This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2017, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

One of the few positive talents I have is that I can sleep through anything. Well, except for being touched. Touch me while I'm asleep and I'm not only instantly awake but seriously pissed.

So, fireworks set off by selfish jerks at o-dark-thirty never wake me up. They wake up my granddaughter, though, which then wakes up my daughter, which in turn wakes up my wife, who in turn shoves me.

"Go shoot at them with a cannon or something."

I won't, of course. I have a rule about trying to solve medium-size trouble with enormous trouble.

I learned this years ago when, upon being kicked out of bed, I located a house where the fireworks were coming from at 1 a.m. and set off something festive myself.

With the right preparation and ballistics, eight pounds of liquified cow crap packed in zip-close bags fired from a large cannon will pretty much cover the front of a house and any vehicles parked in the driveway.

Note: It will also summon the cops.

Never mind that. We're back in fireworks season again, which means a number of things, none more important than this: People with small brains starting huge fires.

Dollar for dollar, fireworks are one of the worst investments in the world. It's possible to turn a 50-cent firework into an $18 million, 300,000-acre, 15- structure fire. This will put you way over the limit on your (or your parents') MasterCard.

The best way to avoid this is through proper adult supervision. By this, I specifically mean a woman. There is something about the absence of a Y chromosome that reduces the danger factor.

Women also are natural caretakers of the immature — small children and all men. This is particularly true of anything involving fire, speed, height and oxygen, all of which are necessary components of most violent felonies and all fireworks.

To prove this, I conducted a survey last weekend when the apocalypse tents started going up. You know the ones I'm talking about. The ones that appear around the end of June and don't go away until the first part of August.

Yes, fireworks tents. The sight of these tents is the only time young adult males can stop thinking about sex for longer than a complete minute. It's been tested.

At a major university, which I will not name because it probably doesn't exist, a simple study was conducted by the world's most renowned "guy" researcher, Walter S. Dyle.

On one table was placed an attractive young woman attired in clothing that weighed less than two grams, not counting high heels and eyelash extensions.

On another table was a visibly empty container labeled "Warning! Explosives!"

At regular intervals, groups of male students were allowed into the room. A whopping 103 percent of them ignored the woman and immediately approached the empty container.

Within a matter of seconds, a fistfight ensued over whose turn it was to hold the container and examine it for possible overlooked explosives.

From this study, Dr. Dyle was able to conclude that the mere possibility of there being explosives in the vicinity was enough to derail the male mind.

Dr. Dyle should know. He's the one who started the fistfight. Meanwhile, the attractive young woman eventually got mad and left.

All of this suggests due care should be taken this fireworks season when it comes to thinking and firing. If you're a guy, you may want to get a designated firer.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.