If you read part one,then hopefully you'll remember where we left off. I had just accidentally executed the perfect front roll while running from an elderly woman's house my friends and I had just ding-dong-ditched. Once we got far enough away we stopped for a minute to acknowledge just how perfect the front roll was before making our way up the "school hill." The school hill is exactly what it sounds like: it's this weird little hill thing in the middle of town that Weed Elementary School and Weed High School are at the top of.
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Also at the top of the hill are a couple of neighborhoods and not much lighting which meant that the area would offer adequate cover for us to hide after knocking on some doors and running. Unfortunately for us that night we were moving in a group of about 8 prepubescent people so the odds of one of us not making it to cover in time was pretty high. This is the exact situation a friend found himself in at one of the houses which would turn out to be a colossal mistake, as you'll find out by the end of the story. This friend, we'll call him "Jerry" to protect his identity, was kinda like the character Corey Feldman played in The Goonies.
After making our way up the school hill we took cover in the bushes around the elementary school while we scanned the nearby houses for our next target. As we sat far away from the nearest streetlight, our excitement was so palpable you could have played hot potato with it(Side note: I have an R-rated story involving a potato to share at some point) But something about this house didn't sit well in my stomach which was concerning because I had like 28 ounces of Mountain Dew Code Red in my stomach so that motherf*cker was trained through fire to handle discomfort.
The cause of my discomfort with the house we picked was this: when you're playing ding-dong-ditch part of the selection process involves analyzing a house for potential complications. When scanning the house we had picked, we all couldn't help but notice the embarrassingly lifted truck parked outside. This was a sign to me that the people on the inside probably: 1)were mentally unstable, judging by their silly ass choice of vehicles 2) not super cool with strangers "treading on them" 3) had shotguns.
We bypassed this concern, telling ourselves that we were just being sissies, and began stealthily approaching the house. I guess that the rest of my group also felt nervous about the house we picked because nobody volunteered to go to the porch and knock.....well nobody except for Jerry. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that he stepped up to the plate considering he routinely wore camo undies and his favorite pastime was shooting me in neck with his airsoft gun.(Nowadays he's in the military and jumps out of planes and stuff so he's wired a little differently than your average dude.)
The next thing we know Jerry starts marching to the porch without an ounce of hesitation while I sat in a bush feeling like I was strapped into the electric chair waiting for the state to pull the switch. He gets to the door, pans his comically large head over his right shoulder in our direction to reveal a psychotic grin illuminated only by porch light, then bangs on the door with some serious force. As we sit at a comfortable distance waiting for him to sprint to our bush, the wildman instead hops behind some dying shrubbery a few feet away from the front porch.
30 ounces of Mountain Dew Code Red almost waltzed out of my stomach onto an undeserving bush as I watched Jerry wait for about 12 seconds before heading back to the porch for the second time. And this time he did a two handed bang on the door so excessively hard that I was sort of offended on behalf of the homeowners. Like yes we are trying to mess with you and be delinquents but I've got decency, dammit, a light to moderate knock is just fine. And, again, he leaps into the nearby dying shrubbery and gleefully sits there. Only this time a couple of hearty corn-fed men come rushing out of the house, clearly under the influence of probably Milwaukee's Best as well as some serious rage.
A tall, skinny, drunken, possibly drugged up, grown man starts peering around his yard with a Clint-Eastwood-esque scowl, looking hell-bent on stompin' some ass with his boots. But somehow, maybe thanks to the same spooky miracle machine that created the perfect front roll earlier that night, he doesn't see Jerry poorly hidden only mere feet away. In the midst of this Halloween madness I breathed a tiny sigh of relief as I watched two furious dinguses fail to see Jerry hiding in plain sight. It was like a "Three Stooges" bit but with real potential consequences.
Seconds later my heart sank down to my ankles as I saw Jerry start sprinting away from the house before the two angry dinguses got all the way back inside. All Jerry had to do was wait ten more seconds for them to quit cussing into the air and go back inside but instead he jumped the gun by revealing his location and opened up Pandora's box.
HERE IS A VIDEO OF JERRY CIRCA 8th GRADE, FOR REFERENCE
What do you think happens next? do you think we: A) emerged from the bushes and had a royal rumble with the drunken men to save Jerry; B) spent the rest of the night running from the men as they chased us in their unnecessarily lifted truck; C) emerged from the bushes to apologize and got some Oberto beef jerky from the dinguses; D) escaped into the night to get into more shenanigans and piss off other strangers.
What ended up happening on that fateful night will be revealed next week in the third and final installment of "Halloween, Loose Cannons, and the Perfect Front Roll".
