Word: Sockeroo

sockeroo

[sok-uh-roo]

noun, plural sockeroos. Slang.

1.

a notable success:

Her performance was a sockeroo.

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                Okay, that hurt.  Damn it, I can’t believe I got tripped.  And the guy’s still running.  Didn’t they catch that?  Whatever.  I’ll just beat him anyway.  Oh wow, my leg hurts like crazy.  What’re all these people doing here?  Why’re the paramedics around?  Sure my leg hurts.  And my arm.  And pretty much everything else.  But still, why should that matter?  I can still run.  I just have to walk it off for a bit.  I can do that on the track. 

                Walk it off.  Walk it off.  Pain is your friend.  It lets you know you’re alive.  Walk it off.  Okay, now run it off.  Here I go!  See?  I can do this.  Sure my leg hurts like hell, that doesn’t matter.  It’s not slowing me down at all.  Well, maybe a little bit. 

                Wow, I’m slower than I should be.  Can’t have that, now can I?  Push through it.  Come on leg, work, damn you.  There we go.  It just needed a little push, that’s all.  Wow, this hurts.  As long as I don’t stumble again, I’m fine though.  I’m still the fastest guy in the race. 

                Oh dear god, it hurts!  I’ve never felt anything so painful.  Maybe I should stop?

                No.  No, I can’t.  Oh god my leg’s not working.  Why isn’t it working?  No!  Don’t look at it.  If I look at it, that means whatever it is will win.  I can’t let that happen.  Come on leg, move damn you.  We still have a race to win.    Ah, I hurts so much!  No.  Don’t think like that!  Don’t think about that pain! 

                Run, damn you, run.  Run through the pain.  Pain is nothing.  Pain holds you back.  Move damn it!  Move!  No!  I will not pass out!  I can’t.  If I pass out now, it’ll all go to waste.  I won’t let that happen, damn it. 

                Come on, I can ignore this.  Just because it’s pretty much the worst pain ever means nothing.  Put it out on your mind.  Focus on the track.  Focus on putting one foot in front of the other.  Focus on keeping that leg moving.  Don’t think about the pain.  Don’t think about my vision getting darker.  Neither of those matter.  Pain is a state of mind and I know this track well enough that I don’t need to see it to run it.

                There we go, I passed him.  I passed that dirty cheater that tripped me!  Now I just have to get to the finish line before him and I’m good.  I’m winning this race, no matter what happens.  There it is!  The finish line!  Just a few more steps.  You’ve made it this far leg, don’t quit on me now. 

                There.  I did it!  I won!  And here come those paramedics again.  I don’t see why.  My leg isn’t that bad…wait, is that the bone sticking out?  Okay, I guess that’s pretty bad.  Okay yeah, maybe it’s about time to quit.  I think I’m just gonna pass out now.  

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Okay kids, remember, if your bone is sticking out of your leg, you probably shouldn't try running on it.  File that under "really bad ideas" and keep it there.  Seriously, just don't.

Word: humbuggery

humbuggery

[huhm-buhg-uh-ree]

noun

1. pretense; sham.

Origin of humbuggery

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             Joe was feeling pretty good about himself.  And why shouldn’t he?  He was walking arm in arm with a very pretty young woman.  One who was, for the most part, way out of his league.  And he had done it a few tasteful lies.  Not even lies, really.  A few pretenses and a few half truths had done the job nicely. 

                Everything was because of his online dating profile.  He had told the internet that he had a well paying computer job, owned his own home, and had a pet.  None of it was really a lie.  He just did not tell the full truth.  For instance, he simply left out the fact that his computer job was repairing them, that his home was a one room apartment, and that his pet was a goldfish.  The only thing he was completely honest with was his picture.  If he lied about that, things would get awkward really quickly. 

                And when he finally got a date, he played up the pretense of success well.  He dressed nicely, talked about high class things, and was all around charming.  She did not need to know the truth.  Not really.  She was fine knowing the Joe from his profile, not the real one.

