This one is very good, but I might need to offer a translation. Not everyone has studied chemistry as much as you have.
The intended reply of "Can I have a glass of H2O, too?" can be easily mistaken for H2O2, hydrogen peroxide, which is very dangerous and quite toxic in its pure form.
- A
Actually, it's not so much
toxic in concentrated form, as
lethally corrosive. 90% hydrogen peroxide in contact with any organic material will result in said material undergoing spontaneous combustion, courtesy of the fact that hydrogen peroxide is a viciously powerful oxidising agent. If you try drinking it, you'll die from the effects of bursting into flames long before any toxic effects manifest themselves!
Dilute hydrogen peroxide, however,
can be toxic. Which hasn't stopped some stupid people from suggesting intravenous injection thereof as a supposed cancer cure. First, you'll die from oxidative haemolysis long before the cancer kills you if a sufficient dose is administered. Second, even if a non-lethal dose reaches your internals, the horrific damage that will eventually result, as a consequence of all those free radicals partying hard in your body will
give you cancer, not cure it. But I've learned never to underestimate the stupidity of some, or in the case of quack medical practitioners, the venality thereof.
Apparently, the terrifying experience of some Messerschmitt Me 163 pilots hasn't registered with some. For those unfamiliar with this, the Me163 was the world's only operational rocket powered fighter aircraft, which was propelled by a rocket engine the size of a briefcase, but which delivered what was at the time a whopping 4,000 pounds of thrust, enough to propel what was otherwise little more than a wooden glider to 700 mph. To achieve this speed, the rocket engine used a hair-raising combination of fuel (hydrazine hydrate and alcohol, itself a frighteningly combustible mix) and oxidant (90% hydrogen peroxide). If the plumbing leaked, and spilled peroxide into the cockpit, the pilot was basically a human torch.
Another hazard cost the Russians dearly, courtesy of their using hydrogen peroxide as a monopropellant for torpedoes. A faulty torpedo leaked hydrogen peroxide onto metal, resulting in explosive catalytic decomposition, and the resulting explosion, which also detonated warheads in adjacent torpedoes, sealed the fate of the
Kursk nuclear-powered cruise missile submarine. Basically, when hydrogen peroxide comes into contact with various metals, it decomposes into water and oxygen, and the reaction is strongly exothermic, liberating a
lot of heat, enough to turn the water to superheated steam in an instant, which of course expands violently. Even a small quantity of concentrated peroxide contacting the wrong metal will ruin your day if you're close enough to be hit by the blast.
To give you an idea how powerful a reagent it is, the next world land speed record attempt, the Bloodhound SSC, will use a peroxide bipropellant rocket in addition to the big jet engine, and the added thrust of the rocket is anticipated to take the car past the 1,000 mph mark. Anyone familiar with basic aerodynamics knows that it takes a hefty dose of thrust to propel even a streamlined aircraft or missile to that speed, and the Bloodhound SSC team are hoping for, wait for it, around 30,000 pounds of thrust from the rocket.
Now if that sounds like a substance you wouldn't want to mess with, there are even more vicious oxidising agents in existence, and the world of rocket propulsion toyed with some of these before the hazards became simply too much to handle. One of these is, quite literally, the King of the Hill of all dangerous chemicals - chlorine trifluoride. Yes, you
can bond three fluorine atoms to a chlorine atom, to make something that's far nastier than either of the originals on their own. Fluorine gas itself is vicious to work with, but even that doffs its cap to chlorine trifluoride, which is powerful enough to make sand burst into flames, as cheerfully revealed by the chemist Derek Lowe in
this now famous dissertation on the subject. In that piece, he reveals how a ton of the stuff was spilt during some 1950s American rocket experimentation, and it chewed its way through a reinforced concrete floor and the underlying gravel, treating everyone to a fireworks display that no one in the vicinity would forget - at least, those who were smart enough to hightail it out of the area and watch from a safe distance. You know you're dealing with something truly extraordinary, when you see it set fire to
snow. Derek Lowe also treats his regular readers to
this nice video clip illustrating what happens when this stuff cuts loose. Watch that video clip and be
very afraid of what this stuff can do.
Incidentally, anyone with a chemistry background will have a
huge amount of fun reading Derek Lowe's blog section
Things I Won't Work With, in which he takes his audience on a Baedecker Tour of some of the most lunatic concoctions ever to be synthesised in a chemistry lab. People are clamouring for him to compile a book with all of this in, and you'll soon find out why if you take a peek at his handiwork.
All of which leads nicely to ...
How many German chemists does it take to change a light bulb?
As many as you can supply with blast shields.
