Last Updated on 4 years by Christopher G Mendla
One evening, I decided “Screw the diet” and got a can of whipped cream out of the fridge to top some ice cream. Unfortunately I dropped it. When it hit the floor, it converted itself into an unguided ballistic whipped cream rocket. The can launched into a corksrew flight pattern spewing whipped cream everywhere. I mean everywhere.
That was the last thing I expected. I don’t think that Bruce Lee would have been able to catch or stop it. I had a brief thought of “If this can kills me, the attendees at the funeral will be laughing their butts off for weeks. “. I must have yelled something such as “Oh my gosh, that can is certainly out of control”. .. or something like that. My son came running in. He had a huge “WTF?” look on his face. At this point the can had expended all of it’s fuel and was on the kitchen counter. It had gained an altitude of about 6′. Maybe I should pass that on to NASA. I started to clean up the mess. A couple of weeks later, I was still finding whipped cream… behind the blinds, under the table, on the chair legs, on the ceiling fan, on the sides of the fridge, on the back of the trash can… .
Some engineer decided to punch blow out panels in the bottom of the can in case some idiot dropped it or something.
