Fragmented Friday - "And Leon's Getting Laaaaaaaaaaaaaarger"

I know my posts have been pretty PigPen heavy recently, but there's a pretty good reason for that; he's about the only person I ever see or do anything with these days. Between the horrid weather, the end of school, work schedules, travel plans, and the like, most of The Singles are in constant motion and hard to pin down. Li'l Dill has been out of town for work quite a bit recently, and even though he's been in town all this week, I still haven't had a chance to hang out with him because he's too busy catching up on all the stuff that piled up while he was gone. And poor Squiggly: after months and months of having to miss out on stuff because she had to go to class, she's finally done with school for a month or so just in time for everyone else to be too busy or distracted to do anything. Think we're going to have to force quality time on the group next week for her sake, whether they like it or not.

This morning as I walked out to my car I initially thought that one of our neighbors' houses had caught on fire because it looked like our place was enveloped in smoke; after I realized it was just an unusually thick fog, which is when I got the inspiration for the blog post title. 15 Blog Monkey points to everyone who knows where that comes from.

I've found out that our church is going to change the way they do Sunday School soon; basically, they're going to mandate that all Sunday School classes align their lessons with whatever series our pastor is preaching on. While I can understand the desire for a united message throughout the church body, I can't help but worry about how this is going to alter the way I prepare my lessons. I don't want to just do canned lessons, nor do I want to have to scramble to find material which fits into the overall "theme" of each series. I prefer to go through a single book verse by verse, trying to put it all in the proper historical, cultural, and theological context, and I'm afraid that's going to soon be a thing of the past.

Cap'n Shack-Fu and PigPen may be The HyperTwins, but Li'l Dill and I are The Odd Squad . . . although, I suppose if we were really odd we'd spell it "squodd" . . . anyhow, if I were to try to keep track of all of the nicknames Li'l Dill assigns himself in our email exchanges, it would necessitate a blog in and of itself. Which could explain why I really don't have too many posts about Li'l Dill, even though he is One Of My Favorite People In The World^tm; it's just too danged hard to capture the essence of Li'l Dill in such a mundane setting as a blog. I definitely plan on trying, though.

Two weeks until my parents come down, and I still have no idea what I'm going to do to entertain them while they're here. About the only plans I have are (a) eating at Frillys; (b) eating at Texas Roadhouse; (c) making them (or mom, at least) watch Unconditional Love; and (d) going to see Pirates of the Caribbean 3. Beyond that, I foresee a lot of sitting around doing nothing.

Some random pics from our last paintball excursion:

All right, who gave Fluffy and Cap'n Cluck firearms?

Which of these things is not like the others, which of these things does not belong . . .

Come on, drive recklessly around me, I dare ya.

"I was framed, I tell you, framed! Curse you, Enoch!"

Apparently, Phase Three of the plan involves a bayonet . . .

Just about perfect timing on Shutterbug Shack-Fu's part; great pic.

The Legend of Shack-Fu: Cap'n Shack vs. the Speed Demon

Sunday afternoon was devoted to paintball, for the first time in months; I might write up a bit more about the experience later, but right now all that I have to say is that our playing grounds were hot, humid, overgrown, and mosquito-ridden; I was glad to be an observer and not in full camo gear because of the hot and humid part, but the long, thick sleeves might have been a relief on the mosquito-front. But while watching paintball was fun, the true excitement of the evening happened later, after our post-paintball dinner. PigPen and I were going to follow Cap'n Shack-Fu to his house so that PigPen could drool over the Shack-man's latest firearm purchases. We had barely pulled out of Jack in the Box and onto the always-congested Loop 288 when some speed demon zipped past us in the soon-ending right hand lane and swerved in front of Cap'n Shack-Fu's vehicle right before the two lanes became one; instants later, someone else pulled out in front of the speed demon; instead of slowing down, ol' speedy swerved recklessly into the oncoming traffic lane. Luckily, there was nobody there, but it was a close call. PigPen and I were both marveling at the speedster's chutzpah when I noticed Cap'n Shack-Fu speeding up. I mentioned this to PigPen and said "How much you want to be he's turned on his lights?"

You see, good ol' Cap'n Shack-Fu, as king of all things emergency management related, has his vehicle stocked with all sorts of tools of the trade; one of the more recent additions is a set of bright flashing lights on the dashboard; while the pattern of the flashing lights would tell anyone well-versed in such matters that Cap'n Shack was on an emergency management type of mission, to the rest of the world bright flashing lights behind you on the highway tend to say one thing: coppers.

Sure enough, the car which had pulled out in front of the speed demon pulled over to the shoulder long enough to let Cap'n Shack-Fu catch up to the speedster, who also pulled over. PigPen and I drove by just as Cap'n Shack-Fu, still fully decked out in his full camo gear, marched up to the reckless driver to tear him a new one; PigPen and I cracked up the rest of the drive to Cap'n Shack-Fu's place at the thought of the crazy driver who had no idea what he was getting himself in for when he pulled that sort of crap around our resident do-gooder.

After we all got back to his place , Super-Shack filled us in on the details of his brief encounter with the muscle-bound speedster; basically, Cap'n Shack-Fu immediately tore into him: "What do you think you're doing? Do you know how many accidents I've worked because of people driving like that? I have a radio in my vehicle, I could call you in and report you right now for pulling that kind of crap" etc., etc. The driver, of course, was freaked out and super-apologetic, even shaking Cap'n Shack-Fu's hand when the good Cap'n let him off with a "warning."

Now, for the record, Cap'n Shack-Fu never claimed to be any sort of law-enforcement official during the incident; no, he was just acting as a concerned citizen who, due to his work as a firefighter and disaster relief guy*, is all too familiar with how much damage a wreck at those speeds would have caused and could not, in good conscience, allow such potentially life-threatening behavior to go unchecked.

Did the incident have any lasting impact on the reckless driver? The cynic in me says "not really," although the optimist in me likes to think that, if nothing else, the fool will wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, haunted by the image of the Cap'n Shack-Fu, a.k.a. The Intimidator.

*Yeah, that's the technical term

The Non-Combatant Chronicles Epilogue: Shutterbug Shack-Fu

While waiting for the full contingent of players to arrive on Sunday, Shack-Fu decided to finish up the roll of film on his camera by having those of us already there pose for some pictures. He started off with a few shots of Tango and Victor moving through the woods


He decided to add Cookies, The Sniper, and me to the mix for some group shots. Even though I was a non-combatant this time around, Shack-Fu loaned me his gun for photographic purposes.

Me, Cookies, The Sniper, Tango, and Victor

Then the others showed up, and the camera went away until the end of the Eagle-One scenario, when Shack-Fu decided to get a few shots of him and me in Sherwood Forest.

