Highway Fireplug.

We’ve all wanted to make use of the expensive portable wrench sets father gives us to unscrew a Highway Fireplug, take it home and raise it as a boy. We’ve all, secretly, yearned to bring one up properly, warning it of the mistakes we made, rewarding it with increased responsibilities for public demonstrations of good character.

I’m talking about those burned, rusted, certainly forgotten, harsh metal Highway Fireplugs that dot the grassy inclines of our roadway roads. Made in the 1970s. Of taking it home and raising it as a surrogate child. An adoption without the guilt of the “cage selection” stage. Regardless of what the school boards say. Of creating a legacy.

It doesn’t have to be a robot! It just needs to be a piece of hollow metal that connects to the larger municipal water system and helps prevent the spread of van engine fires and has the capacity for love. It’s enough that you know which side is the “face” – you can tell others! You can help them strap it down til it can work the belt itself.


I can draw all the pictures of this I want on the back of this placemat – you’ll never understand!

Chris Weagel

Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn't. He can't stand that shit.

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