Starchild

I played paintball one time and one time only for a bachelor party a number of years ago, and the one thing I learned is this: Firepower matters. Our group used the rental guns which released paintball capsules kind of fast. I guess it could have been considered semi automatic. We had to play against other random people outside of our group who brought their fully automatic weapons. There really is no comparison.

One guy was wearing a hockey jersey that said "Starchild" on the back, and this dude's weapon sprayed everywhere. And I mean everywhere. When this guy lit you up, you looked like someone took one of those paint rollers and covered you head to toe, not missing a single inch. Star Child was a shorter Caucasian man who looked not unlike Wayne from "Wayne's World," which shouldn't come as a surprise considering this was in Suburban Illinois not too far from Wayne's home of Aurora. ]

I have some questions that I never got answered. 

1. How much do you suppose a weapon of that caliber costs?

2. Where is the sport in just holding down a trigger and hosing down the entire room?

3. Was that the top of the line back then, and how far has paintball technology advanced since Star Child's hey day (which was around 2001)? I seriously can't imagine a more dominant weapon on the market.

4. Just why in the hell does he call himself Starchild? Is it a reference to Parliament/Funkadelic, Paul Stanley from Kiss, "2001: A Space Odyssey" or none of the above? Or maybe just his own thing, like it came to him in a paintball dream of some kind . . .

This diaper dandy?

This KISS'ing bandit?

Or this adorable rascal with his consciousness? Or maybe a reference NOT from the 1970's like all of mine.

5. Do you think he has an entire star fleet of star children by now? Have I put way too much thought into this? I highly doubt Starchild has had a day recently where he wondered where the guy is that ducked down too fast to avoid a paintball from across the room, hit his rear end on a pipe, badly bruised his own ass, and had to sit the rest of the day out.

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If you have answers to any of these questions or just want to say hello, blow me up like a Starchild buckshot in the comments. 

After work today I made a right onto a street with two lanes going in the same direction, and a guy in a mammoth tow trunk in the far lane laid on his horn.  Now, if he can't fit on the road, is that my problem?  I assumed that when he bought the thing he was planning on fitting on streets and what's more having room enough to pick up a car and tow it.  So despite the fact that he didn't seem to think the two of us could fit, he managed to pull up next to me and give me a dirty look.  Looks like we fit just fine.  Then he rolled his window down, glared at me, and then rolled it right back up.  I gave him a look like, "What do you want?"  He rolled it back down so I said, "Oh, I thought you were going to say something."  That came off like I was the world's biggest hard ass and I was being antagonistic.  But I really was just wondering if he was going to say something or not.  I told him, "I thought it was cool, you know, because it appears as if we both fit."  He said something threatening with the fuck word in it, which I think was "You had better watch the fuck out," or something.

That's the closest thing to the truck I could find, and it's blurry.  Whatever.  I'm going to bed.

There really is no need to get into conflicts with random weirdos, and this guy really did look off his nutter.  It's not important to be right.  Getting home safe and sound to your family is a way bigger deal.  We got conceal and carry in Illinois now so this guy could have shot me.  As a matter of fact, by the look on his face, if he had a pistol he certainly would have gunned me down right there on Ashland Avenue.  And my last words would have been, "I know your tow truck is extraordinarily wide, sir, but I was quite sure we could both fit in our respective lanes when I merged."

I always envisioned my last words would be wordy and descriptive.  

Bottomless Beers and Exploding Tomato Paste

I had this dream last night set at the supermarket in the town where I grew up, and I was chatting with a guy I hadn't met before who seemed to be the manager or owner.  He was drinking a can of Busch Light and offered me one, and as he did so, he was explaining to me that it didn't look like it was 24 ounces but was, somehow.  He was right.  It looked like a normal sized beer but it said 24 ounces at the bottom of the can, and while I was marveling at the beer that he gave me, he pulled out a gun and yelled at a shoplifter to freeze.  Manager guy fired a shot at the thief, missing him, but he did magnificently explode a can of tomato paste all over the place.  Everyone in the store screamed and ran for the exits, including me, which was odd because the gun wielding manager/owner seemed quite chummy with me just a moment before.

"If you're cool, I'll give you a beer, but if you steal, so help me, I will blow your fricking head clean off."

Running towards the door, I ran past the lady at the register and reached into my wallet to find I had a five dollar bill and a one (which is actually what I have in cash in my wallet now - so dreams are smart sometimes).  Without stopping, I plunked down the five, told her to keep the change, and ran out with my deceptively fathomless can of beer.  As I went through the exit doors, there were a bunch of young men pushing the carts but mostly just hanging out, and as I took a pull from my Busch Light, they all seemed happy to see me and we knew all knew each other for some reason.  Walking to my car, now seemingly safe from the fire fight that continued inside, I heard one of them say to another "Dude, I bet Dr. Ken was just like you back in the day."

"Now with more splatter!"

It's hard to say if that youngster meant that in a good or bad one, but I like to think he was implying that it's cool to take a swig from a beer as you casually head for the door with bullets whizzing by and exploding tomato paste all around, splattering the aisles and aisles of packaged goods . . .

A special place in hell for the turd who shot and killed Dimebag Darrell. If you're crazy, go get some help, and if you're a crazy with a gun, shoot yourself before you decide to shoot anyone else.

Shut Up and Play Your Guitar

Dave Mustaine of Megadeth just said during one of his concerts that he believes President Obama staged all these mass killing in the last few weeks in an agenda to pass a gun ban.  Wow.  What an idiot!

I had a feeling when I heard this news that this would make me hate his music.  I know when Kramer had his n-word rant after being heckled, I was worried I would never be able to watch "Seinfeld" in the same way again.  The years have passed, and just yesterday I saw the "Pig Man" episode and was laughing my ass off and marveling at what a damn genius he was.  Time heals all woulds.

Then this morning on my bike ride to work, just after hearing about Dave's idiotic diatribe, "Tornado of Souls" by Megadeth came on random on my iPod.  I didn't turn it off.  In fact, I head banged along the lake front as hard as ever.  When you rock that hard and fast, the wounds heal even faster . .

I Learned Something When "Vacationing" in Wisconsin . . .

. . . they have commercials for gun stores.  Something was very unsettling about it, especially when they had a sale on a big ass assault rifle for $1,500.  Is that a good deal?  More importantly, should anyone be buying one of those for personal use?

They don't have those ads in Chicago.  Have you ever seen one?  Just curious . . .

Here's the only one I could find on Youtube that looked legit, but it's not as funny as the Wisconsin one.  I do like that there's a lady's night.