Boyscout camp.

Jesus mowing the lawn, did Boyscouts suck. More conformity. More Norman Rockwell cock grease. Boyscouts was basically a continuation of brainwashing, afterschool special style. Hitler youth painted in red, white and fatigue green.

The jamboree of tribes. Like the cycle of cicadae, the great collection of Boyscout drones occurs every seven years or so. Anyway, from what I recall, the calling of uniformed idiots from all lands surrounding the bible belt, amassed in the middle of the Illinois woods. Every troop sequestered to a clearing of trees. This was official kerchief wearing assholery on a massive scale.

I remember the first day, breaking camp. Orientation. Taking kids in chunks to discuss the rules and the layout. Shown the trading post.

Towering ranch timber lodge. Only connection to the outside world. Mail collected and sent from there, hopes of a letter from the Boyscout general for a reprieve from the "always be prepared" concentration camp. Place to purchase the merit badges earned while undergoing boyhood rites on the camp ground. Also the only spot to procure the necessities of life. Candy!

Tray after tray of cafeteria heated glop that came from cannon shell sized tin cans. Snickers and Nerds were the only tastebud salvation. Course you had to plan that shit properly. Especially us inner city kids who weren't given the same size knot to last us the extent of the entire summer long stint in three finger saluting hell. Blow your wad on the first day, and suffer sugarless through all of July and August. Plus the grubbers about who saw you haul a load from the trading post would be all over ya. Demanding flow. Plundering your pantry.

You also couldn't be a pussy. Conservative penny pinching could backfire. Near the end, they stopped replenishing the vaporised goods. The man with a sneaky stash of peanut butter cups was a prince among vermin.

While anxiously waiting in line to snatch some goodies, was confronted by some inmates from another gang. Usually it was unheard of to roam the camp without your fellow tribes members. Seperated from the pack, many a young man found themselves hanging on a branch stump by the elastic of their Aquaman underoos. I braved it.

"Hey, don't you ever sweat?" Strangely enough I suppose I adapted to heat easier than other kids. Even though these days the death fireball in the sky is my anathema. Being an extensive traveller of the Midwest I was able to pinpoint their accent as Minnesotan. Tempered in St. Louis summer swelter, the offensive stinky heat of the un-airconditioned lodge didn't affect me.

His friends joined in the freak name callin and finger pointing. Runt I was. Wasn't the same growl and chew asshole I am today. Shaded my exasperated face behind my Cardinals cap and bolted.

Remember they tied up the fat kid in my pavillion. We shared a clearing with another troop from some St. Louis suburbs. Real whining pussies. The fat kid was some rich person's cum spillage. He had all the fresh gear. New Coleman's lantern. Cool eight inch pocket knife with fake ivory carved handle. Showed a buck defending himself against a hunter. He was very snotty about his expensive collection of backpacking items.

Straight from the pages of Lord Of The Flies. Some of the more thuggy boys from my troop tied him to the flagpole with a nylon rope. We hooted and hollered around him like savages in the throes of a warrior dance. The slow kid got pissed when the fat boy started cutting the rope with his fancy pocket knife. "Hey! You fucking cut my rope!" he said. The little piggy was slapped around some for his crime.

Same slow boy spent all one evening making a joke about peeing in his sleeping bag. With a strained throat voice he kept bleating "it's so waaaaaaarm", and laughing at himself. His head was mishapen like an unshelled peanut.

Believe he was the fucker who threw my cherished Cardinals cap in the fire. It was an awesome hat. Got it from Busch Stadium, same day I saw Lou Brock steal three bases in one game. All red, and sort of a fuzzy material, just had the Seventies cardinal on a branch logo embroidered on it. Hat saw much action. Went missing for a day or two. Wound up suspiciously out in the open on my cot, half charred. No one had any answers.

Not sure whether it was an unfortunate calamity or a painful blessing. But this is the camp where I was severly infected with poison ivy pollen that got into my bloodstream, through a leg scrape against some infested tree bark. Day after, gnats partying in the plasm swamp formed on my calf. Emergency medvac'ed out two days later. Somewhere near the end of June. My reprieve was granted.

Not sure why parents send their munchkins, whom they apparently love more than life itself, off to Beirut every summer. I know that a kid left to his own devices with no supervision is a dangerous situation. Especially in my case. Should have just sent me to a fish cannery in Alaska, at least I would have gotten paid.