My neighbor starts shooting off fireworks about a week before the Fourth (and also prior to New Year’s) every year. This might be endearing if he weren’t now at least 22 years old, and if his fireworks were at all interesting instead of the inevitable cherry bombs and firecrackers—mere noisemakers.
I’m not disgusted, to paraphrase P. G. Wodehouse, but I’m far from gusted.
Interestingly enough, pyrotechnics is an anagram of cretin psycho (and also chronic types. And the title of this entry).