So I started screwing around with the design-

--and the next thing I know, I can't recognize where I'm at, or how I got here.

I guess that's what you get when you step into the garage to do a little man's work at the old work bench.

I'd thought up something new and all I needed was one quart of gasoline, a fishing line--soaked in gasoline, of course--a target (already picked out) a little duct tape and some energetic wrapping.

So, just as I'm inspecting this contraption, my wife walks up, with a new cigar in her mouth, grabs my lighter and before I can say, "Where am I", WHAM! --I'm here.
Where ever the hell THIS is!

That damned woman will be the death of me yet!