When I was a kid, we had a motorhome with some big-@ss Dodge V8 on it.
One time, after it had been sitting in front of the house, it got really hard to start and the needle would stick randomly. My Dad, of course, was convinced the neighbor kids had put rubber bands in his tank, and will tell you so to this day
....So my Dad, in his wisdom, decided the best thing to do was take the motor cover and air cleaner off and drive it to a mechanic in rush hour traffic while I banged on the carburetor.
The tool he gave me for this task was a pair of kitchen scissors, the kind with a screwdriver, bottle opener, nutcracker, etc. and made out of pot metal. Not a hammer, not a mallet, not even a wrench, but a sh1ttv pair of scissors.
So here I am crouched over the engine, afraid I’ll fall into it, and when it starts sputtering, I’m banging away like a windup monkey until the float comes free and a fireball the size of a basketball comes blowing past my face, then we’re good for another few minutes until this repeats itself for what seems like hours, but probably took 30m to get to Whittier.
By this point, I’ve broken the finger loops off both sides of the scissors.
I just spent 10m starting the Chevy and had a considerably smaller fireball come up through the carb.
I know this isn't really going to hurt me, but I still get that same prickly feeling every time it happens, just like I did back then ;-)