When I was about 10, I used to go to the dump to shoot rats with a .22 rifle.
We used to do that to. Once, somebody left a real nice '67 Impala just sitting there. It was unmolested for about a week, but within a couple weeks it was one big bullet hole. One night, one of my hoodlum friends propped a molotov cocktail up on the seat back and shot it from a safe distance. I quickly got the hell out of there. It was spectacular.
All paths are the same: they lead nowhere. Choose the one that has heart.