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altogether, more sober now than
I was when we started. Glove and Lordy, on the other hand, have put
back two shots a piece between beer refills.
    “I am now referee Glove,” he anoints himself.
I swear he's an oversized thirteen-year-old, Playboy magazines
hidden under his mattress and all.
    The first glass bottle is in a tree, a higher
limb shaded by the dark, I guess, for confusion. Civilians often
forget we have night training on top of what they think of as
regular training. Plus, knowing that I'm headed for Spec Ops, I
personally train for things in the dark in my shore leave time. I
let Lordy go first. He misses. Barely nails the limb it's sitting
on.
    “Whooo!” Glove squawks. “Take your top
off!”
    Strawberry Short-Whore rips off her
see-through top. The black bra exposes a disappointing B-cup rack.
The Wonderbra must be doing most of the work. Hope her nipples are
bright red to make them less unsatisfying. She giggles and bounces,
proud of her lack of parts. Good for her. Self-confidence is
key.
    My turn. I shoot without much effort. Glass
rains to the ground. My attention shoots to the cowgirl who stepped
into my court. “Hope you're comfortable. They're not coming
off.”
    “I got this.” Lordy has the last sip of
whatever beer he's on. The next shot is a series of bottles lined
up from front to back. The shot has to travel through all of them.
He fires, nipping the neck of the first one.
    “Fail!” Glove declares, excited. “Bye, bra.
You won't be missed.”
    In a drunken attempt to be sexy, she tries to
seductively slide her bra off. It backfires. She gets a bit tangled
instead, making her look like a moron. They deserve each other. No
surprise at the sight underneath. The nips are indeed cherry
red.
    I line my shot and fire, bullet ripping
effortlessly through each bottle, shattering them and the dreams of
everyone who was hoping to see Cowgirl naked at this event. Sorry.
It'll just be me later.
    “Damn it!” Lordy shouts. “Somebody get me a
beer!”
    'Cause that's gonna help. I merely watch,
knowing I'm never not in control the way he is. It's dangerous—for
you and for others. I wonder, though, is it worth it? Is it worth
it to be lost without your sense of self? Without your conscience
reminding you of all the shoulds and should nots? The failures? The
misunderstandings? The lack of forgiveness?
    He chugs the bottle halfway before he
announces we can proceed, “That's better!”
    “Get him, baby!” Redhead jumps and giggles.
Stupid.
    Next mission. There's a bottle on each limb
of a tree, up four limbs. Suddenly, it's yelled out, “One
handed!”
    Lordy grunts like it's not hard, even though
just picking up the gun right now seems to be slightly challenging.
I'm grateful the group has pushed itself back to avoid being caught
in the danger zone. If he were sober, this would be an easy thing
for Lordy. Hell, they all would be. It's like he needs to be
humbled by his own stupidity occasionally. I don't know why. He's
skillful but still has room for massive growth in that department.
He drunkenly leans to the left and fires, hitting bottles one and
two, but bottle three is only grazed. Bottle four’s completely
untouched.
    “Come on!” His rant is like a small child in
desperate need of a timeout. If this wasn't a party and I trusted
myself to drive, I’d haul his ass home right now. While he still
has minor gun control, if he keeps downing shots like TicTacs, he
won't. That's when the fun stops. That's when trouble is around.
That's when I'll put this puppet dance to an end.
    “Let me see that thong,” Glove demands of
Lordy’s girl. The blond cobra grinding her ass against him has her
own purple thong popping out.
    Lordy's trophy reveals a very tiny piece of
material that to call it a thong seems generous. Glove looks
intrigued and admires the package. His eyes are sketching down her
measurements to place in his spank bank, I'm sure.
    Curious, he asks, “Landing strip?” She