During my formative years (age 9-14), my house was considered by neighborhood children to be some sort of mad scientist's laboratory. I was considerably nerdy, and when kids came over, instead of going out to play football or whatever, I wanted to show off how I had rigged up a pulley system in my room to perform menial tasks without getting out of bed.

Anyhow, my backyard became sort of a minature "Junkyard War." We broke alot of stuff in creative ways. So much that my parents actually questioned if kids were coming over not to play with me, but to break our stuff, since they couldn't do it at their house. Not that we were breaking anything valuable, but our yard just proved to be a good venue to destroy/incinerate random objects.

One of my least favorite people ever (yet for some reason, he kept coming over to my house), decided to pee in the tank of my childhood fire engine Tonka truck and was using the pump to spray his own piss on my mom's herb garden. I actually snapped right there and kicked the truck, spilling the tank of piss onto his Pumps, soaking his socks and the intricate air bladder system inside of the $120 shoes. He tried to punch me, but settled for leaving after I picked up an aluminum baseball bat. He left my yard and sloshed down the street with his shoes wheezing urine.

Later that day, his ho-ma of a mother showed up with her hand on her hip demanding that we pay for his shoes. After a quick talk to the hand (in pre-"talk to the hand" days!), my mother rebutted the bitch and calmly closed the door. Thanks, mom.