Cardboard aeronautics crumble under weight of bad idea
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” “It’s a perfect idea.” Falser words were never spoken than whenever Ollie — my third cousin twice removed, but not removed far enough to keep me from getting bent, folded, spindled, stapled or mutilated — declared something as a “perfect idea.” Nothing ever was perfect with Ollie. This hairbrained scheme was no exception. Yet there I was, climbing the ladder, a cardboard box whapping against the rungs behind me. The cardboard box once held a refrigerator or a water heater or some other heavy, nonflying object like that. I ...