Ouchie
I have been hit by the truck of my own bravado.
Here is the scene:
Corey and I, two brave souls at the furthest point of penetration into enemy lines, were safely hiding behind a bunker wall not even ten yards away from an enplacement of three enemy troops. I look at Corey and tell him to aim at those logs and fire as much paint as he can. Then I bust out running, full speed to the next bit of cover, gun hand out in front, firing my gun single-handedly like only Rambo can do.
And obviously only Rambo can do it because I fell flat on my face. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was running and managed to twist my knee in a direction not meant for knees to twist. Unless you are freak. Or an alien.
Torn PCL? Torn ACL? Who knows? All up in the air until the MRI results come back.
What pisses me off the most about all this? The fact that I hurt myself? Nope, that’s not it.
It is the fact that I saw the whites of their eyes. And in those whites, I saw fear. Fear of the ass kicking they were about to get. Everyone thought my run was brilliant. Right up to the part of me lying on the ground with a Ref over me, and me clutching my knee, groaning loudly. Without a single paintball mark on me.
What am I? Go ahead and say it.
Pussy.
I would have been that guy in Desert Storm that managed to eliminate a shitload of badguys, then eat it on a landmine because I wasn’t paying attention. What the fudgeroll? Seriously.
So like a hooker, I have been on my back for the last three days. Leg propped up, crutches to get around my MULTILEVEL home (yeah that sucks), and bruises in my armpits to prove it.
Oh well.
Live and injure thyself, as they say. Gives me a good reason to catch up on some gaming.
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