Crazy Sam

Sam is not the most average of people. He has built more close-to-useless objects than any person I know. Many of these things were built out of sheer boredom and bear the marks of such beginnings. Such ridiculous contraptions as an automated water balloon popping machine. Others were soon denied their intended use by rightfully wary parents. Rightfully since Sam has seemed to have gained a reputation for causing a considerable bit of destruction. These dangerous or ludicrous exploits include but are not limited to: climbing trees taller than some homes, getting stuck under a minivan chair, sledding off cliffs, trying (and failing) to juggle eggs, lighting many dangerous chemicals on fire, rappelling down the side of a house, and burning off a large portion of his blonde hair in an ethanol incident.
On many a day I get a call resembling this,
I pick up the phone and answer with a generic “Hello?”
And generally get a not so generic response, “Hey Patrick. It’s Sam. I’m really bored so do you have anything you want built or, you know, something?”
“Built?”
“Yeah. I mean I finished my other stuff so, anything you want me to build?”
“Look, maybe I should just come over.”
“Yeah, why not. You know what we need to do? Light stuff on fire. We haven’t done that is awhile. Yeah we need to do that.”
“You should probably wait until I’m there before you…”
“You know I’m hesitant about the ethanol but paint thinner could be interesting...”
I jog outside, hop on my bike, the horrid piece of crap it is, and ride down to Sam’s house.
Sam waved at the door as I came in. “Hey Pat. Shut the door.” I did so. Before walking across the rough wood floor of the barn to where he was standing over something covered by a thin blanket. The kind magicians use before they make something disappear.
“Here. Stand here.” He said pointing to a black “X” marked on the floor.
I step onto the X and look at the blanket again. “This seems like a…a horrible idea for me frankly.”
Without a word from Sam a pulley squeals overhead distracting my attention long enough for Sam to whip the blanket off the object just as an empty cardboard box labeled “150 tons” lands on my head. The lack of blanket reveals a boxing glove on the end of a dowel and the dowel to many disks and wheels. An impish grin spreads on Sam’s face as he hits a small silver button bringing the contraption to life. The glove lands me a few quick jabs to the gut before Sam releases the button.
“Wasn’t that great?!” Sam exclaimed, his voice cracking with excitement.
“Ho–how did you make that?” I asked as I got to my feet. It didn’t hurt, but I didn’t exactly expect to get hit by a punching robot.
It turns out Sam had managed to run the entire thing using a basic electric drill. I couldn’t tell you how it works exactly but that is a great example of just how strange things can get when you hang out with Crazy Sam.