Ah, Dutch arrows! Used to have lots of fun with those when I was a kid, even going as far as to buy real arrows and launch them with string. It’s really just like the woomera that Aussie Aboriginal’s use for spear throwing. Never had a Black Widow, they didn’t exist when I were a lad, but I had a conventional catapult with really thick square rubber, and I used to fire ball bearings and marbles with it. Lovely neat holes in windows, too…
And I always had knives around, even used to take them to school, I could sharpen pencils better than those machines on the teachers desk! 😀

Where I grew up the local boys all had airguns. There was good money to be made hunting possums and rabbits, until all the un-thinking Meat is Murder types killed that market with their anti-fur protests. Shame, it gave them an outlet for that male stuff.

My lad gets £2.75 a rabbit, headshot and skinned from the local farmshop. They’ll take up to two dozen at a time. His business acumen can’t be bad, he’ll persuade me to drive to the farms, drive him round while he uses my rifle and ammo, then pockets the cash to buy cycling kit and bike bits.

Ah, Dutch arrows! Used to have lots of fun with those when I was a kid, even going as far as to buy real arrows and launch them with string.

We called them scotch arrows and yes, ours were real arrows with the pile (metal point) removed also. They went really quite a long way indeed.

Once got accosted by the caretaker at our local playing fields, demanding to know where we’d hidden the bow.

Say something like this to him:

“You bring me, to-morrow morning early, that file and them wittles. You bring the lot to me, at that old Battery over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a word or dare to make a sign concerning your having seen such a person as me, or any person sumever, and you shall be let to live. You fail, or you go from my words in any partickler, no matter how small it is, and your heart and your liver shall be tore out, roasted, and ate. Now, I ain’t alone, as you may think I am. There’s a young man hid with me, in comparison with which young man I am a Angel. That young man hears the words I speak. That young man has a secret way pecooliar to himself, of getting at a boy, and at his heart, and at his liver. It is in wain for a boy to attempt to hide himself from that young man. A boy may lock his door, may be warm in bed, may tuck himself up, may draw the clothes over his head, may think himself comfortable and safe, but that young man will softly creep and creep his way to him and tear him open. I am a keeping that young man from harming of you at the present moment, with great difficulty. I find it wery hard to hold that young man off of your inside. Now, what do you say?”

Not only will he not trouble you again, but he’ll grow up racked with guilt, tormented by crazy old women, and frustrated in love.

Go out and ‘do a job’ with the weapons. Make sure you get plenty of blood on them. Return said weapons to the hiding place.

You may need to give the police some help on where to find the cache but once they’ve found it they’ll resolve any concerns you have about living next to this kid.

Black Widow – Check
Throwing Stars – Check
Couple of nice camping / hunting knives – Check
Webley Air Pistol – Check
Air Rifle with nice big scope on it – Check
Penknife – Check

Never killed any one with any of them.

same here… not even my little brother miraculously

My early bomb making efforts, aged about 7 were thwarted by Jenny Brimmicombe showing me her privates.. 😯

And leave a dead squirrel’s head in his bed, to send a message.

Put it back, and next time you see him, say that you heard he had a knife, and ask if you can see it

when he shows you, drop the croc-dundee line whilst drawing the FOGB big hunting knife from behind your back!