Codename: Cap'n Sour-puss

Shack-Fu next to the flag-draped Filing Cabinet of Sherwood Forest

After the final game, Shack-Fu whipped out the camera again, first to capture Team Awesome leader Victor seething over his final kill shot

and then to capture him trying to huff CO2 to dull the agony of defeat.*

Meanwhile, fellow team member Awesome Mike tried to drown his sorrows in paintballs while Bravo stood by haplessly.



*No, he didn't really huff CO2

The Non-Combatant Chronicles Pt.3: The Waiting Game

The third and final scenario from last Sunday's paintball excursion was a straight-forward elimination game pitting the team of Shack-Fu, Cookies, Tango, and The Sniper against the self-dubbed Team Awesome, comprised of Bravo, Victor, and The Metal Siding Kicker, who winds up with the horribly uninspired nickname of Mike in call-sign speak -- you know what, that's just way too plain a nick for the Metal Siding Kicker, so I shall combine his team name and call-sign name, so that he is now Awesome Mike. To start the game, Team Awesome headed out to their assigned starting point, and once they were set, I, in my newly acquired role as ref, radioed them that the game was on, and then tagged along as Team Fantastic* headed in after them.

I have to say, I enjoyed playing ref, but there's a trick to it I haven't quite mastered, namely being near where the action is without giving away team positions.** I trailed Team Fantastic for a while, trying to stay out of their way, and then wandered around near Team Awesome's home base in hopes of figuring out where they had hidden themselves, but I had no luck. After a bit, Team Fantastic forded the stream by Team Awesome's base, figuring that's where their opponents had set up. Turns out it was a good guess, as Team Awesome opened fire on them pretty quickly.

I held back from crossing the stream for a bit, partially because I didn't want to get in the line of fire (since I was finally able to scope out where one of Team Awesome's shooters was, and crossing at the usual point would have put me right between him and The Sniper), and partially because my feet had just started to dry out from the last time I tried to cross the stream and I didn’t relish giving them another soaking. I spent a couple of minutes walking up and down the bank, keeping an eye on the action while looking for an easier place to cross, but it was for naught. Eventually, Team Fantastic shifted their position, opening up a chance for me to cross the stream without fear of getting hit by friendly fire; unfortunately, my attempt to hop over the stream was even less successful than the first time, as my foot slid in the mud when I braced myself to make the leap, dumping my old, ratty shoes directly in the water, leading to a very uncomfortable and squishy time.

The two teams reached a bit of an impasse, with neither side able to score a hit on the other and neither one being willing to be the first to break cover, so the action died down. Tango's tank had run out of CO2 during the initial exchange, so he decided to make a run for it back to the vehicles to reload, sprinting through the stream and narrowly avoiding Team Awesome's fire. We then settled in for a round of The Waiting Game as neither team felt inclined to make an overly aggressive move. Tango made it back to his team in one piece, informing them that he thought he’d seen motion in Sherwood Forest, so after a little more waiting, they decided it was time to get back into the game. The Sniper had discovered another point at which to cross the stream, so they set off on a course for Sherwood Forest and (they hoped) Team Awesome.

But before they plunged headlong into the woods, Shack-Fu started using his radio to taunt Team Awesome leader Victor, daring him to come after Team Fantastic; Victor, in turn, double_dog dared Shack-Fu to come after Team Awesome instead.*** Shack-Fu made many, many beeping noises with the radio before contacting Victor again to say "Come on, we've made more than enough noise, you've got to know where we are, come and get us!"

Apparently, Victor did, in fact, graduate from elementary school at some point, and thus was able to resist Shack-Fu's insidious psychological warfare tactics; unfortunately, this meant more of The Waiting Game as Team Fantastic crept through the woods.

It was at this point that my rookie ref status was evident, as I was torn on how to proceed; I knew that following them through the woods would more than likely give them away, but we were in a section of the woods that I was unfamiliar with, and I really didn't want to head down one of the paths around me -- not out of fear of getting lost, since pretty much every path winds up connecting with the main one, but out of worry that I would be separated from the action when (or if) it started up again. After a few minutes of inner debate, I finally decided that since Shack-Fu had been so gung-ho about letting Team Awesome know where they were, I may as well follow them -- a decision that almost got me lit up when I tramped up on the alert Team Fantastic members. Shack-Fu requested that I head on ahead into Sherwood Forest so that I wouldn't compromise their position any more than I already had, and I happily complied.

Happily, that is, until more time passed without any sign of action whatsoever, and we moved into over-time of The Waiting Game.

Remember how I said in my last post that I did better with waiting when I wasn't in fear for my life? Well, apparently that flies out the window when my legs hurt, my shoes and socks are drenched, and the sun is going down. How exactly did ol’ Cap'n Squishy-Shoes feel about having to ref The Waiting Game? Wrote a little song about it, like to hear it? Here it goes:

I know all there is to know about The Waiting Game
I've had my fill of The Waiting Game
First your shot misses
So then no one dies
And then before
You shoot anymore
The other team hides

Yeah, I know, it ends on a slant rhyme, not my best work. I suppose I should have just turned to the wit and wisdom of one of the great sages of our time.

I mean, what else needs to be said?

But before the incessant lack of activity made me snap****, Shack-Fu anticipated my impending mental collapse, and suggested that I change the scenario up. So I got out my radio and informed Team Awesome that due to a depressing lack of action, we were now moving to a Capture the Flag scenario.

I'm not sure how fair the switch up was to Team Awesome, since Team Fantastic was already set up with a line of sight on the flag, which was draped over The Filing Cabinet of Sherwood Forest when the call went out, but at that point all I cared about was seeing some killin'. I could see Team Awesome heading our way through the brush, and Team Fantastic soon sprung into action. After shots were exchanged for a minute or two, I finally heard those wonderful words I'd been waiting to hear all game: "Paint check!"

Upon hearing those magical words, it was my time to spring into action, shouting for a cease-fire and holding of positions until I could determine if the player was really out. Upon inspection, I determined that Awesome Mike, who had been point man for his team, was indeed out. As he marched off of the battleground he called out "Hey, Victor - - I found them for you." After Awesome Mike was out of harm's way, I called for the game to resume, and then got to call a halt a couple more times to let eliminated players exit the arena before one team finally emerged victorious.

I guess on that day it was better to be Fantastic than Awesome.

*Hey, I had to come up with something comparable to Awesome, and there were four of them . . . *****
**It all goes back to that whole "not very sneaky" thing
***Personally, I was moments away from triple-dog daring them all to "just freaking do something already!" but I managed to hold my tongue for once.
****Many of you, having just read my weak Weird Al impression, are probably thinking "Don't you mean 'Snap more'?"
*****You know as soon as I made the Fantastic Four connection, I tried to fit each of them into one of the roles – come on, Shack-Fu, say “It’s Clobberin’ Time!”

