Back off, Bucko

By Angie Shen ‘20

Staff Writer

 

What’s worse than staying home alone for the holidays because your family forgot about you in their haste to jet off to Paris? Staying home alone for the holidays and having to guard the house against burglars. While I certainly don’t have the ingenuity of Kevin McCallister, and my idea of home defense is more like the metal barriers and nerve gas reminiscent of horror movies rather than the feather fans and paint can traps from Home Alone, I’d like to think that I could fend off the intruders until law enforcement arrives.

To start off, I slop mud and water around every window, door, and possible opening the intruders could use to get into the home. When they break into the house and their shoes and socks are ruined from the mud, the robbers will take off their shoes and socks rather than deal with the discomfort of wet and muddy feet. With the robbers now creeping around the house barefoot, part two of the plan commences: Legos. A sea of pain awaits the intruders as they stare out at the vast ocean of tiny plastic bricks covering the floor.

Any minor thief will have given up by now and flee the way they arrived, but these thieves are persistent. “Legos?” they scoff, “It’s going to take a lot more than Legos to make us give up. An eight-year-old could’ve set better traps than this!” Fine then, it’s time to kick things into high gear. And by high gear, I mean more floor traps, this time starring a disarray of markers, pens, pencils, binder clips, thumb tacks, and unraveled paper clips, with some toothpicks added in to spice things up. The office supplies are here to take their revenge.

If the intruders aren’t phased by this, then I have no choice but to crank up the holiday spirit by blasting multiple festive songs on max volume. The ensuing cacophony of madness will not only disorient the intruders, but also conceal my position. The thieves will stumble around the house while listening to Dominick the Donkey braying and Alvin and the Chipmunks squeaking about planes and hula-hoops, with background accompaniments that feature wanting a hippopotamus for Christmas and the entire Frozen soundtrack. Merry Christmas, you filthy animals.

The next trap induces some good old-fashioned head trauma. With my vantage point on the second floor, I can drop a variety of projectiles on the intruders. From light bulbs to eggs to tennis balls to even, taking a page from Kevin McCallister, an iron, a concussion or two will be the least of the burglars’ worries.

Inevitably, a confrontation will occur since I don’t have the psychopathic genius needed to set up more traps. I’m armed with spray sunscreen and bug spray, ready to keep the thieves at bay for a few more seconds. It may not be as effective as mace, but a nice dose of chemicals to the face should delay the intruders while I scurry to take my final stand. As their vision clears, the intruders see their worst nightmare: a seventeen-year-old wielding a paltry tai chi sword. It isn’t as threatening as the Bride wielding her katana, but it’ll have to do.

However, before I can put my nonexistent fighting skills to the test, sirens blare. The police arrive because I had the good sense to call them before I started recreating Saw. The robbers are arrested and everything is fine except for the house, which now is covered in mud and broken egg shells, among other debris. Remember, if burglars break into your house this holiday season, call the police. Kevin McCallister is not the paragon of intruder conduct.

 

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