»In which I pick a fight with a five-year-old

At a café this afternoon (free wireless, my arse. That's the last time I get a crappy 32-oz Turbo Coffee) I was sitting quietly minding my own bizness when a warm, wet something thwacked most unpleasantly against the back of my neck. I turned to see two five-year-olds laughing hysterically at the moist banana peel that formed a collar at my nape. Worse, I saw their parents-or-guardians holding their collective sides and laughing. I maturely resisted the impulse to upturn the remnants of the massive iced coffee onto the stupidly laughing father, and instead turned th' other cheek. Mis-guided, for I imagine that some day these children will be seated before the big red button that leads to disaster, and will moronically push it.
I cannot believe I walked away, but, really, what's the point of having an argument or a fight? Stupid parents beget stupider children, unto the seventh generation.