The Devil is My Target

You're probably wondering how I got to be called Paintball Pete. It's a long story, one that again emphasises how misunderstood I am, suffering alone for righteousness sake in this godless land . . . but I'll try and get to the point so I can spend these valuable blogging hours talking about more important issues, like how you have the right and the divine-ordained duty to bear arms and protect the innocent and the mostly law-abiding citizens oppressed by this secular humanist government.

Well, last year on that Day of Evil and Witchcraft commonly called Halloween, I decided to educate my kids on the price one pays for serving the Dark Lord. So I drove my little warriors-in -training around my neighbourhood looking for demonic trick-or-treaters. I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to have some educational fun -- and at the same time, teach pagan kids why they should never celebrate evil by dressing up like demons. After all, our Lord has commanded us to go into all the world and make disciples of all men (that includes their inappropriately dressed women and snotty, disobedient offspring), teaching them to obey (by all means necessary, I'm sure it should have said). You should know this verse off by heart like I do, but if you don't, I strongly suggest you open your Bible immediately to Matthew 28: 20 and commit it to memory. Remember, if we are to win this battle against the devil and his servants, we need guns and a spiritual sword. You should be ashamed if you can't quote the Bible extensively; you are just plain stupid if you don't carry a gun at all times (I have developed a special waterproof sock to wear over the firearm I always have strapped to my ankle; this way, I can still be armed and ready when I take a shower).

Back to the Halloween incident that has been blown out of all proportion by the secular, liberal media . . .

I had recently introduced my righteous offspring to the joys of paintballing -- it doesn't come anywhere near to the thrill of blowing up moving targets, terrorists or otherwise, with a real gun. Anyway, the plan was to pull up alongside these evildoers and pop them with a paintball. Perfect opportunity for my kids to get the feel of what it's like to shoot another human being -- well, a reprobate child of satan version. So that's what we did. Except, the mission got a bit derailed by a real spoil sport kid who must have been high on dagga or something, because he actually came right up to the car and swore at us -- You fucking little wankers, what the fuck are you doing, I will fuck you up you motherfucking little bastards -- something like that. It may have been more like, You goddam Jesus freaks, I'll tear out your hearts and lay them on the altar of the Dark Prince, you weak little fucks. It was an avalanch of profanity straight out of hell. I yelled shoot, shoot, shoot the pagan, and my son did as he was told. Popped him a good one in the face and we drove off before things got ugly and I had to show them why I'd take Chuck in a moment. Truth be told, I'd forgotten to remove the condom from my foot after I'd taken a shower earlier, so it would have been a problem trying to get at my gun if the little demon-dresser got violent. I hit the pedal to the metal and we were out of there.

And what did the little pussy do? He went home and cried to Daddy. So it was all over the papers and the cops were looking for some crazed gunman armed with a paintball gun, roaming the suburbs looking for innocent little kids to scare and hurt. First of all, it serves the little pagans right for celebrating the Devil's Birthday. Secondly, there is no ways I am mentally unstable. I know there are rumours about me being psychotic, but unlike my gun-running to the Sudan, this is nothing but liberal media lies. Lies, lies, lies.

So that's how I got the name Paintball Pastor, but I prefer to go by Paintball Pete. It has a catchy ring to it. Sure, first prize would have been something more intimidating, like Bazooka Bill, Tank Tommy or even AK Albert. But I can live with this one. It gives me an authentic platform to speak to the media about our right to self-defense -- and now I've extended this to our right to cruise the streets at night and pop evildoers with paintballs. I've driven up and down Voortrekker Rd shooting red paint at whores. I'm working on strategies to do similiar things in similar dens of iniquity.

Fight the good fight. The Warrior King is with us.