I spent many summer nights as a teenager throwing water balloons at cars. It's not a terribly responsible or considerate thing to do, but it was either that or dry ice bombs, which never really seemed to work and almost always resulted in an intense, never-ending round of "It's not blowing up. Go screw the lid on tighter." "YOU go screw it on tighter." "No, YOU go screw it on tighter." I remember one particular night in which a car hadn't passed by for the better part of an hour. Just as we had decided to call it quits and go watch "The Arsenio Hall Show," headlights painted the mailbox up the street from our hiding place. I waited for a few seconds and then jumped up and whipped a pear-shaped water balloon at the passing car. It probably took about a second for the balloon to travel end-over-end from my hand to the side of the car, and this second was ten times longer than the amount of time I needed to realize that the car was a police car, to recognize that throwing a water balloon at it had been a mistake, and to wish I could extend my arm and take it back. READ MORE