Thursday, August 25, 2011

Once Upon a Time at Camp Part IV

"I'm gonna cut that guy who came up with beets"
    The next morning’s Outdoor Crafts was meant to show us how to make something out of nothing.  In reality, the whole thing boiled down to Whittling, or Making Pointed Sticks.
    For, despite our very best efforts to build a rocket ship out of marsh reeds, a sweater out of beaver pelts, or soup out of guano, it was painfully obvious that, if pressed to fend for ourselves, we’d freeze to death and starve.
    You’d think the staff would’ve figured that out after Pioneering.
OK, who's the jackass that forgot a toilet?
    Knot-Tying and Lashing, while not teaching us anything cool like how to tie a hangman’s noose, did show us how to create some pretty sturdy structures.  Which would come in handy if we ended up as homeless people who lived in signal towers in High Park.
What? Nothing to frikkin' read!?
    The oddest thing we had to construct was something I knew we’d never use:  an outdoor latrine.  Lashing a wooden frame over a hole we’d dug out earlier, we were told they’d be just the thing if caught in the woods without suitable facilities.
    As impressive as it was, I realized it would be used as much as a diaphragm at the Octo-Mom’s house.  If the call of nature ever hit me while moseying around the woods, no way would I squat like some lunatic goony bird on a wooden perch.  Not while there were plenty of bushes to be had.
    Nights at camp gave us a chance to work on our sharp sticks, gamble for cheezits, listen to endless renditions of-what else?-Layla (Sugar, Sugar long since ended its life at the skeet range), and try to keep Timmy’s last pair of shoes away from the fire.
    Nighttimes were also a great time to toss small woodland creatures into the latrine, watch The Great Jimmy Woznick Fart Lighting Show, and tell outrageously bawdy stories whenever Father Karl wasn’t in earshot.
    Following a particularly uproarious story about the consequences of giving certain body parts ridiculously improbable nicknames, we then proceeded to regale each other with the most horrific ghost stories imaginable. 
    Usually involving someone’s golden arm or a zombie who lived under our beds, it was great fun until some wise guy swore he heard there was an escape at a local insane asylum.
Seriously, anybody got any Bactine?
    Forgetting the fact that the closest psychiatric hospital was in New York, we fled to the safety of our tents.  Zipping up tight, we kept a watchful eye on the tree line-pointy sticks at the ready-until we fell asleep. 
    Only to be rudely shaken awake by that damn owl which made Timmy wet his sleeping bag. 
    Jeez, between that, melted sneakers, and a case of poison ivy that made him look like the Elephant Man, he really wasn’t having a good week.

To be concluded (thank God)...
    

10 comments:

  1. Tents are always a secure defence against lunatics and owls.

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  2. @Tony: But not lunatic owls.
    @Eva: I think Timmy became a state senator.

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  3. I think poity sticks are part of the male genetic makeup.

    And no, i didn't mean that to sound like a dirty joke.

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  4. You just need really big marshmallows. That will help. [innuendo may or may not be intended]

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  5. You should have built tree houses. Shitting down from high-up is an old trick perfected by monkeys.

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  6. @Mary: Well, that and sticking our hands in our pants.
    @dbs: I think that's a good lesson for life, innuendo or otherwise (Note: I thought 'innuendo' was an Italian suppository?)
    @GB: Talk about raining cats and dogs.

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  7. Owls are cool. How could they make Timmy pee his pants? That's just sad!

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  8. Oh, screw Timmy. He's a state senator or something like that now.
    Who wears Depends.

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  9. "(Note: I thought 'innuendo' was an Italian suppository?)"
    haha! you're pretty witty in the comments. sometimes they're as good as the post. or even better.

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