Jack has indulged in some childhood reminiscence. Since I can't think of anything else to post tonight, I'll just shamelessly rip off his schtick. Some of this was posted first in his comments.
When I was a kid, my best friend and I became fascinated with wrist rockets. The wrist rocket was sort of an over-engineered slingshot, with this extension that folded down and braced against your forearm to allow you to pull back harder while keeping your aim stable.
One time, I decided I to take out the streetlight in front of our house. I aimed from our upstairs window and let fly. The rock totally missed the actual lamp, but, in a moment of transcendent beauty, curved up at the last instant and obliterated the daylight sensor that turned the lamp on when it got dark. The sensor was housed in a plastic cap probably the same size as that on a can of shaving cream. I can still vividly see the blue shards exploding outwards and then raining down on the sidewalk below. It was an incredible shot I never could have made on purpose.
Another incident revolved around a van our neighbor had parked on a patch of dirt across the street. He was a contractor, and he kept of bunch of tools in that van, but hardly ever drove it. It was a piece of crap, and I thought the big, broad side of that van would make excellent target practice for the wrist rocket.
Again, perched in our upstairs window, I took careful aim at the van, and let loose. A major league starting pitcher could not have thrown a more perfect curveball. Unfortunately, this rock curved right into the driver's side window, punching a nice little hole smack in the middle, and causing the rest of the glass to spiderweb into about a thousand pieces.
A day later, I saw the neighbor out there with a cop examining the damage. He opened the door, and when he closed it, it jarred the window and knocked all the glass right on to the driver's seat. I was never questioned, but needless to say, that was the only shot I ever took at that van.
Later, my friend and I were on a nearby hill known to us as Gork Hill. We were firing rocks down on to the street below and just goofing around being young boys. When I bent over collecting more rocks, my friend shot me in the ass from a distance of about 10 feet. It stung like a son of a bitch, but I suppose that sting was just karma, paying me a little visit.
When I was a kid, my best friend and I became fascinated with wrist rockets. The wrist rocket was sort of an over-engineered slingshot, with this extension that folded down and braced against your forearm to allow you to pull back harder while keeping your aim stable.
One time, I decided I to take out the streetlight in front of our house. I aimed from our upstairs window and let fly. The rock totally missed the actual lamp, but, in a moment of transcendent beauty, curved up at the last instant and obliterated the daylight sensor that turned the lamp on when it got dark. The sensor was housed in a plastic cap probably the same size as that on a can of shaving cream. I can still vividly see the blue shards exploding outwards and then raining down on the sidewalk below. It was an incredible shot I never could have made on purpose.
Another incident revolved around a van our neighbor had parked on a patch of dirt across the street. He was a contractor, and he kept of bunch of tools in that van, but hardly ever drove it. It was a piece of crap, and I thought the big, broad side of that van would make excellent target practice for the wrist rocket.
Again, perched in our upstairs window, I took careful aim at the van, and let loose. A major league starting pitcher could not have thrown a more perfect curveball. Unfortunately, this rock curved right into the driver's side window, punching a nice little hole smack in the middle, and causing the rest of the glass to spiderweb into about a thousand pieces.
A day later, I saw the neighbor out there with a cop examining the damage. He opened the door, and when he closed it, it jarred the window and knocked all the glass right on to the driver's seat. I was never questioned, but needless to say, that was the only shot I ever took at that van.
Later, my friend and I were on a nearby hill known to us as Gork Hill. We were firing rocks down on to the street below and just goofing around being young boys. When I bent over collecting more rocks, my friend shot me in the ass from a distance of about 10 feet. It stung like a son of a bitch, but I suppose that sting was just karma, paying me a little visit.
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