So the other day I'm enjoying one of our San Diego summer days up here in the SE Alaskan islands, and I'm main street (except it's not called "main street", its name changes five times as it goes, like someone fleeing a credit fraud charge).
And I'm going along, looking up at the bluff of pine trees where the eagles roost (plotting, glowering). I see a kid coming on a bike, so I make way for him on the narrow sidewalk.
He sees me, and as he passes, he conspicuously does the third-and-ring-fingers-together splayed-hand "W" sign. WESTSIIIIDE!
To quote an old robot saying:
does not compute
Why is life eternally 1992 as retold by The Onion?