The silence of the Kool-Aid stand: the Catalog of Epithets

We watched as Bobbie trotted down the street with David J.'s paper cup in hand. David and his sibs seemed to be relieved that they were getting their cup back and stepped forward to receive it with thanks. But when she got back to the punch bowl, she announced, "Your lemon Kool-Aid tastes like potty. In fact, your Kool-Aid looks like potty." And she upended the cup, which contained a large piece of fresh dog doo, into the punch bowl.

The J siblings looked in horror at the turd floating in the Kool-Aid. Paul, the youngest, began to gag. Bobbie laughed, and she was off! David and Jackie ran after her, leaving Paul to guard the punch bowl from further violation, apparently by sitting on the front steps and gasping with his head between his knees.

Jackie and David skidded to a halt as soon as Bobbie crossed the demilitarized zone. The air became blue as we hurled vitriolic epithets at each other.

"Gunky!"

"Doo-doo head!"

"Booger brain!"

"Toe jam eater!"

"I'm gonna kick you in your B-U-T!"

"Zoo breath!"

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"Piddle pants!"

"Snot!"

"Poot toot!"

"I'm rubber and you're glue! Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you!"

The two enemy camps faced each other in front of the Kirkpatricks' house. Only the width of a sidewalk square was between us. Only the width of a sidewalk square stood between a peaceful summer day filled with the innocent laughter of children and an entire neighborhood going up in flames. "You owe us for a whole bowl of Kool-Aid!" David screamed.

"Yeah, well, come get your money then," someone on our side taunted.

"Give us the money!" Jackie roared. She had a deeper voice than David did, and she meant business.

"Come and get," we repeated. "If you want it, meet us on the service road in five minutes."

"We need more time to get more people," David explained.

"Fifteen minutes," we said.

"Fifteen minutes," David said

It was on.