                As it was, she was all smiles and laughter.  It suited her well, and he almost feared what expression she would wear when she found out what he was really like.  Almost.  Certainly not enough to make him call it off with her, or stop playing the part. 

                The woman stopped walking.  Joe stopped a second later.  A large man stood in front of them, and clearly intended to impede their progress.  There would probably be threats made, and money demanded. 

                Sure enough, the large man drew a knife and threatened the two of them.  Why such a large man needed a knife of all things was beyond Joe’s understanding.  The big man made some very lewd comments about the woman.  Joe could understand that.  She was certainly the type who got them on a regular basis.

                Joe had two options.  One was to give in and give the mugger all the money he had.  But that could be seen as an act of cowardice by the woman.  On the other hand, the mugger was very large and was holding a sharp object.  She might let it slide.  But Joe had hyped himself up on his profile enough that the woman may have thought he could handle such attacks, even though Joe had made no mention of martial skill.  Besides, it never hurt to act brave in front of the pretty woman.

                Joe puffed out his chest and approached the man, acting larger and more dangerous than he was.  It was a sham, of course.  Joe had never fought a day in his life, and did not even know how to throw a punch.  But he counter threatened the large man all the same.  Joe could only assume that a man like that was not used to people acting so fearless in front of him.  He might assume Joe was as dangerous as he acted. 

                There was a stare down.  The mugger was several inches taller than Joe was, but he refused to yield.  If this ploy worked, than he would be a hero and walk away with more than just the money in his wallet.  If it failed, he would end up with several new, and very painful holes in his body.

                Joe squinted and made a big show of cracking his knuckles.  It was the one skill he had that came even remotely close to intimidation.  Somehow, it worked.  The mugger claimed that Joe and his woman were no worth the time, and walked away.  Joe breathed a sigh of relief. 

                The woman squealed with joy and hugged him tightly.  She pulled him along the road with renewed energy.  She leaned in close and promised him a suitable reward for his bravery.  Joe now had one less reason to end his act.

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So, I guess honesty is not always the best policy?  Man, that seems like a really bad lesson to take away from this one.  But, honestly (heh), it's probably more accurate.  Kinda sad, isn't it?

Word: Tyro

tyro

or tiro

[tahy-roh]

noun, plural tyros.

1. a beginner in learning anything; novice.

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              Ted triple checked his gear.  The clothes were simple enough.  Really, it was just stiff, heavy clothing and a full face mask.  Nothing special there.  But the gun was different.  He needed that if he was going to get anywhere.  He looked around at the other members of his team.  They all had high end guns.  Some of them even looked custom made.  Not like his.  His was a cheap, store bought number that looked like it would break at any moment. 

                “First time?” One of them said.  The man was not that much taller than Ted was, but he had a lean, wiry build that Ted lacked.

                “Is it that obvious?”

                “Oh yeah.  Don’t worry rookie, you’ll be fine.  Just stick with one of us and we’ll show you the ropes.”

                “Thanks.” Ted said shakily.

                “That your gun?” The other man asked.

                “Yeah.  I know it’s not much.  But the guy at the store said it’s good for beginners.”

                “It’ll get you through a game or two.  But top feeders like that one can block your line of sight if you don’t know what you’re doing.  They’re fine once you get the hang of them though.  Bottom feeds are more expensive, and the balance can throw you off at first, but they’re easier to aim.”

                “Oh.  I’m probably not going to do this very often, so this is probably fine.”

                Ted took another look at his gun.  He imagined holding it like he had been shown.  Sure enough, the hopper full of paintballs could be tricky to see around.  He looked around again.  Most of the other people had their ammo mounted onto the bottom of the guns.  He was not even sure how that worked.  They were not like real guns that fed bullets with springs and such.  They were paintballs in plastic containers.  Maybe some kind of vacuum?

                “If that’s how it is, then that should do fine.  But if you like it, invest in a better gun.  Some pistols might be good also.”

                “Pistols?”

                “Sure.  Here, check it out.”

                The man pulled a plastic pistol from behind his back and held it out.  It was lighter than it looked, and the top of it had a long tube instead of a slide. 

