Packing Heat and Painting Keisters: The Paintballer’s Guide to Vengeance
April 10, 2008
Picture your “favorite” politician in his bulging green Under Armour, protecting his house. Or a boss that just doesn’t seem to listen, let alone care. Picture the ignorant speedster who just cut you off on I-95 south, cell phone permanently affixed to their ear. Picture for just a moment, anyone who has wronged you or plucks your nerves.
Now picture yourself in an open field, you’ve got an automatic weapon in your hand, loaded, target at the ready. Focus. Steady. Aim. Fire. Splat…a rainbow of bright color bursts upon impact. Got em! Finally, ah-yes, picture that person’s keister, painted in neon. Damn, that feels good.
That’s why I play paintball. I’m not a gun-lover or a member of the NRA. In fact, when I was 8 or 9 years old my brother Jimmy accidentally shot me in the eye at close range with his BB gun. He got the belt and I got a Dairy Queen buster-bar. I don’t like guns. They scare me. What I do like is paint-ball. And I own a paintball gun. It’s done wonders for the gamer in me, as well as that part of my soul that exacts such cold and calculated revenge. Continue reading Packing Heat and Painting Keisters: The Paintballer’s Guide to Vengeance
