A BIT OF HUMOR

WHAM-O!
By Kraig Ehm
The armies were evenly divided. Six combatants enlisted per side, with each
varying in size, age and skill. My platoon for all intents and purposes did not
want me.
As a third-grader, I was the youngest, smallest and goofiest when it came to
coordination. In other words, I was an easy target.
However, for this particular sortie I was useful, at least that is what my
teenage "comrades" told me. They said I would be the "decoy," while I thought of
myself as being an incredibly slow target. The war game was "Guerilla Warfare,"
and the weapon of choice was the "Wham-O."
The Frisbee was a cool toy back in the day in California. The weather, sunny and
warm, allowed the troops to skirmish at all hours of the day and night.
The strategy was simple: locate a soldier in the opposite battalion, launch your
"Wham-O" and hit him. Anywhere. Whatever part of the body the missile directly
hit was no longer used.
Example: nail a guy in the arm and he could no longer use his arm; tag him in
the leg and now the guy had to limp everywhere until smacked again with the fast
flying piece of plastic and declared "DOA."
One army was declared the winner if they had troops remaining and the other band
of boys did not.
Ten minutes in and the battle was a raging success, as I had not been hit yet.
The word "yet" being particularly important, as I figured some time soon I would
be drilled as
I held the distinct honor of being the first casualty in every "Guerilla
Warfare'" conducted on our street.
Darkness settled on the battlefield.
"Kraig, go distract them."
"Uh. No."
"Kraig, we need you to distract them so we can see where they are hiding. When
they attack you, we will see their positions and assault them."
"Uh-okay."
I left my position (hiding behind the biggest, fattest bush on our side of the
combat zone) and ever so slowly sauntered to the frontline.
Scanning left and right in an effort to locate the enemy, I was secretly happy
that I could not.
"Kraig, stop right there," a voice in the darkness whispered.
I did.
Nothing. Not a single movement from the other squad.
I first noticed the sound while glancing back at my comrades (and again I use
that term loosely). It was not a loud, noisy sound mind you, but a barely
audible "whooo, whooo, whooo."
I completed an about face to determine direction, wind speed and velocity of the
incoming missile just as it acquired its target.
Me.
The largest, most deadly "Wham-O" Frisbee ever made tagged me square in the
forehead.
It was not the standard size "Wham-O" all of us were using in battle. No,
somehow someone smuggled in the mother of all "Wham-O's," the projectile that
weighed five pounds before flight.
The impact lifted me up off my feet and flat on my back.
Hence the name "Wham-O."
"I killed the little kid!"
Indeed I believe he did.
I was an instant kill for the creep. Even my "Benedict Arnolds" whooped and
hollered congratulating the enemy.
I lay on the pavement with the air and other internal organs knocked completely
out of me.
My brother took his sweet time checking on me and with typical, older, brotherly
compassion said�"Aw, he's okay. Get up Kraig and quit faking."
Having just had my young life flash before my eyes due to the disc drilling me
square in the noggin, I had not even entertained the idea of faking. Crying
maybe, but not faking.
"I'm not faking you dummy. I'm dead!"
-----------------------
Copyright 2013 Kraig Ehm. Permission is granted to send this to others, with
attribution, but not for commercial purposes.
============================
You have a cough? Go home tonight, eat a bunch of Ex-Lax, tomorrow you'll be
afraid to cough.
=======================================
www.mikeysFunnies.com