As I edge closer to middle age, I feel the pressing need to confess my failings, my imperfections.

OK, so I don't. I just think it makes for a damn decent story.

It was many many years ago (How many years ago? How long is the statute of limitations for this offense? Take that and add one year). We sat around drinking intoxicating beverages and playing increasingly modified games of Axis & Allies (Kamchatka gets two turns in a row...take THAT Mongolia!). Somewhere between the game and the late night movie watching it occurred to us to take on a grave injustice that had plagued our city.

We had noticed that the community hung flags by the city square, and that those flags were not properly illuminated and they flew regardless of the weather. Fueled by courage, patriotism, and not a small infusion of one Mr. Jack Daniels, we resolved that it was our duty, nay, our moral calling to avenge this outrage to the country of birth. Finding our "accidental" designated driver (we always made friends with non drinkers and made 'em our bitch when we got drunk, since we couldn't drive that way), we lit out towards the town square and towards the battlefield. We sized up the square. Twenty some odd flags lined it on all sides. We figured that if we did a quick circle, pulling them as quickly as we could, we could get the booty and make our rapid escape. This was a small community, and police never patrolled the square at this hour.

We rapidly made our rounds, the fabric of the flags giving way to our insistent pulls. Down they came, some with more effort than others, but within a few short minutes, they were all stowed safely in our car.

We listened for the sounds of sirens, hoping our actions would not be discovered. Fortunately, the night's mission was accomplished with enough stealth and daring that the police never showed. And we, having won the day, returned to the booze we had so rightfully earned.