a new catapult. Donnie Dorque came by to watch, and he ended up helping to build the catapult 'cause he's good with motors and gizmos and whatnot.  The four of them was down at the duckpond all weekend. They managed to build a rather formidable-looking piece of medieval weaponry.

Now, we don't know how they built catapults back in the olden days before blowtorches, because that catapult couldn't have been built without one. Thank God for blowtorches. Skip used the blowtorch to weld the teetertotter on top of the swingset. The catapult was all done and built in an hour and a half. Then it come time to test the catapult.

The guys put a watermelon on one seat of the teetertotter. The plan was to drop a heavy rock on the other seat and launch the watermelon into the field next door. But nobody could get a big rock up high enough to drop with any force onto the other teetertotter seat.

Then Fatty Daddy came up with the idea of building a platform with a ramp, much like the slightly too-steep-for-wheelchairs wheelchair ramp he built onto his trailer a few years back.

When the ramp and platform was built next to the catapult, Fatty Daddy wheeled a handtruck down to the duckpond. Edgar set a medium-sized rock on it. The watermelon was placed on the other side. Fatty Daddy wheeled the rock up the ramp and onto the platform. Then he dropped the rock onto the teetertotter.

While the watermelon didn't fly very far, it was still a spectacular sight. The watermelon splattered right next to the dumpster. Fatty Daddy said, "We need bigger rocks."

Edgar went out and hauled a bunch of huge rocks out of the field next door and sat them next to the catapult. Some of the rocks were more like mini-boulders, so Edgar had to muscle the handtruck up the ramp, pushing one boulderette at a time.

Another watermelon was placed on the catapult. Edgar rolled one of the big rocks off the ramp and onto the seat opposite the one with the watermelon on it. When that rock hit the catapult, the watermelon went flying up, up, up in a huge arc in the air and exploded on the other side of the field next door.

Everyone spent the rest of the day launching rotted fruit into the field next door with the catapult. We all ended up coming by to watch at one point or another. We even shut the spoilsports up in a hurry when we reminded 'em that it ain't littering if the raccoons and skunks eat it, so there.

Of course, knowing how us trailerpark residents are, we all got bored with the fruit by the end of the day. Ronnie Dorque reignited our interest in the catapult when he suggested we launch something heavier than fruit, like, say, a tire. Old, bald tires are plentiful in trailer parks. You can find them laying all over our yards.

The first tire was loaded onto the catapult. Edgar got up on the platform and dropped a rock. Unfortunately, it takes a bigger rock to launch a tire than it does to launch a watermelon. To make a long story short, it didn't fly high enough or far enough. In fact, it damn near beaned Fatty Daddy.

The next tire was launched with the biggest rock. It flew nicely in an arc and landed in the field next door with a POOF! It kicked up a huge dirt cloud when it hit the ground. The next half-dozen or so tires performed equally as well.  Then Ronnie Dorque showed back up and informed us it would look way, way cooler if the tire was on fire.

Now, most of us might legally qualify as morons, but any moron knows you don't launch a flaming tire from a catapult and risk it landing anywhere near you. After numerous suggestions from everyone, we decided the best heavy object to use as a counterweight would be an old dead refrigerator, which are nearly as plentiful in trailer parks as old bald tires are.

Harold set the tire on the seat of the teetertotter. Edgar heaved the refrigerator-laden handtruck up the ramp and balanced the fridge precariously on the edge of the platform. Ronnie doused the tire in gas and lit it. Edgar dropped the fridge onto the other teetertotter seat.

What that flaming tire looked like flying through the air can only be described as fantabulous. A fridge makes a GREAT counterweight. The flaming tire whizzed and whooshed and left a black, smoky trail as it arced through the sky. We still have no idea where that thing landed.

Which brings up a very important point: If anyone mentions any flaming-tire incidents in the area, remember this. We have no idea what they're talking about. It wasn't us. Tinbox Acres had NOTHING to do with it. Remember that if anyone asks.

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