When I lived near Notre Dame (yeah, THAT one) people would park in front of my house and sometimes leave empty beers cans and worse on the lawn the day of football games.

I always wanted (but was not permitted by my wife!) to sit in a rocker on the front porch dressed in bib overalls, no shirt, ratty old hat, very distressed work boots on my feet, (unloaded) double barrel shotgun over my lap, corncob pipe in my mouth, a stoneware jug by my side, and just glare at the passers-by.

(I actually had to talk my neighbor out of shooting down the sign-trailing light plane that awakened him at 6:30 one game-day morning. He was going to use my Model 1917 .30-06 rifle and, having been in the anti-aircraft forces during WW2 he probably could have done it. I finally told him I didn't have any bullets.)