The Non-Combatant Chronicles Pt.2: Eagle-One Has Landed

The second paintball scenario last Sunday had the same general idea as the first, with me once again being the prize both teams were after. The details were quite different, however. First, this time instead of a general I was supposed to be a downed pilot (codename: Eagle-One), concealed near where my "parachute" was draped over the ever-trusty Filing Cabinet of Sherwood Forest. Second, this time I actually got a radio, and was supposed to use it to coordinate with my retrieval team (codename: Rescue-One), guiding them to my hiding place before being found by the other team (codename: Those Other Guys). Unfortunately, I've never scored highly on sneakiness or stealth, so Those Other Guys located my poorly hidden self before I even had a chance to get off the preliminary message I had composed in my head while waiting for Shack-Fu to get things rolling, which was jam-packed full with role-playing goodness.

A pity, I know.

Unlike the first scenario, this time I knew immediately that I had been taken by the bad guys, composed of Bravo, Cookies, and Tango. We headed down the back way to the home base, where we ran into referee Shack-Fu, who expressed his surprise that I had been found already. I explained my general lack of sneakiness, although I posited that the brightly colored "Please Don't Shoot Me!" vest I was wearing probably didn't help the staying-out-of-sight cause much.

We crept slowly down the back path, holding our position for quite some time as my captors anticipated a frontal assault; I’ve discovered that I don’t mind the sitting around waiting aspect as much when I’m not in fear for my life. It was at this point that I could hear Shack-Fu, in his role as Official Pot Stirrer (codename: Sigma Six) radioing Rescue-One and suggesting that they try to contact me, since (a) I was placed at the back of Those Other Guys; (b) wasn't being closely guarded; and (c) still had possession of my radio. Thus began my favorite part of the whole game -- me trying to surreptitiously pass info on our movements to Rescue-One without being called out on it by Those Other Guys. It was a bit difficult, since as soon as Rescue-One tried to contact me, Bravo decided to double back and make sure we weren't being stalked from the rear, meaning I had to keep quiet until he headed back up to the front with Tango.

I will confess to some curiosity regarding how Those Other Guys would react if they caught me on the radio: Ask me politely to stop? Threaten to shoot me if I tried any more funny stuff?* Confiscate my radio? Try to use me to set a trap? Totally ignore the whole thing? Well, I suppose unless their solution was the last one, it’s a moot point.

Not too long after I was finally able to relay our position to Rescue-One, Tango and Bravo decided to lead us back the way we came – coincidence? They kept me at the back of the pack again as we moved through the brush parallel to the path through Sherwood Forest. They soon encountered Rescue One and engaged them in battle - - or, at least, Bravo and Tango engaged them, while poor Cookies struggled to extricate herself from the vegetation which had tangled itself in her hair, crying out "I'm stuck, I'm stuck!" over and over while the rest of her team fought for their lives.

It was right around this time that Sigma Shack, after declining to assist Cookies under the pretext that he had to stay neutral as a ref, began to stir the pot yet again, coaching Rescue-One to coach me into slowly backing away from my captors (who were too preoccupied with their own troubles to pay me much attention) so that Rescue-One could send one of their number around the back way to snatch me away. Being a good little role player, I waited until Rescue-One relayed Shack-Fu’s suggestion to me before I started backing away from the distracted ranks of Those Other Guys. But before I could be liberated, Tango was eliminated, and Bravo sounded the retreat, racing past while urging Cookies and me to follow quickly. Disappointed that the "sneak me out from under their noses" maneuver wasn't completed, I turned and walked towards where Bravo was refilling his gun's hopper, which is when I noticed an unfamiliar figure crouched in the path behind him.

Now, keep in mind, once again I had not been witness to the division of forces before the scenario started, and I knew that at least one player was going to show up late, so I figured that this was him, and that he had been assigned to Those Other Guys.

Well, I was half-right.

While I was puzzling over the new arrival, Cookies was retreating to our position, and also saw the mystery player. However, since Bravo was instructing her to face the other way and back towards us so she could keep an eye out for the other team, she assumed that the figure was on her side, turned around, and started backing towards us until she finally reached the point where the mystery player decided he had a clear shot at her and opened fire. Bravo and Cookies spun and returned fire; I bolted for cover. Bravo and the mystery man** were both killed, leaving Cookies as the sole member of Those Other Guys; clued into this by Sigma Shack, Rescue-One advanced and took her out of the equation, so that once again the forces of truth, justice, and the American way triumphed over the forces of Those Other Guys.

Although I enjoyed this scenario a lot, by that point I was a bit hostaged out, and Shack-Fu’s trigger finger was getting itchy, so I took over as ref for our final scenario of the day, of which I will say this for now: it had its moments.***

*I know that would have been PigPen's solution; heck, he would have been threatening to shoot me regardless.
**Revealed afterwards to be the infamous Metal Siding Kicker from my very first turn as a hostage
***I expect PigPen to laugh at this last line, and everyone else to scratch their heads; the joys of inside jokes.

The Non-Combatant Chronicles Pt.1: Just Call Me "General Confusion"

This past Sunday was earmarked for yet another paintball excursion. Unfortunately, PigPen had to opt out since he had come down with something, and since he wasn't playing, I figured I wouldn't either -- after all, without the possibility of being able to shoot him repeatedly in the head*, where's the appeal?

Actually, my decision not to play had less to do with PigPen's absence, and more to do with the fact that I had screwed up my legs so much from the Muddy March of Doom and constant racquetball play in worn out shoes that I blanched at the thought of walking up and down stairs, let alone running for my life through the underbrush from the vicious likes of killer Cookies and psycho Shack-Fu. But, while I didn't feel up to full-scale involvement, I also didn't want to miss out completely, so I suited up and tagged along as a non-combatant again; however, since I was a veteran of a few campaigns, Shack-Fu put me to work almost immediately this time around.

The first scenario was similar to my first ill-fated game, only this time I was the one playing a stranded officer in need of a rescue instead of The Sarge. Also, this time both three-person teams were in a race to take possession of me and return me to their home base, with one team being my would-be rescuers, and the other being my would-be captors. Of course, since the team assignments were made after Shack-Fu had sequestered me, I had no idea who was on which team, let alone what their allegiances were. Shack-Fu had planned on giving me a radio so I could keep in contact with the Good Guys, but after he gave the go signal the two teams took off so quickly that by the time he got to me, I had already been taken into custody by The Sniper and the lazily-nicknamed** Bravo; where their third member was, and whether they were good or bad***, I hadn’t a clue.

Bravo tried to take me up the side of a hill rather than taking the main path, but we were stymied by a barbed wire fence at the crest of the hill; we headed back down, while I managed to get tangled in more brambles than I thought humanly possible. The Sniper took point as we headed towards the path; when he encountered fire, Bravo decided to head back up the hillside after all, following the fence line until we got to the path. Or at least, that was the plan, until our progress was halted by the appearance of a truck tooling around on the premises on the opposite side of the fence. Shack-Fu slipped into Official Mode and went to tell them they had to get off the land, while Bravo and I held our position and waited for game play to resume . . . except, play had never officially stopped, as Bravo learned when a voice cried from behind us "Surrender, Bravo!"

