I'll Have A Bloody Jared On The Rocks...

While in my trip to Utah I was able to participate in an act of raw male aggression. It was an act of primal instinct, competition, and survival. I went Paintballing.

For those of you who have yet to venture out of Plato's preverbal cave, paintballing is a "sport" where two or more people arm themselves with marble sized balls of paint and shoot them at each other with the aid of compressed air. Some evolutionarist (…well it should be a word…) have speculated that this stems from our carnal past of throwing rocks at each other to keep other men away from our food and women. When no paint balls are available we resort back to rocks (see Piggy from "Lord Of The Flies").

The day before we went my guide, Byron, announced a surprise wedding. The wedding was a surprise to both him and his bride, let alone the rest of the world. When questioned about his plans for his honeymoon he replied, "Well, we'z a goin' paintballin' tomorrow, ain't we?" I couldn't have chosen a more perfect mentor for this outing.

We drove out to the boonies, which is past Laverkin. Where's that? Past Hurricane. Where's that? Past St. George. Where's that? Let's just say we were not worried about hitting bystanders.

We donned our gear and carefully walked into a ravine. I was doing well when out of nowhere Jessica's mom hit me right between my eyes. I was wearing protective gear so the only thing hurt was my pride. But it was hit pretty bad.

After a few rounds I went in for a last jot before we called it quits. I felt like I was in Predator, except the guy wasn't an alien, he was only using a paintball gun, he didn't make any clicking noises and he could only see the same way I did. Well, maybe I felt more like I was in Kindergarten Cop. Either way, the moment was intense.

I had a great hiding location and decided to come out from my rock and face the fight. I turned around and began climbing up the hill as my opponent began walking down in toward me. Chaos ensued. He took off back up and I ducked. I knew my odds were not good as he had the aerial advantage. I decided to reach my gun up over the ridge and pluck him out without anything but my barrel exposed. I was so clever.

As I jumped up to shoot over the ledge I heard guns fire, I felt a barrier hold back my head. I thought I detected a chopper flying overhead and countless men screaming. It was the hell of war.

Something began to trickle down into my vision. I reached up. My hand got wet from the top of my head. I must have been hit. I brought my hand back down and looked at the dark red of paint...wait...was it red? I thought he was using some manly color...oh yeah, he had pink paint. Where did the red come from? D'oh! There was an overhang I had been under. The rocks were tired of being hit with our paint balls and being thrown around as weapons. They got their revenge.

I did the manliest thing I could. I put my gun up in the air and pleaded for mercy and I took myself out of the game. The upshot? I got some great photos!

This is what I rode in to get there. Yes, I rode with the power tools. And to think I got hurt once I was OUT of it.

If you look close enough you can see that I already am bleeding pretty bad. But there is paintball paint mixed in, so it makes it look even more gory.

It loks werse than it wuz. And I didn*t supher any birain dnamnage...

I'd like to thank old What's-his-name for donating the bottom 3 inched of his shirt. It was so dirty that it likely spurred on any infection, but it's the thought that counts.

I dripped like a leaky faucet for some time. After I stopped bleeding I could tell that I had somehow lost enough blood to feel like my head was about 3 feet off my shoulders. I went home and slept sitting up. The worst part was the next morning when I started to shampoo. It felt like I had a sensitive Aries rock affixed to my scalp.

Through it all I felt rush of victory, the sting of death, and the pain of war. I admit that I see the appeal of the game. It's all the fun of shooting your loved ones and none of the annoying prosecution that follows. I will return, and I will get my revenge on those rocks!