Admit it. Everyone has done it in some form or another at some point in their lives”¦ usually in their teens. It might begin when the boredom becomes unbearable, or it may need no impetus at all. No, I’m not talking about sex or drugs, or even stealing. I am referring to that certain form of mischief that only a teenager knows. So, grab your eggs and toilet paper and remember: It’s not about revenge. It’s more about the hilariousness of the idea that someone is going to wake up, see the mess you’ve made and wonder what the hell happened.

I’ve done my share. I didn’t grow up in the most exciting town, but we made it work. In my neighborhood, pedestrian paths tied several cul-de-sacs together; so it was almost too easy to make a quick getaway. Having that sort of freedom led to frequent, precision attacks on random neighbors I didn’t know.

For example, a friend and I regularly put bologna on some poor schlub’s car. We heard that bologna would peel off paint, but it only managed to leave greasy polka dots. When bologna was scarce we switched to Spam, which makes a delightful plopping sound upon impact. We also conducted weekly bombing missions on two Volvos around the corner. The reason was simple: anyone with two Volvo station wagons was asking to be egged. To help with the cleaning process, we would follow up with some toilet paper.

There is something about that roll”¦ the way it just glides out of your hand, unraveling as it floats toward the tallest tree branch. At first we chose houses based on difficulty of cleanup, but soon we discovered a couple of favorites. The first house must have contained a wild boar, because the snoring sounds we heard from the front yard could not have come from a human. We didn’t even have to be quiet since there was no way that guy was hearing anything but himself. The second house was perfect; the yard was full of giant trees (the tallest on the block) and their branches were spread just right. Three of us filled our bags with T.P. and went to work. Within 10 minutes the yard was devastated. As we prepared the final two rolls, we heard the door open. While trying to blend into the shadows, we watched a short, fat man step out on the porch wearing only his underwear!

When we weren’t out disrupting the sleep of fat men in tighty-whities, we’d hit up the Goodwill parking lot on the after-hour tip. People would leave the weirdest shit: couches (fuck yo’ couch!), an organ, refrigerators, a giant stuffed flamingo, and a puppet that a friend later named Bocephus Chigger [see above photo]. We would fill up my truck and either scatter the goods in random places around town or smash them somewhere. Soon, we branched out and began “borrowing” other things we found around town. Depending on the season, we could have been hauling traffic cones, pumpkins, political signs or plastic balls from the McDonald’s playground. The idea was this: the weirder, the better.

It wasn’t long before our looting began to pay off.

Sometime around Halloween, we found a pool just over the fence from the pedestrian path. Trash collection went into high gear, as this was to be our pièce de résistance! On a cold October night, we formed a sort of bucket brigade from the bed of the truck to the fence. The goods passed from hand-to-hand, over the fence where they hit the pool with hilarious results. In minutes, the pool was filled with several large pumpkins, a stack of traffic cones, a toilet plunger, a purple velvet robe, a stack of newspapers and the entire contents of a napkin dispenser. It was truly a sight to behold (and one that we would never enjoy again, as the pool was thereafter under police guard).

I miss those times”¦ the world was a different place. People today are so uptight that a kid could get shot for burning a bag of shit on someone’s doorstep. Maybe it’s time we all grab a roll or two and cut loose. Tell the world that you want your fun back! Tell them you are ready to be a kid again! After all, being an adult is hardly all it’s cracked up to be.

By Bocephus Chigger