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The Mastermind of the Daring Pedal Pub Squirt Gun Raid Finally Speaks

"I have learned most of all that I, Sam Spadino, am an asshole, and you're the police."

"I have learned most of all that I, Sam Spadino, am an asshole, and you're the police."

An open letter to the off-duty officers of the Burnsville police force:

My name is Samuel Spadino, and I am an asshole with a lot of bad ideas.

I'd like to take responsibility for one of those ideas that resulted in the arrests of five friends and one innocent bystander. At 6 p.m. on May 23, with water guns and balloons, I decided to start a rain of pleasure on the Puddle Pub, a preemptive strike that some have regrettably referred to as operation Soak and Aww.

See also: Burnsville Cops on Pedal Pub Beat Down Bikers with Water Guns [VIDEO]

I alone supplied the cheap, plastic weapons of splash destruction to the troublemakers who would later take the plunge for my alleged crimes. What began as a trickle of the imagination rapidly became a flood of pour judgment.

It was immature. It was rude. It was a damn good time. And we would've gotten away with it if it hadn't been for you pedaling cops.

A chastened Sam Spadino reflects on his moment of hydro-terrorism

A chastened Sam Spadino reflects on his moment of hydro-terrorism

From the lazy river of an idle mind with deluge-ons of grandeur, to sheer water boredom, never in my wettest dreams did I consider that our little stunt would become the squirt heard round the world. Not once in my cocky, jackass brain did I think that anyone would end up injured and in jail.

Had I only stooped to think with the cretinous, irritable mind of an off-duty Burnsville cop, I would have known that even the fountains of life could spark the embers of rage. What was supposed to be your leisurely afternoon of killing brain cells became the waking nightmare of moistened skin cells.

I too enjoy riding around on bikes with open alcohol containers, just as you were, but I don't because it's illegal in every case but one. Yet for us to so thoughtlessly ruin your day drinking with our hydro-terrorism is inexcusable.

I was uninformed of the peni-water shortage in Burnsville. No wonder with your tiny supply did any hard shaft of liquid come as an affront to your conservative reservations.

To the wives of the brave men in cargo shorts, I know you have been safe and dry at home for years. For us to so effortlessly and publicly get you wet must have been a source of great shame to your household.

To your families, who no doubt had to pick up the pieces of your sopped clothing and wring out your dampened spirits, I offer a towel of regret.

Thank you for your restraint. Your threats of broken arms weren't carried out, despite the fact that it only takes one finger to pull a trigger, and your instinct to use deadly force was quelled.

Luckily, most of my friends are white bread-loving good ol' boys. But looking black, had the situation been different, would you have handled things so appropriately when you sprang into action like a cat from a bathtub?

No wonder that after years of dealing with the psychotic miscreants of your suburban hellhole would you instantly assume that the mystery liquid might be gasoline, bleach, or human bodily fluids. But when urine the line of duty you mist often encounter the kind of lunatics who would turn a child's plaything into a wee-wee sprinkler.

Despite the fact you knew this was not assault water, but fresh, let us never forwet that you are the real victims here. A broken bone will heal in a moment, but the memory of a wet t-shirt will last forever.

I do feel a sense of survivor's guilt, for had I not gone to the job you so wisely suggested I get, a mere five minutes prior, I also would have gotten the all-American ass whooping I must sorely need. I would have likely been fired, left with medical bills, felony charges, and a broken squirt gun.

It goes without spraying that you could never face the same firing squad. You have a badge to hide behind, and all I have is a Facebook page and the shield of laughter.

How dare I try to extinguish the fires of Burnsville in the city of lakes? How dare I sow the seeds of chaos with the waters of mischief? You may douse my sincerity, but please know I've learned that when you sploosh you lose, to never rinse and repeat. I have also learned most of all that I, Sam Spadino, am an asshole, and you're the police.

But you can't spell police without ice, and you can't have ice without...

In all seriousness, I feel awful, I really hate puns, but I had a super soaker to my head while writing this.

If you have something important to say on this or any other topic, send it to City Pages.