Where there's Quankie, there's fire...

So, I'm noticing a pattern in my life. People enjoy setting vehicles in my general vicinity on fire.

On Friday the 13th during my junior year of high school, a group of girls spent the night at my house after a football game. We stayed up very late with some of our guy friends, watching Jason stab naked chicks to death at Camp Crystal Lake. We also kept a close watch out of my front door, incase any adventurous classmates attempted to don Principal Quank's house with toilet paper or soap.

Around 3 AM, we were still awake. We had noticed a particular car driving around my house again and again. Or, to put it in female Christophorian high school terms, someone was psycho stalking my crib. The car belonged to the ex-girlfriend of Shaun, one of the boys who was hanging out with us. When we looked out of the front door that time, we noticed a little spark under the car parked the farthest away from my house, at the end of the driveway.

We all rushed out to see what was doing. We immediately saw the word "BITCH" written with soap on the hood of the car and an oily rag tucked neatly under the graffiti. The flames grew higher. Really fast. And all hell broke loose.

Here you have a group of eight high schoolers, six girls and two boys, trying to extinguish a car fire. The garden hose would not reach far enough. Flower pots had holes in the bottom of them. My parents wouldn't wake up.

Sarah went to my sleeping parents' bedroom to try her luck. My dad was passed out after an enjoyable night of beer drinking at the local Knights of Columbus. Despite sleeping in his tighty-whities, Sarah plowed into the room and shook him (her high school principal, mind you) until he cracked an eyelid. She screamed, "Mr. Quank, get your ass out of bed!"

The normally softspoken Cheryl called the volunteer firefighters and bellowed, "There's a fire at the Quanks! Get your ass out here!" No directions needed.

At one point, it sounded like the car may explode, or at least that's what our imaginations lured us to believe. The boys bravely grabbed us girls and commanded us to hit the decks. I swear I flew under my mom's Jeep Cherokee in one fluid motion, like a cartoon character.

Finally, the firemen showed up and put out the flames. We found that my friend Ami's car windows had been shattered as well. Nobody was ever charged with the crime. That was one pissed off ex-girlfriend.

***End scene, advance ten years later***

It was Halloween just four days ago. Rosey, Jables, Cheers Heavy, and I enjoyed a night of handing out candy to trick or treaters. We decided to rent High Tension (one of the goriest movies ever made) to suitably complete our Halloween evening. We hadn't even made it through the opening credits when we began to hear weird noises from the backyard. After the second or third round, we were a little creeped, so we decided to check it out.

We looked out of the kitchen door to see flames and dark black smoke rising high into the sky. Instant panic ensued as we all tried to push each other out of the way to call 911. Our neighbors, who had discovered the fire way before us, let us know that they had already made the call.

We ran outside. A car, parked in the alley, was in flames. The car was parked right next to Josh's garage, and the detached building was also alight. Josh's car was parked inside. No one ever parks in the alley, so we assumed that the car was stolen.

Thankfully, the firefighters arrived much more expediently than their Christopher counterparts. The fire was thorougly extinguished, but Josh's garage was left with a good amount of damage.

We still aren't sure what exactly went down. Needless to say, we never got to that movie.