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Bobby carted the bin out by the hose and sighed.
This would take a while.
He started loading water guns, blasters, soakers, super soakers, water cannons, squirt guns, water pistols, pump-action blasters, pressurized water guns, and dual water blasters. Then he filled water balloons. What good soldier would go into battle without grenades?
He plugged every aperture, dumped his arsenal in the boat, surveyed the other canoes. Bobby hopped in, skimmed his hand across a super soaker. He imagined the jetting stream–-its range, accuracy. He envisioned drenched shirts and squealing.
No one would find this enjoyable, he cackled, no one.
From Guest Contributor Joseph S. Pete
Joseph is an Iraq War veteran, an award-winning journalist, an Indiana University graduate, a book reviewer, and a frequent guest on his local NPR affiliate. He was named the poet laureate of Chicago BaconFest 2016, a feat that Geoffrey Chaucer chump never accomplished. His work has appeared in Chicago Literati, Dogzplot, shufPoetry, The Roaring Muse, Fictitious, The Blue Collar Review, The Five-Two, Lumpen, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Pour Vida, Pulp Modern, Zero Dark Thirty and elsewhere. He once Googled the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. True story, believe it or not.
Please support the site by purchasing one of my books on Amazon. Check out Quitting The Grave, a murder mystery set on the Oregon Trail. Plus, don't forget my other books: They Both Loved Vonnegut, Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland, and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.