The spray can

This is an age old story from not my childhood, but my father's childhood. It is one of the best stories he's ever told, so I decided to share it here, in greentext form.

>be my dad

>be 11

>brothers and I want to build a treehouse

>not really much of a treehouse, it's only like 2 feet off the ground

>decide if needs some paint

>we can't buy any because we live in middle of buttfuck nowhere West Virginia 

>find old rusted can of red spray paint

>can spray anymore

>my brother Dave gets an idea

>"if we break open the can, we can get the paint out!"

>genius.jpg

>run home

>get our hatchet

>put can on rock

>friend and brother hold down can on a rock

>Dave takes the hatchet

>"Stand back anon! You're too young, let us big boys handle this."

>mfw

>Dave hits the can with the hatchet

>you know how it says on the spray can "do not puncture or incinerate"?
>listen to that warning
>the paint can explodes
>red pain goes flying everywhere 
>everyone covered in red paint
>ohshit.jpg
>we all run towards the street
>some girls were walking down the road
>we all come running out of the forest
>they see us covered in red paint
>think its blood
>scream and run like hell
>my bros and I get to my house
>have to explain to my parents what happened
>neighbor helps clean up the mess
Never fuck around with paint cans kids