I was just drenched by an exploding bottle of slivovitz. I guess the poltergeist was hungry.*
Wait, let me explain. You see, I bought a bottle of plum brandy today, and it just showered me with hundred-proof, eight-year aged alcohol.
Inspection reveals that the bottle was flawed, the glass very thin on one side. The fact remains that it burst--inside its box and inside the bag--just as I was opening the door to my apartment.
Claude! It was for you!
*(N.B. for those joining us already in progress. I appear to have a poltergeist. He breaks things sometimes. But mostly behaves if I keep him drunk. I call him Claude.)