When I was a kid I had a friend, S, who lived by some woods. You could always tell who had the coolest adventures based directly on their proximity to woods and the ease thereof with which they could access the same. I had another friend, D, who tried to front like he lived near the woods, but he actually lived, like, 2 streets over from a county park, and that shit just isn’t the same.
So anyway, one day I’m over S’s house and we’re trying to figure out something to do, so we decide to go play in the woods. We crapping around in the little stream back there (I know! He had a stream too! I was just about the coolest place a 9 year old could ever be.) when S suggested we build a trap for some other kid who lived on the same street. Apparently this other kid was dumb, and ugly, and a stupid head, so I had no problems acquiescing.
We probably spent the better half of a day out in the woods on our hands and knees digging a hole in the hard ground. We used rocks and sticks and anything else we found laying around in an attempt to make the hole digging easier or faster. As if we had somewhere else to be. A few hours later the hole was about 6 inches deep. We filled it with little sticks that we had sharpened on rocks, and stuck the points skyward so as to inflict the most possible damage.
S then had the genius idea that we should fill the hole with poop. That way, insult would be added to injury when the big dumb dummyhead was limping home with a punctured foot and smelling of feces. We wandered the neighborhood looking in the yards of houses that owned dogs, and all we came up with was some dried-up, crumbling poo bits. We chucked them in the hole for good measure, but weren’t nearly satisfied.
S was especially frustrated, but apparently more frustrated then I thought, because in the blink of an eye he had he pants down and looked like he was trying to explode a vein out of his neck. I guess it worked, because a few minutes later there was poop in the hole, and S hadn’t died of an aneurysm. We went back to S’s house, and I watched TV while S washed up. When he came downstairs a few minutes later I asked him if he thought the stupid dummyface would fall in our trap. S nodded sagely and assured me that the dummyhead would.
But the woods were like, acres and acres big, and the hole was only 4 inches deep, and I doubt anyone would have ever gotten near it again. For some reason I just thought of this story.
