| *tweet tweet tweet....whistle whistle....tweet tweet....whistle* "Huh, feels like I forgot something." ......*scratch scratch* "It's weird, I feel like I'm in a Home Alone movie or something. But I don't have an annoying adolescent son to leave back in the States......I hope." ........*zzzzzzz*.......<one week later> "&#$% %*#$!!!!! I forgot the $%#@ @#$%in' LDR!!!!" Actually, this'll probably be a bit anti-climatic. Everything was shaping up awesome. Weather was okay, little chilly, but you couldn't see your breath, which is warm enough for me. And wow, I guess we did a good job hyping it, because a record number turned out for our pre-fight prep in the second floor hallway. We had a good fourteen guys there who were actually arming up, and at least six more who wanted to at least watch. Everyone was decked out, many with brand new guns thanks to the shipment at Target. (To go off on a tangent, have you seen the new ordinance Super Soaker is turning out? I'm of mixed feelings. On one hand, they re-released my cps-1200 with a less conspicuous paint job, which is fine by me, it's the best gun I've ever fired. They also made a slightly smaller version of the Monster, much more managable. The Monster XL, while not new, is now much more available. I actually got Brian to drive me all the way to Kansas City just so I could hold one of these babies in my hands. I was speechless. They're truly amazing. A solid, unexagerrated, four feet of gruesome beastlike water gun. It scared even me. And so did the $50 price tag. Of course, that's only two trips to the plasma bank... But despite all the cool new guns, Larami let me down. Honestly, the cps-1-3-5? the thing can shoot from up to 5 nozzels at once. How useful can that possibly be? But that's not the worst. The Super Soaker Backfire. Yeah, you heard me, they put a nozzle in the BACK of the gun, so you can shoot in BOTH directions.....WHY?!!! Who in their right mind would see this as a cool option? What, you planning on pirouetting with the damn thing?! Sorry, it just disturbs me.) Back to the story at hand. I chose to go with my faithful cps-1200, plus my hip-holstered triple charge. And to add a little chic suavity to my look, I was sporting some neato techno rave pants I got cheap at Target. Not only are they water resisitant, but they have bunches of pockets and make cool swishy noises when I walk. Well, I gave a quick pep talk, reviewed our basic tactics in case anyone had forgot, and then we filed out to the FE. For this weeks retort we went with the verbal phrase craze that has been sweeping the nation, "At Least We're Not Raping You, Pearson" accredited to our own Lyleman, New "foot-way-in-mouth" John. And with this hearty war call, the battle was waged. .....Only, no one showed. So, we stomp over to Pearson, and began tossing out retorts and taunts. Finally, some crew-cut-sporting-dweeb comes tearing down the fire escape, and just jumps on the front of Sawyer. We didn't even spray him, he just latched onto the Mike. Well, that problem was soon remedied by about five concentrated aqua-streams, suitably dousing his homo-erotic tendencies. And then, out of nowhere, the Wench from last week runs out and tackles him, and so they roll about in the grass. We just stare at their stupidity for a while before leaving them to taunt other halls. We hit Miller, Watkins, and Sellards, but apparently people had "tests" and "classes" the next day. We got back to Pearson, and let forth another round of insults. The only one who showed was the Wench, so we eased our itchy trigger fingers by honestly making her the wettest human being I've ever seen. When that was over, we strolled over to the other half of the halls across the street. No luck. The girls from Maggie tried to lure us into some sort of trap, and we played along, but then they just standed there trying to talk to us. Well, we'd have none of that, so a few quick sprays later we headed back to Steve, sad and forlorn. As we approached the hallowed halls of Lyle, we heard quite the ruckus emit from Battenfeld. *CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANGCLANGCLANG-CLANG.....CLANG-CLANG* What the hell? We run over to find out what's up, it sounded like someone was tearing down a fire escape. We arrive in front of Battenfeld to find Ward holding a water gun, and Caleb sitting on the curb in obvious agony. The tale is quickly recounted to us: Some guys over at Battenfeld were sitting on the fire escape tagging everyone on our FE with a laser pointer. Ward and Caleb tired of this, and so grabbed a gun and headed over. Then the wussy BF's hide inside. The two Stephensonians stand on their FE for awhile, but it's obvious no one's coming out while they're there. So Caleb sends Ward back, and takes the gun and presses himself against the wall on the steps. Sure enough, after Ward got across the street, the guy creeped out to resume his mischief. That's when Caleb delivered a liter of watery vengeance directly into his face and then took off down the steps. Everything would have been great, but apparently the guy was holding a cup of something. He tried to hit Caleb with it, missed, but splattered the steps. Of course, Caleb immediately slips, and proceeds to tumble down the next two flights of metal stairs. All week we've been receiving reports on the condition of his ass. And when he shows it to us (and trust me, he does, with frequency) it looks like some sort of disturbed kindergartener went ape on it with finger paints. Not pleasant. That would have been a good end, but there is one last facet to our little tale. I didn't mention that all the time we were out taunting on foot, there was a group of guys on our FE with a megaphone, and I'll be damned if they didn't come up with some of the dirtiest and most offensive stuff I've ever cringed at. Well, we were sitting out front, debriefing the evening and watching Caleb lick his wounds (okay, not literally) when out from Battenfeld comes the stupidest person I've ever seen. This guy is walking towards us, screaming about "Hey, you guys gonna stop that megaphone or do I got to get physical? I got a class tomorrow!" Sure, that wouldn't be too bad, except he was wearing only boxer shorts and carrying a hockey stick. And he was threatening a good dozen violent and un-fulfilled Lylemen. And it wasn't even a good hockey stick, it would have snapped on the first skull, second, tops. I explained that it was a schol hall tradition, happens every week, and if he didn't like it he could go somewhere else. He made a couple more pathetic excuses at insults, then left, yelling a quick "Fuck You!" once he was a safe distance away. I answered with the first thing that came to mind "No, my friend, the fuck is YOURS!" a rather amusing phrase I picked up from Brian. I think he mooned us in response, but I'm not sure, we all were laughing to hard at him. And the weirdest thing is, for some reason we didn't spray him. Go figure. Yeah, I know, this LDR sucked. I think I'm losing my "touch" as it were, but in my defense, this wasn't a good week. Next should be better. Until then, toodles. Pious XIII |