So yesterday we went to a birthday party for the boy next door, and the subject of the famous Porta-Potty Of Tipping Over came up. And apparently, the porta-potty was not, as I thought, politely dismantled by the construction company. Oh no!

It was actually burned to the ground. By hooligans!

The fire that was set inside it was hot enough to completely melt the plastic exterior, leaving nothing but a little pile of goo. I thought the company had removed most of the potty, leaving only the square base of it behind…but it turns out, that “square base” is only the surviving crud from the fire.

Isn’t that insane? We saw MyFriendJen last night, and she is both bitter that she didn’t get a chance to capture the culprits herself, and kind of scared that there was a big fire right across the street from her place, and her kids, while she was sleeping, and she was totally unaware of it until morning. It’s pretty scary when you think that, now that the object of their obvious obsession is gone, these kids will now be roaming the streets on Saturday nights looking for something else to tip over, or set fire to, or cover in raw eggs.

My friend Agi half-jokingly suggested a neighbourhood watch, but I’m starting to think it’s not a bad idea. If I ever caught the vandals red-handed, you can bet there’d be some ass kicking. And probably not a little bit of whacks over the head with my umbrella. Whippersnappers!