Direct hit...

On the way home from work today, I noticed two kids on a bridge overlooking 35 somewhere just south of downtown. As I passed under them, one of the little turds spit a bunch of his Arizona green tea on the hood and windshield of the car. He nailed me so perfectly, I couldn't even be angry. Until we meet again, young hoodlum. For we shall meet again, in this life or the next, and when we do, I'll shake your hand in honor of your accuracy, yet criticize you for having picked the one guy who won't get stirred up about it. That's me, one, butthead, nil.