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A beautiful sunny day in Ratchahackett, Alabama. It was Friday, and you had just gotten out of another great day in your perfect life as a 6th grader at Atticus Saul Junior High. You were just learning your place in the world, and, having expanded your vocabulary just in the last few weeks, were feeling pretty confident you could take on anything. Except for that wild, flaming kite of terror and death, of course. But we'll get to that.
Just getting home from school after beating up the local nigger with your friends. It was the day before your birthday, and you had been bugging your parents about buying your a super cool flammable kite to show off to your friends. Not that regular kites aren't flammable, of course. But you wouldn't just settle for any old kite. No, you wanted the "Super cool flammable kite" you saw at your local Wal★Mart. Why they were selling something dangerous like that, I don't know. All I know is, you were a crazed 12-year-old pyromaniac and something was gonna go up in flames, whether we liked it or not.
Your dad, after having been bitched at (by you, of course) for a stupid amount of time, finally gave in and bought you the Super cool flammable kite you had wanted since you overheard that 8th grader say it was a "Hella cool idea."
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