Thursday, October 28, 2010
I'm 37 and it seems like only yesterday, that 20 years ago, I was finishing the Drama class rehearsals for 'You Can't Take It With You' and then we, as a class, were off to raise some hell on a mild Halloween night.
We stuck together for the most part, egging and toilet papering various nemesis = cops who left their patrol cars unattended, freshmen, the 5th Street cowboys, as well as the cowboys from the next town over-Darby or Draby as we liked to call it.
The grocery stores in Hamilton, used to not sell eggs to teens on Halloween night, but we always knew to be prepared a few nights in advance. Our standard issue was two cartons of eggs and two four packs of TP per man (or girl-it was always cool to get girls to come along)
Thusly armed, we would prowl the night and do battle with the mulleted foe.
I recall at one point barley leaping into the back of Carli's Bronco before a herd of cowboys attempted physical retribution for the quick offering of breakfast upon their precious trucks.
Those heathens worshipped Taz, but don't worry the giant stuffed Tasmanian devil they had attached to their grills was offered the fruit of the chicken too.
I can't relate the full joy of hearing people complain all the next day of how bad them "Drama Kids" got them.
Well, now I'm older and the wife doesn't want the kids to hear these stories and such, but its those good times that I fall back on that keep me from feeling too old.
There's that side of me that would be sorely tempted if someone were to pass a carton of eggs and say "Let's get em."
I probably wouldn't do it anymore.
Unless suggested victim really deserved it.