I thought everyone knew that snowball throwing was a sanctioned winter sport.
Cars, buses, everything was open season.

Then that one time we hammered an old Jeep CJ.
We could usually dive into the woods and escape.
This time the fugger was IN the woods with the Jeep hunting us like some mad German tanker in a WWII movie.

Then the day my dooshbag friend broke the bus driver's windshield.
That was a ride downtown for "Mental Chink".
Everyone seemed to have unflattering nicknames.

We were young, unbridled savages and public nuisances just like those Ducks having some good, clean fun.
Funny thing is that we all had the same name, "John Smith".



If the Beavs weren't so dull, there'd be Beaver stories to tell as well.
Didn't Corn Valley get snow ?