One: Infiltrate a body of water.
Two: See fireworks.
After eating and ambling through Sacramento carrying an American flag and broadcasting Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA" via phone, complete with two friends in cowboy hats, we returned to the Sac house. And encountered karaoke and drinking games.
By early afternoon we were inebriated. By late afternoon we sat in lawn chairs in a circle in the backyard like an Indian pow-wow. We had the American apparel, music, and singing. It was too torrid for a fire. The house's inhabitant worked while we accomplished astronomical achievements. I regurgitated food and beer into a toilet, a friend regurgitated his in the yard. The dog breakfasted on the beer-bathed jalapenos and additional ingredients as if they were gourmet bacon bits infused with fat.
The house's resident returned late afternoon for an hour on his lunch break to discover us sitting in the circle. Minutes after Worker joined our lawn retard-circle, liquid issued from Tipsy's crotch like Niagra Falls while laughter splashed from his mouth. The urination saturated his board shorts and penetrated the chair, gliding into the grass, the stream prolonged like my neighbor's forehead.
"What the hell man?" Worker asked.
"You gotta do what you gotta do. I'm just living my life," was the reply.
I showered Tipsy with the hose. At my request, my friends thereafter repeatedly flooded me with hose water. It was the closest I came to getting in a body of water.