The Great Cootie War

DISCLAIMER: The names of the people in this story have been removed to protect the very guilty.
Yes, I remember the great cootie war.  Who doesn't?  It was the solace of my life, the entire meaning thereof, until I turned 13.  Then I had a horrible realization that, maybe, just maybe, cooties DON'T ACTUALLY EXIST.  Imagine that!  But before that is where the real story lies.
You see, I was an intense captain of the girl's team in the Cootie War.  Our family went to a Church almost totally consumed by the male species, and I was one of the few girls there, so I figured that it was my job to exterminate the congregation.  I had two other ladies with me, one of which was the "Let's kill 'em, who cares if we get in trouble" type, and one was of the "No, no, we might get spanked" type.  I was in between, though I more often tended to be of the troublemaker type. 
We would wait and wait for Church to end each Sunday so that we could run outside.  The infested race always beat us to the playground, so the whole setup (swings, slides, ladders, fort, etc.) belonged to them.  We got the corner by the gate.  They would stand in the fort and mock us cruelly,  while we would stand on the ground and mock them cruelly.  It was quite funny to watch. 
One of the worst (but of course the most fun) endeavors we attempted was when the worst troublemaker of our group happened to find a ladder, a bucket, and water.  Recipe for disaster.  It went something like this:
1. Coax a boy to stand underneath the rain gutter.
2. Stand ladder against wall while distracting male specimen.
3. Fill bucket with water and ice.
4. Keep boy distracted.
5. Crawl up ladder.
6. Dump water down gutter on boy's head.
7. Run.
8. Get spanked and go home.
9. Revel in mission accomplished and sore bottoms.
Do you see now how amazing my life was from age 3-12?  I was terrible, and it's probably best that I was homeschooled.