A Letter From Camp: Hello Mothuh, Hello Fathuh…

Going to camp this summer? Just remember that when things go wrong, you can always call for reinforcements.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I hope you get this letter quickly.

I need you to come and pick me up at camp. Like right away! You see…there have been a few setbacks this year. 

First there was the matter of the fish that ate my friend Chuckie.

                                                                


Then, when I was sure I was going to win this year’s hot dog eating contest, this kid from Japan sucked down fifty of ‘em in no time flat.  I’m pretty sure they use some kind of Zen mind control or something. Not fair. And is it me, or does this kid look 22?

                                                                 


We tried to roast marshmallows, but then Freddie Finklestein’s marshmallow came to life and chased him around with a fiery torch. It kept muttering something about “I am the God of Hell fire…and I bring you Fi-yuh!”  That kinda freaked us out.

                                                                        

I drew you a picture because words alone could not do it justice.

Then the camp director started breathing fire, and that’s when we all started to get a little edgy. Plus…we ran out of Hershey bars and that really killed the s’mores plan for the night.

                                                                      

What a show off.  

                                                                                       

And then THIS kid eats all the Hershey bars.

Things got exciting when we spotted Bigfoot…

                                                                                  

But when we followed him, we saw something that really scared the tar out of us!

                                                                     

Big Foot meets Big Mac.

You know how I feel about clowns.

 

It was my turn to clean the latrine yesterday…

                                                                                     

                                                                  

I’m still reeling from that…

The food here straight up sucks.

                                                                   

And you know how sometimes people won’t eat food that has a face?

Well…I can’t even eat the toast.                                                                    

Somebody told me this is the face of a cereal killer.  I don’t know about that, but breakfast was definitely out of the question. 


I made a cool Stonehenge model out of Twinkies.  But then Mikey Kramer ate it.

                                                                    

 

Timmy Blankenship told us that Monkey’s Paw story around the campfire the other night.


                                                                      


Now I gotta sleep with one eye open.                                                                          

Especially since Kenny Gladstone is in the top bunk.

                                                                      

And then this happened. Our cabin burned down…

                                                                       

because Bobby Jennings was lighting his farts with a Bic lighter and an aerosol can of his Mom’s Jean Naté.

                                                                        

And to make matters worse, Becky Needemeyer has a crush on me. She follows me everywhere.

                                                                        

She even crashed our Dungeons & Dragons game the other night.

So did James Lipton. He’s creepy. He keeps asking me what my favorite curse word is.


So could you please come get me?  If I have to make one more macramé owl…

If I have to go canoeing with that Lipnicki kid again…

 

If I gotta sit through all twenty verses of American Pie one. more. time.

If I absolutely must be subjected to Scream Puppet Theater again…

 

Then I’m gonna tell everybody at church that Grandma and Grandpa are swingers.


Or…did you say…singers?

About Linda Roy

Linda is a writer/musician with a Peter Pan Petty complex, a guitar toting husband, two boys and pug dependency issues. She’s grateful that the word “snark” has been introduced into the vernacular since people just used to know her as “the chick with the bad attitude”.  She feels strangely akin to Larry David and will criticize your parallel parking abilities to prove it. She blogs at elleroy was here and fronts the Indie Americana band Jehova Waitresses.  She also writes at Lefty Pop and Funny Not Slutty. Connect with her on TwitterFacebook and Google+

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