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When we were living on the Cape (Summer of 95), the Rickman got pretty drunk. Actually, really drunk. When he tried to walk, it looked like gail force winds were pushing him from behind. Anyway, he lit a fire cracker, held it in his hands for a few seconds, gave me a funny look, then threw it in my face from about four feet away. It blew up literally 4 inches from my ear. I preceeded to pummel him in an ordily fasion.
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