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Run-over Another Snowman, Jackass—I can build these all day.
12 years ago, when I was in 10th grade, my sister (who was 8 at the time) built a giant snowman after an unusually heavy Pennsylvania snow. She spent all day on this thing and it was actually pretty impressive.
The town I’m from is actually a borough and it only has something like 7,000 people who live there, meaning High School classes were small and relatively tight-knit. There was one particular kid, who I’ll call Scotty, who drove me up the fucking wall. He never did anything to me personally, but he just had a massively annoying way about him. To make matters worse, it seemed as if I had way too many classes with him to be statistically possible.
One of Scotty’s irritating behaviors is that he drove a loud, redneck-ish, John-Deere-green truck. It was obnoxious as hell and (important to the story later) had a huge brush guard on the front of it.
Well, on the evening after she built her snowy sentinel, I heard the sound of Scotty’s truck making its way down the street from inside our livingroom. Then I heard the “pfft” of someone running over a snowman and laughing. Unfortunately for my sister, she had built it close to the road and too easily within the range of this semi-guided asshole. She was rather upset to see her day’s work splattered all over the street… Something needed to be done about this.
So, the next morning, I woke up early and began building another snowman. It was glorious. I made the classic, three section, scarf-wearing, sticks-for-arms-and-vegetables-for-a-face snowman.
This new snowman’s cheery countenance betrayed a grim and dark secret, however; Frosty was built on top of a fire hydrant at the corner of our yard where there was no curb.
For a good two days I dreamt of Scotty wrapping his stupid truck around my masterpiece out in the yard. But no dice. I didn’t see him at all anywhere around town so I thought I was out of luck.
Then, on the evening of the 4th day, I heard it. My family was eating dinner and I heard the low grumble of fate’s motors kicking from gear to gear. Would they find themselves abruptly halted in about 10 seconds? It all depends on you, Scotty boy…
So I start chewing my food really fast because, knowing the idiot, I knew what was happening next. The final acceleration sounded off like a chaotic crescendo as he plowed straight into—not through—the snowman with the deafening crunch of twisting metal.
My family ran outside and it took everything I had to not laugh before I got out there. There stood Scotty, dazed and bewildered and caught-off guard by a battle that he lost before he realized it had begun.