I wasn't sure what to make of this intergalactic space war. With flying soldiers in old tobacco tins and bullets made out of fingers. I took it upon myself, I suppose to conscript to this chaos, upon the fluffy terrain. Some sort of tyrannous Tyrannosaurus, with a purple top hat had taken over the bunk bed fort.
I'd made up my mind. The only thing for it was a straight "Neeeeee-owwwwwwww" into the back of the villainous lizard.
My comrade in arms however, felt I wasn't quite suited for this rampant combat. Although, his reason I didn't quite agree with;
"You're doing it wrong" he said, rather patronisingly.
I guess my little cousin is less of the kamikaze type and more of the tactical warfare nature.
A sort of poetic commentary on what (as you get older) suddenly seems ridiculous to you, but is so normal still for every child.