All Quiet on the Dulux Front

Went paintballing for my mate’s birthday yesterday. Some older blokes had turned up uninvited with kevlar trousers on and metal supply cases. While we popped our overalls on and complained about our goggles steaming up, they fitted back-up ammo cases to their utility belts and fixed the air pressure on their gatling guns. We were all thrown into the mix on the first game; those who had come along for a laugh (myself included) and these black-clad mercenaries from the future. Needless to say it was a massacre. Armed with ineffectual pop guns we were mown down in waves by the automatic fire of these overweight T-1000s. Their paint balls (individually flighted with little fins, for further distance, accuracy and power) scythed into us like throwing stars. As I hid under my fallen comrades like Jude Law in Enemy at the Gates, whimpering through the fog on my goggles (a mixture of perspiration and actual tears) I swore vengeance on these evil party crashers before the day was out.

Of course, I never did get vengeance, no-one did. I spent the whole day being chopped down by paint, it was agony. My legs look like an oil slick.

I’d just like to say however, that if you enjoy dressing up like the Terminator and ruining people’s birthday parties every weekend, you’re probably not a very nice person. You probably play Halo on Xbox Live and enter yourself against all the newbies to pump your score up. You probably challenge babies to arm wrestles. You probably – outside your fake little platoon of weekend guns-for-hire -don’t do too well on the social circuit. At least I really hope you don’t, because you peppered me with so many excruciating scars and bruises yesterday that it is the only solace I have.

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