TEAM SCRAPER: WFYS

Many mangy ages ago, deep in the dank murk of South Eugene's shadiest of foothills, two delinquent schoolboys brushed aside their scholastic duties to explore a local cut of backwoods they were warned by elders never to enter. In search of undulations worthy of a rake and shovel to flail their recently procured mountain bicycles upon, accompanied by the sweet song of a springtime bird chirps, minds absent of the stench and horror that awaited, the melancholy duo meandered along a sinewy stretch of sketchy hobo footpath in search of a hillside worthy of scratching the itch to build a . Sniffing the last whiff of pure innocence to enter the boys olfactory receptors, only to be mortified, transmogrified and scarred for life by the morbid sight that awaited.