I pray to God that one day before I die, I will get within spitting distance of the bastard boy.
Being a smoker, I can gather a full hock on command.
My aim is incredible. Www...thooo! A loogie flies in a slow spiral, hitting X-42 on the forehead.
The force of the discharge staggers the born bastard and he drops to his knees.
Crying for his mommy, Clinton grovels on the sidewalk, biting his upper lip.
As I relieve my bladder upon his $1000.00 suit, I tell him to put some ice on it... it'll keep the stink down.