                “They don’t take a lot of ammo, and they don’t have the best range, but they’re great if you’re main gun runs out.  Plus, there’s nothing quite like nailing a guy between the eyes with one of these things.  It’s great with the main, but this gives a special feeling.”

                Ted handed the sidearm back and was very glad they were talking about paint instead of lead.  But there was no question this guy knew more about the game than he did.  He could probably do worse than sticking nearby, if only just to learn the ropes.  He knew he was probably going to botch the game and make them lose, but this was his first game.  He just hoped that meant he would not get blamed too badly when it was all over.  

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Just so you know, I've never been involved with paintball in any way, and my research mainly involves image searches.  I have no idea if anything I've written here is even slightly accurate.  I hope those who actually participate in paintball matches can forgive any inaccuracies that may be present. 

Word: Mansuetude

mansuetude

[man-swi-tood, -tyood]

noun

1. mildness; gentleness:

the mansuetude of Christian love.

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              “Gently now, gently.” Gail said.  Her soft Irish accent matching her words.  Her hands guided Linus’ as he worked the mild soap into the squirming duckling.  “She’s sensitive.  If you’re too rough, you’ll hurt her.”

                “Sorry. Linus said.  He was having trouble concentrating on the animal.  Gail’s hand on his was more than enough of a distraction.

                It was not like Linus had any real interest in cleaning animal.  There were many places he would rather have been.  But there he was, taking care of an animal that was doing its best to wriggle free of his hands.  Gail had somehow managed to convince him to join the volunteer group.

                She had not tried very hard to do so though.  He did not even have to think about how she had done so.  It was her voice.  There was power in her words.  Her Irish accent was soft and smooth.  Sensual almost.  If all she had was that voice, it would be enough for him.  As it was, she was also very beautiful, which made it even harder to ignore her requests.  But it was her voice that was the clincher in most cases.

                “Alright, that’s the way to do it.” She said happily.  The words sent shivers down Linus’ spine.  “Now just wash it off, and she’ll be ready to head out.”

                “I think this one doesn’t care if she’s all sudsy.” Linus said as the duckling kicked and struggled. 

                “I’m sure she does.  She just doesn’t know you’re trying to help her is all.”

                “I’m trying to be gentle.”  So much so that he was amazed that the soap covered animal remained in his hands at all.

                “You are, but you still can’t tell her why you’re holding her.  And some animals just don’t like being held is all.  She’ll calm down once she’s all clean and on her way.”

                Just as Gail said, once Linus had managed to get the soap off the duckling and it was released, it waddled off as quickly as its tiny feet could carry it.  It was a struggle not to laugh at its journey back to the water.

                “So, what now?” Linus asked.

                “Now?  I hope you’re not trying to skip out.  We’ve still got lots to do here.  Here, take this one.”

                Gail handed him another duckling.  Linus took it hesitantly.  The moment it was in his hands it acted up.  It flapped its tiny wings and squawked as loudly as it could.  It was still young, so much of the effect was lost though.

                “I don’t think these guys like me.” Linus said.

                “Oh now don’t say that.” Gail said with a twinkle in her hazel eyes.  “Just give him some time to get used to you.  Here, let me show you.”

                Linus handed the bird to Gail.  It immediately quieted down, settling into her soft hands.  It looked at Linus, like it was staking its claim on the young woman.

                “There, you see?” She said.  “All it takes is a gentle touch and he’s all right.” Gail started to hand the duckling back to Linus. 

                “Why…why don’t you work on that one and I’ll start with a different one.”

                “Suit yourself.”

                Linus scooped up another of the black, sludgy ducklings, being careful to handle it as carefully and gently as he could.  It didn’t take well to him.  He looked at Gail while wearing his thoughts about the treatment on his sleeves.  Gail just laughed at his struggles and encouraged him to keep trying.  Her words, and her voice, at least got him trying to clean the ungrateful baby bird.  Even with Gail around, he knew I was going to be a long day.          

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Animals just like some people more than others.  Nobody knows why, but they do.