It was Tango, who had crept up on us all unawares while we were distracted by Shack-Fu trying to direct the joy-riders off of the land. After Bravo surrendered, Tango called out "General, follow me quickly," which was when I realized two things: (1) Shack-Fu had apparently decided to make me a general between the time he hid me and the time he briefed the teams and (2) up until that point I'd been in the possession of the bad guys. So, now that I had been "rescued,' I made my way back down the hill, managing to get caught and tangled on even more brambles than before.

What can I say -- it's a gift.

Tango and I made it to the edge of the path, which is when referee Shack-Fu confirmed that there was only one player left on each team: Tango and Cookies. Shack-Fu decided to allow all of the deceased players to spawn back in in order to spice things up, since nobody had made it very far past the extraction point with me. Soon, I was being led through the brush parallel to the main path by Tango and newly resurrected Victor. We ran into an ambush right before our attempt to ford the stream cutting across our path, so Victor ordered a strategic withdrawal. **** We then cut back into the woods to approach Sherwood Forest from a more circuitous route.

Victor led us to a grouping of felled trees lying amidst a bog of decomposing leaves, limbs, and other detritus. Victor, mindful of my shaky legs, asked if I thought I could traverse the logs, which were to serve as our bridge over the stream; I, foolishly, said "Sure." I then stepped onto what looked like a fairly solid mass of material, but really, really wasn't -- I felt like I had stumbled into one of those mythical swamps from Princess Bride or Krull, and had a brief vision of myself being sucked down into the Bog of Eternal Stench. Victor scrambled onto one of the dead trees and zipped across with no problem; I clambered onto it, and watched it crumble beneath me; apparently, the tree hadn't been cleared for my excessive weight load.***** Once I was able to make it onto a sturdier section of the tree, I did fine -- until I had to maneuver onto a different tree trunk, at which point my feet slipped and I banged the heck out of my shins.

It was around this time I began to wonder why I had thought playing a non-combatant role was a good idea.

We were able to make it past the bog with no further mishaps on my part, and continued our trek to the home base. We soon ran into the enemy forces again; I was placed behind some cover at the back of the unit while the skirmish took place, so I’m afraid I can't provide any details about the engagement outside of the fact that the Good Guys won in the end, and General Confusion was delivered safely home.

We then moved on to our second scenario, which was less strenuous for me, but much screwier -- and thus much more fun.

*Yes, PigPen, I know that I haven’t even come close to shooting you yet, but hope springs eternal.
**To the paintball crew: I am notoriously bad at coming up with nicknames for folks, so if you want to be referred to as something other than a basic call sign, either come up with one yourself, or at least do something horribly embarrassing I can build on.
***If PigPen had been with them, I would have known instantly that they were Eeeeeeeeevil.
****My attempt to cross the stream earlier had resulted in soggy shoes and socks; Tango’s attempt to cross the stream during our retreat resulted in soggy pants as he discovered that the water was much deeper than it appeared at first glance.
*****We’ll try not to think about the fact that Victor was loaded down with gun, tank, and extra ammo and made it across fine, while I only had my dainty self to blame.

Cookies' Revenge and the March of Muddy Doom

Earlier this week, while most right-thinking individuals were spending their time huddled in their nice warm homes and offices, I allowed myself to be talked into venturing out into the below-freezing weather to subject myself once again to the torture that is paintball.* I considered trying to weasel my way out of it, but once Ms. "I Should Be Making Cookies" herself committed to going, there was no way I could back out, so I put on multiple layers of clothes underneath my cammo, and headed out with PigPen to the paintball fields.

When we got there, Shack-Fu began parceling out equipment to those of us in need, as well as trying to deal with the minor technical difficulties which were cropping up with the newly acquired equipment of both PigPen and Cookies. After finally getting Cookie's gun slowed down so that its shots wouldn't cut through flesh like a hot knife through butter, Shack-Fu started to get his own gear out -- which is when he realized he had left behind something kind of important: the ammo. He had enough to fill up my gun's hopper, but that was about it, so he set us up on our first scenario and left us to operate unsupervised while he made a paintball run.

The first scenario was basically a hide-and-seek-and-destroy mission; The Ghost and I were sent off to secrete ourselves somewhere in Sherwood Forest, and after we gave the go signal, PigPen, Cookies, and their teammate (who, in keeping with my previous lazy paintball nickname assignments shall be known as Victor) were to hunt us down like dogs. The plus side to this mission was that The Ghost did a really good job of outlining his strategy to me, so that, for once, I actually felt like I knew what I was doing.** The down side was that in order for the strategy to work I had to crouch down, be still, be quiet, and hope to catch the other team unawares -- which would have been fine, except for that whole "be still and be quiet" provision; neither of those are really my thing, y'know? And while I don't know exactly how long it took for the hunting party to get to our position, in my mind it lasted an eternity. Finally, Victor came creeping up the path in-between where The Ghost and I were set up, and the two of them engaged in a firefight, with The Ghost eliminating Victor. He then instructed me to move on Cookies, who was crouched behind a tree on my side of the path. I moved forward and tried to get where I could get a clean shot, but only managed to expose my position to PigPen and Cookies. Lots of shots were exchanged, with most of them detonating on branches, before Cookies managed to nail me right in the right shoulder, eliciting a loud "Ow! I'm out" as I shook off the sting of her souped up machine. She then proceeded to take out The Ghost as well, making her the M.V.P. of her team for that round. We headed back to the cars to wait for Shack-Fu to return so that we could start up another round.

Our second scenario was similar to the first, only this time Shack-Fu joined The Ghost and me in our sneaky movements. The Ghost and Shack-Fu hashed out our plan of action, and we set ourselves up to wait for the others; however, Shack-Fu did some quick scouting and realized they were circling around us, so a quick change of plan was called for as we then cut through the woods to try to head them off at the pass. Shack-Fu instructed me to hang back a bit and make sure they didn't flank us. Cookies got eliminated first, and then PigPen's tank ran out of gas. The decision was made to take a time out and let him go get a replacement.*** After gameplay resumed, The Ghost and Victor played their own game of cat and mouse while Shack-Fu stalked across the road to ambush PigPen; I, taking a bit of initiative, moved up closer to the path so that I could act as a diversion to keep PigPen's attention away from Shack-Fu. I didn't get a chance, however, as Shack-Fu got within range, lined up his shot, fired -- and quickly retreated back to our side of the path due to the fact that the paintball had exploded inside the barrel of his gun. Not long after he got back behind cover on our side of the path, we heard The Ghost call out that he was eliminated thanks to Victor. PigPen was casually firing on our position, and although most of the shots were breaking on the branches, we knew it wouldn’t be long before Victor moved in on us. Shack and I then had the following exchange:

Shack-Fu: Okay, Cap'n, on the count of three we rush Pigpen, all right?
Me: [nod in agreement, glad to be doing something]
Shack-Fu: Okay then. Ready --
Me: [splat!] I'm out!

