WX: Bullet Dodged.

Kyle, you slimy blowhard. Drew a direct bead on me this morning, didn't you?

I zigged, I zagged, I cooled your jets.

Now you're withering, like the limp-dicked NASCAR driver of the same name.

So long, Kyle.

You're all bluster and pissing and moaning but when it comes down to hard realities, you AREN'T the real deal.

Just a crybaby, weeping your foot of condensate on my sopping life.

So long. Glad I missed the opportunity to meet you in person. So pleased you wimped out.

Thank goodness ... 'cause the creek, she did rise.