|It was a lot of fun until those kids from the Palestinian Camp insisted we were in their woods illegally. |
But, we gave them some s'mores and they left us alone
|Shoulda thought of mousetraps|
Plus, mosquitoes don’t swim and poison ivy is wonderfully absent when you’re up to your neck in water the color of a melted brown crayon. (“Don’t worry, kids,” we were told, “it’s a natural result of the summer’s heat reacting to water’s inherent chemical properties. It has nothing whatsoever to do with that paper mill upstream.”).
|Nip Tuck, the exchange kid from |
Our Lady of the Demilitarized Zone, kicked our ass
Sadly, our group lost the regatta when Timmy suffered acute gastrointestinal distress during the final heat of the Spam-On-A-Spoon Dog Paddle competition. His colorful-yet explosive-underwater discharge closed down an entire section of beach, halting the day’s events. On the bright side, he did manage to feed the fish.
|Danny Thomas: Noted Catholic, |
father of Marlo Thomas, and dead person
As quickly as twenty years on Death Row, the day finally came for us to leave. Carrying our memories, sharp sticks, and a week’s worth of dirty laundry, Spags, Donny, and I bid our companions farewell and piled into the Spagnoula’s red VW beetle.
Following an uneventful two hours which saw all of us drift off to sleep (except, thankfully, Mr. Spagnoula), we pulled into my driveway. After saying a quick goodbye to the still-sleeping Spags and Donny, I jumped from the car.
Bursting through the front door, I was oblivious to my family’s welcomes. All thoughts were focused on where I should first go.
My mind swirled as I tried to determine my first course of action. Rejecting all other possibilities, I finally decided.
My room? Nossir.
Cookie jar? Nope.
Television? Uh, uh.
Taking two steps at a time, I dashed upstairs to the bathroom.
Home at last.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled blogs