Decomposition of this biography performed by those who have experienced the “COZ effect”
Age: 46 but claims to be Forty-teen.
Years played – None, I take all the games seriously since 9 years ago when I got hold of a Sheridan and wasted the Sally wimp that was on the other team. Who cares that he was an innocent bystander, someone’s grandfather who was helping (naturally with goggles) his grandson tie his shoes. He was fraternizing with the enemy so he deserved to be schmooed!
Uniform – Green shirt and pants, no button fly crap. Can’t stand that. The person who thought that button fly garbage up should be clubbed to death with a bicycle seat and buried in a stink-hole.
Gear – Cockers, lots of Cockers. Custom super cockers built by me. I own the best cocker because it’s mine! Just put me up against one of them electric pukes and I’ll hit them with so much paint that it will take a 4000-psi pressure washer to clean them up just so their mothers will recognize them.
COZ is quite a mixture of characters. He is a master carpenter by trade and has skin the thickness of rhinoceros flesh on his hands. Even though all the nerve endings in his fingers have been beat to death by hammers or severed due to arguments with power saws, he has evolved into one of the best Cocker surgeons I’ve ever known.
A sinuous senior who is composed of a wolverines attitude, spring steel and razor wire and a digestive tract, COZ is the one you want on your side. He has more moves than a hyperactive weasel at a hen convention. There is no question that you can’t keep this guy on a leash. He is in the front, in your face and will steam roll over you to win the game. Few things in life can deter the COZ from completing his mission. The only two things to date is either a fractured Schminkma, or what is now known as Nut-Rock.
COZ is there. You need a dependable partner on the field, you need help building a field, you have trouble with your gun, you need someone to serve as point, COZ is there. If you mess with the COZ, COZ is there (standing over you filling in the hole that he has dug and placed you in so the ants can eat your sorry carcass). You want to play with the big boys, then see me. Stop your freakin’ whining and play. Can’t take the heat then, move outta my way. I can hardly wait until he turns real crotchety!! The spice of paintball. You gotta love him.
