The Hartwell Chronicles… It's TP'ing Time

The first wrap around was hard. My roll broke off, and I didn’t know what I was doing.
But then it became easier, and easier and easier. Finally, I had completed the porch’s railing.
Soon, flashes of white were headed for the sky and landing in tree limbs.
I was alive, I was free, I was finally doing it.
Doing what, you ask?
At long last, I have engaged in the age old tradition of TP’ing.
Yes, in my nearly 24 years of existence, I had never before thrown a beautiful toilet paper roll into the air and watched it land in the trees.
I’ve done my share of decorating dorm and bedroom doors or party locations, but it just doesn’t compare to TP’ing.
TP’ing is a popular tradition in the U.S. And no wonder.
You get a rush from doing it. Sneaking in the night, aided only by the light of the moon as you complete your task is exhilarating.
Alas and alack, it seemed like another rite of passage from my youth would disappear with the sands of times.
I can’t swim. I don’t know how to ride a bike. Skating is a definite no-no.
At least I learned how to hula hoop and can semi-bowl.
Opportunity finally presented its self for me to join the ranks of TP’ers
The crew – Sarah Lee, H.J.L. and San Antonia – whose true identities shall remain nameless to protect the not so innocent, carefully picked our target.
He is someone we’ve all come into contact with several times.
One lives near him. One works with him. And the other has interacted with him on the football field.
Marky Mark was, well, the mark.
Tomorrow is his birthday. And what better way to commemorate such a momentous occasion then with a few decorations here or there? A few TP decorations at that.
So we crept into the night, dressed in mostly black and went to work. Toilet paper would soon be everywhere.
The first rule of TP’ing is to work while the cost is clear.
We thought we were in the clear. Marky Mark’s car had been M.I.A. for several days.
He wouldn’t know who or what hit him.
Rule number two: blend in with your surroundings. The black attire would help camouflage us amid the darkness.
Number tres: Don’t get caught!
Funny I should mention that.
There were several cars that drove past us. We hid for safe measures among the trees.
The first one was a false alarm. Too bad the next one wasn’t.
The jig was up.
Marky Mark’s little red car started pulling up, and we took off running.
Very carefully we calculated our next move. We would wait and resume.
Err actually we just turned ourselves in. After all, he took the rest of the toilet paper rolls.
I think Marky Mark was pleasantly surprised and even touched. Not every sports editor is lucky enough to get his house TP’ed.
He may have caught us this time, but soon, and very soon, the crew shall return.
TP'ing time will strike again!