Yes, instants before we were getting ready to rush him, PigPen managed to sneak a paintball through the trees and into my left shoulder, giving me a matching paintball wound to the one Cookie delivered earlier. After I gave Shack-Fu my gun to replace his malfunctioning one, I headed back to the cars, pausing long enough to holler back "Hey, PigPen?"

"Yeah?"

"Mega. Loathe."

His laughter followed me back to the cars, until it was drowned out by what I can only assume was the sound of Shack-Fu's suicide run battle cry. Despite the impressive noise he made, Shack-Fu was quickly eliminated.

After regrouping at the cars, we decided to engage in one more scenario. Shack-Fu suggested that the scenario take place around an old junked up car that was in a section PigPen, Cookies, and myself hadn't been before, and so we struck out behind him, past Sherwood Forest, past the area where my horrible first game of paintball occurred, past endless tracts of muddy ground and slippery slopes and water-logged paths, until I finally proclaimed "If I had known we were undergoing 'The Bataan Death March' scenario, I would have stayed back at the cars." The real problem on this extended nature hike stemmed from the fact that neither Cookies nor I were wearing appropriate foot wear for slogging through the mud, which resulted in many, many, many moments of slipping and sliding between us. Cookies had it a little worse than I did, almost falling into the splits at one point and often needing the assistance of PigPen or myself to make it up and down any of the numerous slopes we traversed -- still, she never actually fell on her butt and slid halfway down the slope, unlike some neurotic bloggers I could mention.

In my defense, I was trying to do this while carrying both my gun and hers, which affected my balance.

Plus, I'm a klutz.

Anyway, after what made the eternity of waiting in the first game seem like a nanosecond, we finally made it to the great area Shack-Fu was gung-ho on getting us to -- an area in a little valley which was at least ankle deep in water from all the rain. So, back the way we came, with what I suspect was just a tinge of mega-loathing directed in Shack-Fu's direction.**** We soon came to a fairly nice spot to set up a quick, straight-forward elimination game; Shack-Fu, Victor, and I would set up on one end of the field, PigPen, Cookies, and The Ghost would set up on the other, and when the go signal was given, we would try to pick the other team off. Shack-Fu and Victor bandied about ideas for strategy, with Victor taking the lead:

Victor: I think one guy could go here, one guy could go here and the other guy could go here.
Shack-Fu: Sounds good. [shouting to other team] Are you ready?
Me: Whoa, whoa, whoa! What's the plan?
Shack-Fu: Weren't you listening?
Me: Yeah; "one guy does this, one guy does that," but which guy is which?
Shack-Fu: Oh, yeah.

In the end, it didn't matter, as the strategy shifted, and we wound up just taking up a defensive position on the side of a hill while The Ghost and PigPen tried to advance on us. I did my best to keep The Ghost pinned down, but while trying to reposition myself I once again lost traction, slid down the hill, and was unable to extricate myself before he swung around and popped me in the facemask. The Ghost got Shack-Fu (whose gun had malfunctioned yet again), and PigPen picked off Victor; Cookies, meanwhile, was back at her team's home base, with no idea that her side had emerged victorious yet again.

We trudged back to the cars on a more direct route than before, and most of us headed off to get something to eat; it was on the way to the restaurant that PigPen exclaimed "Hey, I just realized: I didn't get shot today!"

Mega. Loathe.


*Cap’n Cluck’s reaction upon hearing our plan: “Y’all are stupid.”
**Whether this feeling was justified or self-delusion, I will leave up to the audience.
***In retrospect we should have just charged him right then
****After reading the One Crazy Night post, Shack-Fu had expressed some surprise at how positive it painted him; don't think that will be a problem here. . .

A Very Paintball Xmas Pt.2: Nothing Says Xmas Like Getting Shot by Your Sunday School Teacher

After a pretty disastrous first game (from my P.O.V. at least; I'm sure the SEALs team was fine with it), Shack-Fu rearranged teams a bit and set us up on an Elimination game. This time around I was with The Sniper and our team leader, another veteran player who, for lack of a better nickname I shall be calling Fearless Leader Juliet.* The Sniper set up in a nice ambush spot, with the idea being that Fearless Leader Juliet and I would draw the opposing team past him, but that unfortunately never came to fruition. Instead, our fearless leader tried his best to coach me through the action, which I again attacked in a typical "bull in a china shop" fashion -- grace, thy name is not Todd, but klutziness, thy name may very well be.

Still, I was feeling a lot better about this scenario and its much more straightforward setup - - kill 'em all and let Shack-Fu sort 'em out - - despite the fact that my not-so-stellar vision was being worsened by the one-two combo of fogged up glasses and safety visor. Surprisingly enough, not being able to see worth a damn is a bit of a detriment to effective paintballing - - who knew?

My first exchange of fire with the opposing team ended with my getting hit in the left wrist. I called for a paint-check, which should have stopped the action, but some over-zealous soul on the other team kept firing and pelted my fearless leader. Fortunately, the hit on him was ruled null; unfortunately, The Sarge confirmed that I was muerte, so I retired to our base flag to get out of the way of the action. Soon after, our fearless leader was nailed in the back by PigPen, who was perhaps a bit too enthusiastic about his first kill of the day ("I got him, I got him in the back! I saw that puppy break!"). After a brief period of inactivity, Shack-Fu decided to start respawning players. I, being the first out on my team, was first back. Shack-Fu counseled me to move forward, and I advanced on what turned out to be Cookies (a.k.a. Squiggly). Our encounter went like this:

Me: Surrender!
Cookies: Don't shoot!
Shack-Fu: [shouting] Shoot at him, Cookies!
Me: [startled, pulls trigger]
Cookies: Ow! You shot me!

In my defense . . . okay, I have no defense; I'm a bad, bad Sunday School teacher.

After shooting a harmless player who was trying to surrender, I fell back to my respawned leader's side. After Fearless Leader Juliet instructed me to take up position behind some cover on the hillside, Shack-Fu announced that there would be no more respawning. I suppose I should mention at this point that my teammates had apparently been able to bump off members of the other team as well, since they were having to spawn back in along with us, but who got hit when by whom is totally out of my knowledge base; all I knew was that none of the hits were from me. Anyway, somehow through the haze of my fogged lenses, I was able to make out some enemy shapes across the trail and opened fire. At first, their return fire was exploding in the branches around me, but not hitting me, but I soon heard a thud, followed by PigPen shouting that he had hit my gun's hopper; fortunately, a hit on the hopper is not considered a fatality in Shack-Fu's rules. Or, maybe that should be unfortunately, as PigPen, upon being informed that I was still a viable target, yelled out "Okay," opened fire again, and then hit me right on the right knuckles**. I shouted "I'm out!" and stalked back to my home base past Shack-Fu, who asked if I was okay; I managed to get out a quavering "I'm fine" before continuing my dejected walk back.

