"The end of another summer is at hand, and it leads us to reflect on the peaceful nature of our neighborhood. With the exception of two or three troublemaking teenagers, we've had another wonderful season..."Josh. Bill. Peewee. They might as well have just put our names in that newsletter. Everyone knew exactly whom they were talking about. We regularly disturbed the yuppie/hippie inhabitants of our community with our nightly entertainment. One evening, I replaced a stop sign with a railroad crossing sign. Another evening, the three of us took a pair of bolt-cutters and cut a hole in the chainlink fence of the local school, so that children would be able to escape. But our favorite exploits involved the portapotty at the beach. We just loved to tip the thing over.
And I guess they loved to replace it. We must have knocked that foul pit of shit-tar over at least twenty times. One time, I sprayed ether on the toilet paper roll, lit it on fire, and then tipped it over (so as to put the fire out, like any good citizen would!). About 4am that night, I walked by and didn't see the portapotty. I did notice a very faint glow, however. I walked over, and I shit you not, the entire thing had melted down. All that was left was a metal doorframe in a 10-foot wide puddle of molten blue plastic.
It was after this environmental tragedy that Peewee's father started to suspect he might be involved. Peewee was informed that any subsequent incidents involving the portapotty would result in punishment. I suppose this threat was to extend to the rest of us, so that the shithouse terrorism would end. But Peewee never said anything, so we didn't know it was off-limits.
One evening, a group of about fifteen of our friends gathered down by this beach. In the midst of our revelry, I snuck over to the newly replaced portapotty and gave it a good shove. As it fell forward, door to the ground, I hear Peewee behind me scream "FUCK! My father's going to kill me!"
As the rest of us start rolling around in laughter (well away from the shithouse), we saw Peewee run up to the portapotty, yelling, "We have to put it back up!!!" Peewee put his hands underneath the edge of the portapotty and started lifting. As the door was no longer pinned to the ground, it opened, unleashing a flood of chemical-blue shit water all over Peewee's arms.
After screaming a line of revolted profanities, he realized that his arms now sported a smelly blue scarlet letter -- his father was certain to connect him with the spree of turd terrorism.
We didn't see Peewee for a few weeks. Rumor has it that it took that long to scrub
-- Billious [1]