“How nice,” I said to myself. “They’re playing ping pong. I knew it was a good idea to put it here instead of in the greenhouse.”
Clint and 2 of his friends were volleying that light lil ball back ‘n forth, chatting and laughing as they tried to out-manoeuvre each other.
Civilized, harmless, healthy fun.
Then Ian missed a lob.
He put his paddle down on the table, turned to face the front door and waited with his back to Clint.
Clint picks up the ball and smashes it with all his might, aiming at the backside of Ian.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I shriek.
“Playing sting pong” Ian answers. “I missed Clint’s pass.”
"So he gets to pelt you with a ping pong ball? What kind of idiocy is this?”
“It’s fun.”
“FUN? You’re going to end up with welts all over your back!”
“Yeah. Cool eh?”

Thankfully their might far exceeded their accuracy.
Still, they all have pock marks (badges of honour?)(stupidity symbols?) polka dotting their backs.

Roughly when can I expect some brain cells to re-emerge?
I'm sure he was born with them...