By: Andrew A.
So there I am, at my mundane, but enjoyable work with my city’s recreation department. I have been aware of the pending ambush by the older kids in the program for some time, so I have had time to gear up. I was antsy for the hours leading up to the fight, as I could observe the older kids and their leaders filling up at a water filter station on top of the hill above our park… what in God’s name could take a group soooo long to prepare for a water war. Every time I found myself forgetting of their presence I felt naked and afraid that they would end up with the element of surprise, instead of me. My kids had no idea what was coming, so I had my CPS 2000 MKI and my Vaporizer tucked away in the back supply cabinet.
*(The retreival of my beloved CPS 2000 is a story in and of itself.) – It was basically stolen from my home by a “friend” of mine, and taken to a schoolwide water wars event without my consent. The week following the brawl, I attempted to get my soaker back, and was met with an expression of bewilderment. He had NO idea what happened… right. So, four years later, and I am pondering furiously about the whereabouts of my lady. Well, what do you know, when I ask my “friend’s” brother, all of the sudden I am presented with a monument to the mistreatment of supersoakers everywhere. Yea, they had it the whole time, using it for God knows what – at any rate it was “broken” or so I was told – probably the only reason I got it back. The pump was in bad shape, separated from the internal pump and splitting apart. The lovely stickers were of course long gone, probably used to wipe someone’s nose. So I set to work repairing my frankenstein, and a few days later I had a working CPS 2000, with a poached cap from an expendable soaker of a lesser calibre. (I am still in the market for a pristine CPS 2000 – if anyone has an extra.)
Finally, down the hill the middle schoolers come, and finally, I duck inside the shelter. I throw on my Gore-Tex raincoat, and sling a Vaporizer on my left and my CPS 2000 on the right, which has of course already been pumped and refilled to allow for one extra shot. I wait for the panic of my smaller, unarmed children being massacred to set in, and for the initial pressure of the overzealous masses’ soakers to be relieved to lend to their own impending panic upon my ordinance’s arrival. And yes, here come the adult leaders, my primary targets, smug and appreciative of their ambush, yet not necessarily wishing to partake in the water festivities.
I make my entrance out from the inner shelter to the large outdoor shelter and a wave of change occurrs in the combatants. A challenger? I ignore the stunned water gun weilding masses and take carefull aim at the chest of one of the female leaders who is old enough to know what is coming. If anyone is unfamiliar with the blast released by the CPS 2000 – I pity you. A direct hit to the previously bone dry center of the chest, sending water no longer needed for saturation at right angles to the blast in every direction, spraying others. The comments from the kids were classic and made the whole ordeal worthwhile. “HOLY CRAP WHAT IS THAT?” By this time I am at about 50% in the pumping process (10 pumps), and I take aim at a bewildered youth, who seems to be carrying a 2x-5x soaker. He didn’t have time to shoot before I swept the CPS’s stream across his crotch. Then I was off and running, the initial shock of the kids quickly turning to adrenaline in a newfound common target. Now the water balloons are coming in, and I dodge for almost an entire filling of the CPS’s reservoir until finally one catches me in the upper back, splashing water up my Gore-Tex and back down the back of my neck. Now its no holds barred – I no longer had concern about not getting wet at all and could laugh off the small soaker blasts.
I threw the gauntlet, as well as my raincoat to the dusty earth and charged at the thrower – who was duly congradulating himself. He recieved a full blast to the back and seemed to find it rather painful. Now the super soakers were shooting me in the face, which made me angry. I slung the Vaporizer around and began shooting kids directly in the eyes and face with its satisfyingly accurate and seemingly endless streams, while working my way to their waterballoon station. I raided the station and grabbed perhaps 4 hopelessly underfilled balloons, which I threw with great velocity and grit. There was no water involved with their impact, only the hard slap of plastic on flesh as they bounced back off and broke on the grass. Not my fault they left welts… that’ll teach them to poorly fill water ballons on my piratical watch. Of course, the balloon that caught me in the hindquarters broke with much ado about something, and soaked me to the… core…
By this time, I was ready to pound someone with another CPS shot, but I needed a refil as I had been covering myself with multiple 25% shots. When I emerged from the bathroom the battlefield was being deserted by the guerillas, and I got the crowd of soaking children to urge on one last charge into the heart of darkness. I sprinted into their ranks, met with startled clutchings and pumpings of water weapons, but I passed most of them by on my way to a kid who had been dogging me with a soaker I had never seen before that wrapped around his arm and who I didn’t get a change to blast satisfyingly enough before. With the water arching above me, I gave him a chance to run and to pump his paltry sprinkler, and as he turned he caught a 40x streaming litre of water to the neck and collarbones. Game over. I returned to the park the sole defender of the meek and now smiling, one’s responsibility when possessing such power.
Peace out, let me know if you folks like my writing.