I prefer to scare grandmothers the old fashioned way: by beating their grand children to a bloody pulp in front of them, feeling up their husbands, and taking all of their hard candies.

I was hit in the head when I was 7 with a Jart… knocked me the fuck out and put a nice little slice in my scalp that needed stitches. 

Star wipe to a week later… I'm walking around my town with my friends, and it's the typical Midwest hot-as-fuck summer day. The stitches on my head proceed to open up and I don't feel it, so I'm bleeding profusely. Mixing with the sweat, my face and clothes were covered in blood.

I scared quite a few grandmothers that day. 

 /not a sexual reference.

It's what us simple folk call lawn darts.