Do you zing? Try it. It’s toatly cool.

Toatly remember, zing is a verb. Like sing. You can say, “I zang her real good” and I won’t bat an eyelid. The rubber band is the zong, which is a noun. Toatly cool.

The first thing that a guy at my work learns is how to sling a rubber band across the room and hit a designated target. His training is considered complete if he can sling a rubber band right across, from the loading docks to the female employees’ locker room.

Like any large organization, ours is awash with rubber bands. From thick, tight small blue rubber bands to long, thin, stringy beige rubber bands. Rubber bands are used, not only for handling stationery but also for holding together padded envelopes containing small loose engine parts such as screws and washers.

Here’s how you zing. Stretch out your left hand in front of you, index finger pointing out. Hook the rubber band over the thumb, close to its tip and pull it taught.

And then let go. The rubber band will zing away to the target. The velocity and range will depend upon the thickness and circumferential length of the band.

And do remember, zing is a verb, like sing. You can say, “I zang her real good” and I won’t bat an eyelid. The rubber band is the zong.

Zinging zongs is a multi-faceted science. You gotta know projectile motion, parabolic trajectories, integral calculus, do what you have ta do. At work, remember to take a zing break every half hour and zing only those who are likely to zing you back. That way, your rubber band stock level will not be depleted.

Sometimes, rubber bands are slipped into handbags and taken home. Mandy, at warehouse, does that all the time. She steals the tiny thick blue ones and takes them home. She claims that, ever since she started filching that exact size, her husband, Otto, has never had a problem maintaining his erection.

Our in-house Japanese-Canadian, Asahi, has devastating aim and his zingers really bite, so we’ve named him Yammy (after the WW2 Jap C-in-C, Yamamoto). Likewise, László, our resident Hungarian-Canadian is ‘Otto’ (after that Nazi special forces guy, Otto Skorzeny). László can get you right on the earlobes. More than painful, it’s irritating. If you hear a sudden scream “Ouch! László, you m—–f—-n’ SOB!$%*”, it means someone just got his earlobes zung.

Of course ‘zung’ is a word. It’s the past participle, silly.

Sometimes, skirmishes break out during the lunch break. Or when the boss is called away to a meeting. We stage our own little OK Corrals. Sudden Son Tays. Merry Mai Lais. And once in a while, a Guadalcanal. Rubber bands zing all around you like zipping hornets. They sting if they strike open skin. Once Francois hit Sandra over at Manutention and soon their men folk came to exact revenge. They met with a barrage and had to do a Dunkirk. And just like the Germans in ’41, we let them leave.

One rubber band has even made it to China and back. Steve was dueling with Gaetan when he sent one zinger way over all the cubicles and right into Tonya Salerno’s open attaché case. She was packing papers for her trip to Harbin and didn’t notice. When she came back after 15 days, Steve dropped by to pick up his rubber band. He produced evidence that it was actually his. She laughed. They talked. He laughed. They dated. They’re expecting their second child anytime now.

To my young, unattached male friends, don’t try zinging any girl just because I said it’s fun, OK? And don’t do it at work either.

Always don’t do the things I do or write about doing.