"How the hell did I end up here?" asks contributing writer Tom Laskin in a cover dispatch regarding his visit to the 42-acre Stalker Paintball Park near Wisconsin Dells. Clad in camouflage fatigues and protective gear, Laskin draws fire from multiple Rambos "who are burning my butt with yellow paint tracers" while "an invisible sniper about 100 feet in front of me is keeping me honest with periodic bursts." Assuming a defensive crouch, he becomes a casualty "when two paint balls explode simultaneously on both of my thighs. Now it's too late to feign a valiant defense of our flag, so I sheepishly call out 'Hit!' [and] wrap a white armband over my orange team colors to indicate that I've been eliminated. " Laskin struggles with a jammed gun, fogged-up facemask goggles and inexperience. "I've popped off at my fellow man at least 70 times and have yet to score a hit," he laments. "Like some kind of perfect master of ineptitude, I've gotten past the play-to-win philosophy."