At that point I was frustrated; not as frustrated as I would have been if I had known at that moment that PigPen had managed to hit me with his very last round of ammo, but frustrated nonetheless. You see, somehow, towards the end of that game, some switch had gotten thrown in my head, and I actually started to get into it; I stopped thinking in terms of "What did I let Shack-Fu talk me into," and started thinking in terms of "I'm going to go kill me one of them there [expletives deleted]." So of course, no sooner do I get into the spirit of things, then I get knocked out for good. As far as emotional rollercoasters go, that one was a pretty steep rise and drop. I did receive a quick pick-me-up as, from a distance, I witnessed PigPen once again living up to his name, this time by failing to safely traverse the deceptively deep muddy puddle in his path; I know he was trying to clear it, but from my P.O.V. it looked like he dove straight into it.

I'm still a little unclear on what exactly happened at the end of that game; all I know for sure is that The Ghost came charging down the hill where I had previously been stationed, firing on Fearless Leader Juliet and rushing past The Sniper, who yelled out "Surrender!" as The Ghost zipped by. The Ghost didn't respond, so The Sniper opened fire, striking The Ghost multiple times; but, since The Ghost never called out that he was hit, The Sniper kept firing, thinking to himself "Why won't you die?!?!?!" The Ghost fired off one last shot, hitting the Sniper in the face mask, and then decided that it was time to give up.*** I'm assuming that The Ghost was the last member of the other team still standing, since gameplay stopped right after that, but how the others got eliminated, I haven't the foggiest. Thus, the perils of narration by a combatant are evidenced.

By that point it was starting to get late so we packed it in and headed back to the vehicles, where I apologized to Cookies for shooting her earlier. Her response? "That was you?!?!?! That's it, you're not getting any cookies!"

When oh when will I learn to keep my mouth shut?

A few of us headed to Jack in the Box afterwards. Since Cookies had left her purse back at Shack-Fu's house, I offered to cover her; she's determined to pay me back, but I, horribly repentant for my shameful actions during the game, shall not allow it, thus managing to assuage my guilt for under $5; not a bad price for penance, huh?

So, in the end, what was my impression of my first official day of paintballing? To be honest, I'm still processing. I wouldn't say it was a fun day, per se; the combo of my competitive nature (which most of the Singles have yet to really witness, methinks) mixed with frustration and embarrassment over my general cluelessness and lack of skill pretty much took their toll on me. And yet, there at the end that switch got thrown, and for a brief moment my outlook shifted - - until PigPen sent me crashing back down to earth, but, hey, what else are roommates for?

Of course, I realize that whether I enjoyed myself or not is a moot point; much like an unsuspecting fool who unwittingly invites a vampire into his home, my partaking in paintball a single time has left me vulnerable to Count Shackula's mind-jitsu. Why, just last night I was thinking to myself how it was too bad my parents have already done my Christmas shopping before I could ask for any paintball supplies . . .

Curse you, Shack-Fu! Get out of my head!



*After Squiggly was dubbed Cookies, talk had turned to their usual tactic of nicknaming people according to the first letter of their name and the corresponding call-sign from the International Code of Signals. J=Juliet. Sorry, dude.
**Note to self: Ouchie; buy gloves before you let yourself get dragged out again.
***Yes, there was a "give up the ghost" pun floating around in there somewhere; no I didn't feel like making it; yes, I know referring to it now is kind of a waste of your time; no, I don't feel sorry for that.

A Very Paintball Xmas Pt.1: "I Should Be Making Cookies. With Sprinkles"

After our venture into the world of paintball a couple of weeks ago, PigPen, The Anti-Cap'n, and I were invited to a Christmas party at Shack-Fu's house yesterday for the paintball crew, a party which was to be followed by an afternoon of war games. The Anti-Cap'n had to work, but PigPen and I were able to make it. Now, I'm pretty sure my commitment to actually participating in a paintball game after the last time was of a "possibly maybe at some point in the future I might, conceivably, briefly entertain the notion of considering perhaps doing so" nature; however, in Shack-Fu Land, that apparently translates into "Oh, yeah, I'm totally in, man, totally! Wooooo! Wolverines!" and he therefore spent all day telling people that I had promised to engage in battle. And, once Shack-Fu is able to block out the shiny objects and focus enough to get his mind set on something, it's difficult to dissuade him, as evidenced by his hard sell to Squiggly at church, first brow-beating her into skipping her plans for the day - baking cookies and playing the violin - and instead attending the party. After she agreed to that, he was just a hop, skip and a nag from getting her to participate as well.

Shack-Fu had gotten some random paintball supplies to give away in a drawing, and I was lucky enough to win something called a “butt plate,” which really isn’t nearly as dirty as it sounds. And, as talk turned to the upcoming carnage, Shack-Fu kept making not-so-veiled threats about gunning for me in the games, prompting me to oh-so-innocently ask loudly “Gee, Shack-Fu, just because I told the whole world how you got your butt kicked by a girl is no reason to hold a grudge.” Not surprisingly, this lead to loud catcalls from all of the paintball crew who had up until that point missed out on the story of Fluffy repealing Shack-Fu’s man-card.

I wonder if that had anything to do with how he set up the first mission . . .

Once the party was over (and after a far too lengthy quest for some camo pants which would fit me and my cursed, ever-expanding waist) we headed out to the paintball field. Squiggly rode out with me, and spent most of the drive trying to fight off Shack-Fu's Jedi mind tricks by reciting what was to be her mantra for the rest of the day: "I should be making cookies. I should be making cookies. I should be making cookies. With sprinkles." But, alas, the brainwashing was too powerful, and Squiggly and I were thrust into Shack-Fu's world.

I had expected for us to ease into things with a game of Capture the Flag or Elimination like before, but Shack-Fu decided to jump right into a full-fledged role playing scenario from the get-go. This time it was a rescue mission, with The Sarge playing a wounded ship's captain in possession of vital intelligence but stranded in enemy territory. One team would be the Navy SEALs, sent in to extract her; the other team would be the enemy troops, tasked with trying to either capture her first or eliminate all of the SEALs. Much to my surprise, when it came to splitting up the teams, Shack-Fu divvied us up 5-3, with the SEALs being five seasoned players, and the enemy troops being an experienced player (PigPen) and two novices (Squiggly and me).

