When Mr. Smith Spit

Spini, Spidi, Spici...He came, he saw, he spat.

With his favorite tobacco swirling amidst the amylase in his gob, growing ever thicker and heavier until it reached perfect proportions to make the in-air journey from Vietnam vet's mouth to the face of Barbarella, Mr. Smith had made a statement with sputum.

Head tilted back at a 45 degree angle and adjusting for wind, Mr. Smith took in a breath and launched a juicy missive hitting his target and striking a soggy blow for vets all over. In an act reminiscant of soldiers who were spat on upon returning from Vietnam, it's high time Cat Ballou got declawed, if only for a moment.

So goody on you Mr. Smith, may you go to Washington as your namesake did in 1932 and unleash the power of the patooey and shine a salivatious light onto those who have wronged others.

May you never get dry mouth Mr. Smith.


When Mr. Smith Spit