"Now it's important to remember," Colin tells us while we wait in the barn for nightfall, "that you have to keep moving forward during the burn, in order to keep the flames behind you."

"If you don't, then it's very likely that you'll inhale the fire, which will incinerate the alveoli in your lungs. Which will result in certain death."

"Right then - who wants to go first?"

This all happened over a month-and-a-half ago, but I've had fire on my brain all day long. Probably because me and my mate Adam shared an intimate male-bonding moment at Ru's bachelor party last night.

And by an "intimate male-bonding moment," I mean we were trying to burn each other's facial hair off with disposable Bic lighters. Which was good fun, although we stunk up the house a bit.

Real men shave with motherfucking fire.

Anyway, back to the flashback (as told in the present tense...)





As with most of our stunt training, we start small and gradually work our way to bigger and better conflagrations. Time is an issue, and so each person randomly picks their step in the progression out of a hat. One person gets an arm burn. One person gets both legs set alight.

My classmate Jorge, who recovered from a severe fire-related accident that resulted in third-degree burns to his face, arms, and chest, is understandably apprehensive. He draws the 2 arms/1 leg/torso combo - the second biggest burn of the night, besides the "Human Torch." His face goes white.

Conversely, our class daredevil Ricardo is dismayed to learn that he's drawn the smallest flame of the night.

It's my turn to draw from the hat. I've just broken my foot, and have been sidelined for most of the week's exercises. Not participating sucks, and I feel the need to really fucking ignite.

As they say in the stunt industry, "go big or go home."

My fingers are crossed. I want to pull the Human Torch so badly that my dick is hard.

"Human torch human torch human torch human torch..."

I draw the Human Torch. Score one for Jb.

In the end, it becomes apparent that the burns we drew don't make much of a difference, because ALL of them are fucking huge.

"Another thing to consider," Colin continues, "is that your protective gear isn't going to hold out for very long. You're only going to have a short period of time during the burn to perform the stunt before the heat becomes so strong that your skin begins to blister."

We're geared up with Nomex undergarments, two sets of cotton coveralls, leather gloves and shoes, and a healthy amount of duct tape used to seal off any spots where skin might accidentally become exposed during the running and the flailing and the panicking and the whatever.

The "burn-ee" and the safety team all wear the same protective clothing, because the safety crew has to get up close and personal with the fire in order to perform a proper extinguishing. And it's in the burn-ee's best interests that the extinguishing is done properly.





I always figured that there was a special, secret flammable substance used in the movies, specifically formulated for burn stunts.

Nope.

The industry standard is regular old 87 octane unleaded gasoline. Go figure. Colin gives us each a liberal dousing, which is the first time I've been soaked in gas in...well, never mind. I get soaked in gas all the time.

You can use premium, I suppose, if you're one of those elitist fruits that insists on paying too much for overly-hoppy fag beer that comes in bottles whose caps aren't of the twist-off variety.

Personally, I think regular unleaded burns just fine.

And Bud is a perfectly acceptable beer. Blow me.





For the record, I didn't intend for the above sentence to imply that if you don't agree with my opinions on barley pop, that you can put your mouth on my wang. Rather, I mean "Bud is a perfectly acceptable beer. AND ALSO, blow me."

No. Really. Email me for an appointment.

Back to the burns. Colin shoots me in the ass with a barbecue lighter, and I flare up like the fourth of fucking July. Hopping around follows, with the flailing of the arms and the mandatory girl yelps. This is usually when all the things you shouldn't be thinking about pop into your head. Stuff like:

"It's been raining all afternoon and the ground is awful muddy. And I've only got one working leg. What if I slip and fall?"

"I wonder how long it'll take for me to inhale the flames and die when I slip and fall?"

and

"HOLY SHIT - I'M ON MOTHERFUCKING FIRE!!!"





My circuit of the Stunt Academy lot goes off without a hitch, however. By the time the heat is beginning to cause physical pain, I've hopped to the extinguishing zone and the safety team is already in the process of smothering the last stubborn traces of burning gas. We have a brief reflash, but it's nothing that the back-up wet blanket can't handle.

After packing up, we call it a night, and the lot of us head back to the hostel pub for a pint - singed, sweaty, and smelling of gasoline.

This is so much fun, I'm going to have to make a career of it.

-Jb
CEO FTW, Inc.
05.15.06