Now, I’m sure in Shack-Fu's head, this arrangement made perfect sense. As he envisioned it, the SEALs objective was to rescue The Sarge, and they would therefore focus on getting her back and not on eliminating us, so that any direct conflict should have been dictated by us. Or at least that's how he explained it to us. However, what he apparently didn't take into consideration was just how ill-equipped we (and by we, I mean I) were to start off on a mission which required racing up and down steep hills in unfamiliar terrain; trying to harry targets at a long distance across a pond with little to no experience firing a gun of any sort; and moving silently through insidious brambles without being picked off by The Sniper in his gilly suit. It also didn't help matters that our team's game started off like this: Shack-Fu, once again in the role of facilitator, comes running up, motions for us to speed after him up the steep hill, points out The Sarge across the pond, asks to borrow PigPen's gun, and then, without warning, opens fire on the other team. This results in my first piece of paintball action as oneof the SEALs returns fire and pelts me right in the temple. Despite the solid hit, the ball didn't break, and neither did the next two or three which also made contact while I was still trying to process what was going on ("Wait, is someone throwing tiny rocks at me?"), so I wasn't out - - just out of it.

Maybe bringing up the Fluffy story earlier hadn’t been the best idea . . .

From my end of things, that whole first campaign was a total mess, due to miscommunication and misunderstandings between Shack-Fu and PigPen* regarding the scenario rules and objectives. This disconnect between the two of them lead to almost every decision team leader PigPen made being second-guessed by Shack-Fu in a “Don’t you think it would be better if you did this instead?” sort of way, which lead to me feeling vaguely uncomfortable in a “Why are mommy and daddy fighting?” sort of way.** Honestly, the only moment in the first game where I felt even marginally useful was when I managed to spot The Sniper cresting a hill and was able to call out a warning and fire a few shots in his general direction. After we finally got our rules of engagement cleared up, PigPen led us up into the brush to set up an ambush, at which time I fulfilled my "trounce through the underbrush like a rampaging elephant" prophecy, much to my roomie's chagrin. With that in mind, it should come as no surprise that our ambush was not even remotely successful; PigPen made his way down the hill to get a better shot, but was nailed. My attempts to avenge him were rewarded with a paintball to the facemask. Squiggly, visions of making cookies dancing in her head, was eliminated soon after.

All in all, not an encouraging start to my paintball career.

We took a brief break to refill weapons and for those of us (i.e., me) with the endurance of an asthmatic newborn to regain our (that is, my) wind. While waiting, conversation turned to various topics, including how cool it would be to have a “paintball knife,” (which put me in mind of playing T.A.G. with the Parkerites and Book Monkeys. It was during this lull that The Ghost, after a matter of hours, was able to do what it had taken me well over a year to do: give Squiggly a nickname.

Wave to Cookies, everyone.

Shack-Fu had planned to run through the rescue scenario again, switching The Ghost to the enemy troops and me to the SEALs, but the encroachment of outsiders into the staging area necessitated a restructuring into a Capture the Flag game. The only problem was that the flag had been used as The Sarge's "flare" during the previous game, and had been dropped somewhere along The SEALs' path. So while The Ghost went to retrieve it, Shack-Fu split the rest of us into two teams for a quick game of Elimination, which was a much better experience for me.

Kinda.

Sorta.

A bit.



*Squiggly and I were just along for the ride
**I’ll leave it up to you to decide which was which

This and That

As usual, randomness abounds.

• People keep wanting me to clarify information in my posts. Silly blog monkeys, thinking I'll let little things like "the truth" and "facts" get in the way of a good story. But, in the interest of fairness, I suppose I should share that Squiggly says that she has indeed heard of Love Boat before, but just didn't recognize it at first. Of course, she says she only knew about it because her mom used to watch Love Boat: The Next Wave, which I think is almost worse than not knowing about the original at all
  
  
• On a similar note, Mr. "Kicked Metal Siding Into the Sarge" wanted to make sure everyone knows that he wasn't trying to kick the siding into her, just kick it out of his way so he could get a shot at her before she got into mercy killing range. So, my estimation of him as a gentleman has gone up a few notches; my estimation of him as a badass paintballer on the other hand . . .
  
  
• Speaking of paintball, Shack-Fu has suggested that I become their official chronicler, sort of an embedded reporter of sorts. Of course, he also suggested that when we do so he remove the orange vest of neutrality from my attire, making me wonder if he's just not looking for excuses to shoot me.
  
  
• In an attempt to stave off my ever increasing waist size, I've opted to start working out with Shack-Fu and another new Single, Li'l Dill Wonderboy*. Shack-Fu, the orchestrator of their work-out program, has promised to demonstrate just how much he appreciated my recounting of his Fetal Position style of kung-fu, said promise being followed by a maniacal laugh and ominous clap of thunder. How maniacal was the laugh? You be the judge.
  
  But threats of physical torture aside, Shack-Fu is lobbying for a special "The Legend of Shack-Fu" category; while an interesting idea, I'm afraid that not only is that a slippery slope, it might also incur the wrath of self-proclaimed Center of the Universe Cap'n Disaster if someone else got a special category before she did.
  
  
• Today at work we had our office holiday party, complete with Secret Santa gift exchange. I had posted a wish list which included "CAPN'S approved foodstuffs" and "MASTER approved items." You should all be familiar with the Coalition Against Puttin' Nuts in Stuff by now, but the Movement Against Scented Things Entering Residences is a more recent addition to my repertoire. Of course, when I get to work, what do I find waiting for me as a gift but a scented candle. I thanked the gift giver for the thought, but explained that I was averse to such things; she responded "Well, give it your mom." I explained that such a gift might not be appreciated; somehow, robbing my dad of his ability to breathe doesn't really scream "Christmas" to me.
  
  
• Last (and probably least) is this: contrary to popular belief (I'm looking at you, Li'l Dill), the life of a librarian bears little to no resemblance to the Noah Wylie movies, more's the pity.
  

*Li'l Dill learned very quickly the danger of revealing moderately embarrassing personal details around the Singles and how they can easily lead to moderately embarrassing nicknames . . . just not quickly enough.

I Love the Smell of Paint in the Late Afternoon/Early Evening

By this point in my life, I should really know better I suppose, but this past Sunday I spent the greater part of the day traipsing about the woods; consequently, I spent the greater part of Monday battling the allergies which resulted from said traipsing. And why was I out in the woods, you may ask? Why, for paintball, why else?

You see, on Sunday morning all of the guys in my class were invited to join Shack-Fu (a recent addition to the Singles) and some of his friends who regularly meet up to pelt each other with high speed pellets filled with paint. PigPen, a veteran paintballer, jumped at the chance, and The Anti-Cap'n, after deciding that it would be okay to just tape the Cowboys game and watch it when he got home, decided to go as well. Peanut was game, but had other plans, so he begged off this time. Which left only yours truly.

Now, I'm sure this will come as a shock to one and all, but I've never played paintball before; hard to believe, I know, what with how rugged and outdoorsy I am. Nevertheless, while I have had a couple of opportunities to play over the years, I never have taken advantage of them. I was vacillating over this offer as well, trying to weigh my desire to hang out with the gang against the fact that I really don't posses the gear, skills, or mentality that make for primo paintballing, when Shack-Fu offered me the option of sporting a bright orange vest and merely being an observer. How could I refuse?

