A few days ago I had the abrupt urge to smack some quarter-sized pellets of pain against tender human skin. Two of my pals and I went over the the local Paintball Paradise and suited up with our gear, pumped up and ready to pimp someone with our bad-ass boomsticks.

We started out with some standard capture-the-flag. The objective is to run from your base, capture the other team's flag, and return with it to your base to win. Easier then it sounds, because on the way to the enemy base you have to avoid being shot, and those paintballs hurt like a bitch (though you shouldn't ever admit that to anyone you know or you look like a pussy). You can also win by wiping out the opposing force.

My team consisted of myself, my two friends Turin and Jetter (false names have been provided to protect the inncoent) and seven kids between the ages of 8 and 12. Our enemies numbered at 10, and were all around 12 years old. With my group of manly ass stompers, victory seemed within our grasp. We were Team Blue, they were Team Red.

We took it upon ourselves to lead our troops to victory, and established a command structure with myself as captain, and my friends as an Lt. and Sergeant. When the round began, we would co-ordiante a three-pronged pincer attack with sniper support....then the round began and the kids ran forward screaming at the top of their lungs and firing madly. I looked at my partners and they shrugged.

Aw hell, let's just charge the bastards with guns blazing.

That first round was quickly over. The kids shot the hell out of each other, and only one enemy was left over for me to shoot down, which was an easy shot because he was stumbling around with paint covering his legs and arms (which don't count as killshots, but still hurt like hell). Being the bastard that I am, I put a shot right into the kid's chest even though he had dropped his rifle, and we won the round. Hey, all's fair, right?

As the second round began, our troops were less eager to rush the other base again, so they instaid stayed back and huddled around the flag to protect it (and themselves). Pussies. Us three split up around the perimeter of our base, with Jetter on the left, myself on the right, and Turin in the middle. The Blue Team showed us the folly of our manly ways by russing our ass as we were getting into position. I spotted Turin being hit by about 20 balls of pure pain in a space of about 2.5 seconds. This is all true, and Turin is still hurting from the welts he has all over his body. He howeled in pain and fell facefirst into the dirt. One of the kids pumped another paintball into my friend with a grin on his face.

That was enough. Nobody messes with my friends like that. You want some, you little sumbitches?

I dropped into the prone position and fired once, twice, thrice. Three Blues dropped before the other seven even knew what was happening. I fired my fourth shot, then my fifth. Two more of those litle buggers fell before the rest could scramble under cover of a nearby rock. As I got up to give chase, I heard a volley of shots and howling from the Blues. Jetter had left his defensive position and flanked them so they were caught in a crossfire. Only two managed to get out of cover and run towards their base, chased by our fire. One tried to play John Woo and spun around firing at me one handed, but I dropped him with a pair of shots to the chest.

Unfortunately, the other one got inside his base. I shook my head. This was going to be tougher. There's lots of cover inside the base where a good sniper can pick of enemies for hours without being spotted. We both hoped this kid wasn't a professional. We advanced slowly and passes the main doors...... ......and I was hammered with paintball fire in the chest. Damn! As I fell over to confirm my "Dead" status, Jetter started hosing the place with his rifle, screaming at the top of his lungs about someone's mother or someting. I couldn't really pay attention because my chest was huring real bad, but I did catch a glimpse of Jetter being shot too. He didn't fall over, but just threw his rifle at the wall in disgust.

The hidden sniper stepped out of his cover and laughed at us. And laughed. I saw his face and recognized him as that little bitch who had shot Turin when he was already down. I looked at Jetter, and he nodded. We then proceeded to hose the bastard with our rifles before the game master interfered and kicked us out of the game. The kid was left in a heap. Cruel? Perhaps. Justified?

You're damn right it was.

We gathered Turin and left the battlefield, not even bothering to check up on our former teamates cowering in our Red base. They eventually ran forward to see what happened, but we lost that round through disqualification. Oops.

After a celebratory round of drinks at the bar, we left the place with newfound pain and a strange sense of satisfaction. Except for Turin of course. He never even shot one of the little bastards.

I hope you had at least a mildly entertaining read and were not bored/offended with my writing style/overuse of profanity to get my point across. Thanks for reading my BR, and if this is Drefsab or any other rater, hey, I love you guys, your the best, kiss kiss smooch kiss, ect.