Lift off

You like firing rockets.

I'm not talking about those foot-tall cardboard tubes with chemical engines barely powerful enough to blow your hand off. Leave those to the toddlers and mental defectives. I'm referring to high power rockets--privately owned powder kegs that can streak into the stratosphere.

I have one modeled after a V-2, the missile the Germans launched at Britain late in the war. I've paid a manufacturer in Thailand who only employs children--I want to do my part to feed the third world kids--to model every single house and building that existed in London on the 8th of September, 1944. When installed, it will cover seven acres of cleared, former rain forest. I can't wait to rain terror down upon my 1:8 scale civilians.

This isn't a cheap pastime. Shooting rockets up where they can make passenger jet pilots nervous uses a lot of fuel, and rocket fuel is pricy. So you'll probably want to rob a bank before investing in this hobby. I suggest handing the teller a note that says, "I have a rocket in my pants." S/he's sure to hand you a big bag of bills.