That's bad ass.

When I was a kid - in the early 80s - some drunks were smashing shantys with their truck in the middle of the night and they killed a guy sleeping in one.

What I did a couple times - admittedly completely asshole move and deserved for the fisherman to beat the shit outta me - was borrow my brother's Big Red Three-Wheeler (yeah, I'm that old) and ride down a line of tip-ups snapping them like twigs while doors busted open on shantys and some angry ass Vermonter would come flying out howling at me. I know it's bad but I'm laughing right now at it because that memory is so damn vivid. Good times.

Of course, as an adult, I got my jeep stolen in DC, so, y'know...karma.