After an eternity of dodging car-swallowing holes and tire-bursting rocks, we end up at our destination. Alright guys lets set up camp. Amy told me to make sure that I set up the tent close to the others, so I picked a nice secluded spot by the creek as far away as possible from our fellow outdoorsman. The tents are up and so is the baking, afternoon sun. It's 2:00 pm, and the girls won't be here for another three hours, I guess it's thumb up the ass time. In a moment of divine clarity, Bruce, AKA Testosterone Overdose, decided to bring a pellet gun. Let the "You'll shoot your eye out kid" Olympics begin. We set up several empty beer cans on a fallen tree over the creek bed and take turns living out our white trash dreams. "Dag gummit I shot the living shit out of that Bud Light can. That dog will hunt!"
Still more time to kill before the cougars arrive. If only we had a game that required minimal physical exersion, that could be played without puting your beer down...Cornhole time! For those of you who are unfamiliar with the game, it's like horseshoes without that annoying clanking noise. Boards with holes are placed nine yards apart and then you take turns trying to throw bean bags through the aforementioned holes. It's scored like horseshoes, so basic math skills are required. After a few rounds, all of that standing and drinking really got to us, so we decided to rest on our laurels, that is if laurels means asses.
Arby's is now a distant memory, and we are ecstatic when the women folk finally arrive. We won the first reward challenge on Survivor Bumfuck, Virginia, so we have the flint necessary to start a fire, but really, who needs flint when you have a lighter and a Sure Flame fire starter log. Wiggity-wiggity-wiggity-whack we have flames, grab the dogs and let's get this feast started. Twenty minutes later I am slumped in a chair with mustard, chocolate and marshmallow all over my face and on my shirt. Kevin Spacey would kill me for Gluttony if this were the movie Se7en, fortunately for me it's not, it's Friday the 13th part XIV, Jason vs. a former Tenderfoot Scout.
Dusk is upon us and I decide to take the pellet gun out and see if I can cause some woodsy mayhem. "Hey guys do you think I should shoot this deer?" Being known as a maestro of bullshit, my inquisition goes unanswered. "Seriously guys, should I give this Bambi a headache or let him go?" My crew finally come over to see what the fuss is all about. We all watch a young, fearless buck eating the leaves off trees and occasionally glancing my way with a "nice pellet gun you fucking Nancy-boy" look. I pump it a few times to let him know I mean business, but he is unaffected by my gun-toting bravado. He finally turns and heads up the hill, being the master of post conflict banter I mutter "Who's the Nancy-boy now? That's right, you better run before I give you a nice welt on the ass, you dumb deer."
Now that the cervine threat has been abated, our attention turns to campfire discussions. We talk about the role of the internet in globalization, and debate the reasons for Darfur and why developed nations seem to ignore regions where there is little economic gain. It was really funny when Amy said that Darfur was in Chad, when it is sooo in the Sudan. Duh! We all had a good laugh over that botch. Ahhhh, nothing beats mistaken campfire quips for a good guffaw.
After that belly laugh, it was time to call it a night. Our tent looked like the Taj Mahal in the light of day, but by nightfall it seems to have diminished in size. Two-man tent my ass, maybe dos-hombres tent, but no way this fits anyone over 5' 3" comfortably. The ground is also extremely hard, like Ron Jeremy after four Viagra's, hard. Our sleeping arrangements made Abu Ghraib look like Club Med, and by morning I was begging to have my genitals shocked, if it meant I could get an hour of sleep.
Finally, the Sun put down his Jimmy Dean Breakfast Bowl and decided to light and heat the earth. I had our tent down and packed in record time. All I wanted to do was get my shit in the truck and hit the closest McDonalds for some McSkillet Burrito McYumminess. Happily, my camp companions complied, (How's that for alliteration bitches!) and we broke camp like we'd just been informed of an Al Quaeda ambush.
Safely back on the highway, we had survived a night of camping on Friday the 13th, and after a nice long Karen Ann Quinlan nap, I was back among the living. I hope my smores-eating and deer-fighting merit badges are in the mail, because I earned them this weekend.
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