There wound up being enough people show up to have two four-person teams, with Shack-Fu and myself as observers. Or, more accurately, I was an observer, while Shack-Fu was judge, coordinator, critic, and pot-stirrer; he set up the scenarios, ruled on whether a player was in or not, shouted out advice, and occasionally changed up the rules to get more action going. I, for the most part, just followed him around and tried not to get hit by the crossfire.

The first scenario the teams ran through was a basic capture-the-flag run, where each team started from a home base, raced to get the flag from the middle of what they call Sherwood Forest, and then tried to tag the opposing team’s base without getting shot. If you were shot, you could respawn (or return, for those of my audience not familiar with video game terminology*) after 15 minutes. Team Bravo (PigPen's team) got the flag pretty quickly, but had difficulty making it to Team Alpha (The A.C.'s team)'s base since one of the Alphans was hidden well enough to pick them off when they charged the flag without getting shot himself. PigPen was this close to tagging it when he got nailed in the head. It was around this time that Shack-Fu decided to speed up the respawn process, since both teams were reduced to one player each. My favorite moment of this game was when a respawned PigPen made a diving roll to the fence-line to stop the Alphans from advancing, once again demonstrating the origin of his nickname. In the end, it was Team Bravo who emerged victorious.

A brief aside to say how surprised I was at how well the normally hyperactive PigPen was able to remain still while lying in wait; 99% of the time the boy is bouncing off the walls and being distracted by shiny objects, but put him behind a video game controller or the sights of a gun, and he goes from ADD to OCD.

The second scenario was more of a last-man-standing run, with the same two teams stalking each other with no purpose other than to pick each other off one by one, with no respawns. This scenario lasted a lot longer than I expected because Team Bravo basically just sat in wait for Team Alpha, who took their sweet time moving through the woods hunting for their targets. Again, Shack-Fu decided to mix things up a bit, giving each team leader a walkie-talkie through which Shack-Fu would funnel intelligence on the opposing team's movements. The Alphans used this to zero in on the Bravos, and Shack-Fu and I positioned ourselves to be able to watch the slaughter. And slaughter it was, as the Alphans found themselves being picked off pretty quickly by well-hidden snipers. After Ghost, the Alphan point man, got hit, PigPen scrambled for cover, his patented roll causing more problems than it solved this time as the cover of his gun's hopper came open, spilling ammo on the ground. Another Alphan called for a paint check, and Shack-Fu paused play while he ran over to see if it was a valid hit or not; he determined it was just splatter, and let game play resume. Two seconds later, the same Alphan called for a paint check again, and this time was not so lucky. Soon, the Bravos were victorious, without having lost any of their team.

The final scenario was a covert ops run, with a five person team of D.E.A. agents trying to rescue a hapless hostage from the clutches of three Columbian drug cartel members.

Three guesses who the hapless hostage was.

The setup was that one of the cartel members would stay with me as a guard, while the other two would set up an ambush for the agents. My instructions as the hostage were simple: scream loudly for help. Not surprisingly, that fell well within my range of abilities. My only concern was just how much yelling to do, and when; didn't want to wear out my voice before my would-be rescuers got close. But, after what seemed like an eternity (and was probably about three minutes), I started to get bored, and began to imagine how the others would react if my hostage succumbed to Stockholm syndrome and started firing away at the agents myself; but, that way lies madness, not to mention ticked off players, and so I instead began to yell for help. I had originally planned on waiting until I saw or heard one of the agents and then letting out a blood-curdling shriek that would make my mom proud, but with no sign of the Good Guys, and no clue if they were in range or not, I settled for a few normal yells before getting bored again and going for a more high pitched scream; apparently I should have held off on the screeching after all, since PigPen told me afterwards that it caught him off-guard and got him to laughing, which may have aided the agents in rescuing me.

Yes, that's right, PigPen was chosen to be one of the cartel members, a role he took to with fiendish glee: his cartel name was Alejandro, and he very strongly was advocating shooting the hostage. I, in turn, was strongly advocating a million peso award for the head of Alejandro.

Anyway, after what seemed like yet another eternity, I finally heard the sounds of gunfire and so redoubled my cries for help. From the high ground, I could see PigPen running back for cover, yelling out in a heavy accent; I in turn changed my cries from "Help!" to "¡Ayúdeme! ¡Ayúdeme! ¡Mis padres tenemos** mucho dinero!" and the like. At one point, PigPen looked up at me and yelled "¡Silencio!" which, thanks to our TV's odd propensity for switching its display from English to Spanish, is a very common phrase at our place. We exchanged a few more epithets before he got distracted with trying to kill the encroaching agents. One of the rescuers had worked himself into a thicket of briars, which probably seemed like an okay idea until after he got shot and had difficulty extricating himself. The cartel members wound up bumping off all of the agents without losing a single one of their own.

Shack-Fu was pleased with the way that scenario played out, but wanted us to run through it again in a shortened form, with the cartel members all bunched up near me and the agents just basically rushing the hill. This time instead of yelling in Spanish, I belted out the first verse of "Rescue Me"; hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Things didn't turn out quite so well for the cartel this time around; I happened to glance over to where Ghost was stationed, and noticed that he was flat on his back. I would have been concerned for his health if I hadn't noticed that he still had the presence of mind to hold his gun up in a "don't shoot me no more" sign. Meanwhile, PigPen was caught in a firefight with The Sarge, the sole female participant, who he had eliminated in the first game with a shot to the face; he wasn't quite as lucky this time around, and The Sarge took him out, before turning to rush the sole surviving cartel member, who was crouched down between a big sign and a piece of metal siding. He was firing in the opposite direction and was just able to notice that The Sarge was almost on top of him. Now, the group has a "mercy killing" rule that if you come up on someone within a certain radius you can demand their surrender; The Sarge did so, but for one reason or another neither I nor my captor heard her. The cartel guy, knowing he wouldn't be able to swing up his gun before she fired, made the "I still can't believe he did that" move of kicking the siding at The Sarge; I swear, I barely heard his cries of pain from her retributory close-range fire over my own laughter.

So, after all, that, would I be willing to actually take part the next time? The answer is a resound "possibly maybe." I'm sure my aim is horrible, I'd probably trounce through the underbrush like a rampaging elephant, and I seriously doubt I have the patience to play the "wait in ambush" game; I'd probably play a whole game or two before the others started telling me "You know, Todd, you make the best hostage . . .” Still, I'd probably be willing to play, as long as I knew I wouldn't have to worry about Shack-Fu gunning for me. I mean, honestly, would you want to be pursued through the woods by this man?



I think not.

*Hi, mom
**Yes, I know it should have been "tienen," but give me a break, I was fearful for my life and not thinking clearly.