Bombardment- Birthday Style

There they are: sunbathing, exposing their burly thighs, for all the world to see; while the rest of us are soaking, our hair dripping with tap water. The water balloon feels like jelly in my hands, wobbling constantly, the water sloshing about inside its plastic case. A wave of adrenaline consumes me and my excitement increases with every step I take. I think of the two bitches who felt that coming to a friend's birthday party involved ignoring the birthday girl and every other member of the party, as they made their way to a secluded part of the garden, far from the hubbub of activity in the bouncy castle. Suddy stands beside me, her hands clutching her almost-overflowing water balloon. Red spells danger, it also spells warning. The birthday girl is leaning over the top of the bouncy castle closest to the sunbathers, her camera at the ready. I take a step closer. A few more steps and the sunbathers will be tanning no more (they might sizzle, like a saucepan with water).
Suddy murmurs some encouragement and I prepare.
I can hear their voices, getting louder and louder, with every step I take. My audience is waiting, it's time for the performance of a lifetime.
"Charge!" I scream.
We throw our water balloons with mighty vengeance, the element of surprise, is our perfect mode of attack. Our victims aren't drenched nor are they wet, but they are smoking, smoking with anger: I can see the fumes pouring out of their ears. They trill their oaths, swearing revenge but they know as we all do. I won.