Haha, I have the other side of that story.

I grew up in Massachusetts. I was 6, my brother was 10, and we'd throw snowballs at cars. That wasn't good enough, so we started packing them until they were iceballs (much louder 'thump' on the cars). Most cars slowed down a bit but kept going.

One night, my brother and I really unloaded on one car, two direct hits. The car skidded to a stop, so my brother and I ran and ran. We thought we'd gotten away when some dude comes running around the other corner of the house. He was *pissed*. He grabs my brother and I by our jacket collars, and (at the same time) smashes our faces into the snow three or four times each - total Hulk move. He yells something at us, then stomps off back to his car.

This wasn't powder snow either, it was a day or two old so it had the thin icy crust at the top. It *hurt*. My brother and I cried all the way home, and we never threw snowballs at cars again.

That punk knew what he was doing was wrong, and got a thrill out of it. Knowing he may face repurcussions may have been cured of his orange-throwing ways.