There is a trailer park that I drive by on my commute to work filled with American flags, satellite dishes, P.O.W. bumper stickers and long distance radio antennae which leads me to believe that the inhabitants seem to be government fearing folk.

My weekend would entail painting the helicopter black and circling their tiny mobile homes for hours on end, spurring there conspiracy theories until finally the helicopter runs low on fuel (or I get bored). I then repel down on a line dressed in a full secret-service-style business suit including ear bud and dark shades and hand them all gift cards to The Cracker Barrel.

Then I would fly off into the night, cackling menacingly to my friend who would only shake his head in disbelief.