Kinda sounds like a dare to me, doesn't it to you? Well naturally an industrious 8 year old would consider it so. Picture if you will my daredevil brother hearing these words and slipping right under the seat like Indiana Jones after an artifact, mere seconds after mother is well out of eyeshot. Appearing disheveled and triumphant, he holds the aforementioned extinguisher above his head like a trophy, drawing a fearful groan from my mouth...this can't be good.

The wisdom of his mechanical mind spills forth from his lips as he proceeds to explain the theory of proper extinguisher use, INCLUDING the fact that the dreaded item cannot be used as long as the locking pin is in. (insert action hereing as he pulls locking pin) Further demonstration showing that EVEN with the locking pin removed, aforementioned extinguisher does not fire unless trigger is pulled.

Here is where things get fuzzy. Did the boy feel compelled to test the limits of HOW far he could pull the trigger before the item fired? Did he believe that he could merely depress the firing apparatus once and that it would stop when he released pressure?

Nonetheless, the extinguisher gets fired, and CONTINUES firing until its contents are completely expelled. A shocked expression is tattooed on the 8 year old engineer's face, mixed with a degree of disappointment over the machine's betrayal of his theory on higher extinguisher mechanics. White flakes of carbon dyoxide float through the air, covering every square inch of the interior of the Toreno, the windows, the seats, the carpet, and most of all, both of us. Its Vesuvius erupted in there, expelling ash to cover everything.

Blink. "We have to get this cleaned up before mom finds out!", he shrieks. I can only manage a weak sigh. Quickly the windows are rolled down and we proceed PATTING the white misty crap out of everything. The extinguisher is crammed back underneeth the seat (no completely discharged and useless). Shoppers stare as they watch our frantic leaping across the seats beating the interior of the car, expelling miniature plumes of ash into the air. "You are so dead, she told you not to touch that.", I worriedly proclaim. "YOU are supposed to watch me. YOU will be in trouble to.", he answers smugly, sealing my doom in certain death.

Twenty minutes pass, and mother finally returns pushing a cart full of groceries, pointedly staring at the car and the fogged windows. "You touched the extinguisher didn't you.", she proclaims with an air of irritation as she wipes some of the ash from brother's face. "I told you boys not to touch that extinguisher." My brother adopts his puzzled face, "But mom, you never said we couldn't fire the extinguisher." I can only hold my head and shudder.