-Robert Louis Stevenson

Life seemed no less simple when I was a kid. May 1989, I was 9 years old. Living on a farm in a particularly rural area made friend selection difficult; whoever was closest was your best friend. In my case it was my cousin Kevin. He was 5 years and a day older than me, and I somewhat idolized him. He was not a particularly good friend, but as I've said, the key to friendship where I was living was proximity.

For everything that is good, something evil must exist. Her name was Lori. She was a greatly obese, pampered girl who couldn't seem to make up her mind whether to like us or hate us. Wherever Kevin and I would go, Lori would insist on following. Because we were the only three people of the same approximate age living in the small community, she would constantly try to do things to make us like her. However, in her preternaturally obese state, she couldn't accomplish much. We converted a hay loft into a fortress, with only a braided rope ladder through a hidden trap door. From our lofty perch we watched as she would circle the barn and whine. All she could do was continue to annoy us. Finally, it was decided something must be done.

It was the end of May and I had my regularly scheduled dentist appointment, which was a waste of time, since I had such perfect white teeth. Because of my appointment, I was home at least an hour before anyone else. The first course of action would be mine.

Being the painfully brilliant child that I was, I couldn't help but to on occasion harness all that mental scope and focus it on one single belligerent task. The task at hand; prevent Lori from ever returning to my farm again.

The previous summer, I had witnessed several jars of canned goods explode from fermentation. When I had asked about it, it was explained to me that microorganisms had begun to reproduce in response to the heat. This produced the primary stage of attack: piss bombs. 16 ounce soda bottles of stale urine, tightly capped and left directly beneath the hot tin barn roof for nearly a month. When they exploded, the stench would be overwhelming, and anyone near the blast would be tainted for weeks. What could be better at diverting enemies?

The second line of attack would be "operation big bird". Spanning the area between hay lofts were 2" by 6" posts to serve as a precarious walkway connecting individual areas. I procured some semifresh cow pies. A scientist by nature, I had noticed that cow shit, runny at elimination, became tachy after a few days. While the inner stench remained, the pies were capable of being moved around, and in this case, placed precariously on the boards above. With someone waiting innocently below, it would be simple to tilt the board and release the pie. In essense, what happens to a newly washed car, but on a much grander and putrid scale.

If all went well, humiliation would be eminent. However, the final insult, the piece de resistance, would be mine. As the plan would unfold, eventually even someone as slow-witted as Lori would try to flee. Her retreat would signal me to use my small size and speed to hand-walk across the barn lofts to the exit, where a single flake of hay would be waiting. As she approached the exit, I would light the hay, and as she attempted to cross the gate, I would fling it off the rafter, landing on or near her. At this point she would run, or in her case, waddle quickly out of the barn in a body waste produced frenzy.

I was still setting up the traps when the bus arrived. Kevin took his sweet time changing out of his school clothes. Had he forgotten that today was to be the day?!?!