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 Deliver Us From The Evil BumPosted 02.15.2006 by SamDamnit (1192)
Growing up with a father who was an Episcopal priest, I ended up being involved in a lot of church activities. I was a Sunday school teacher, a lay reader, an Epistle server, a Gospel server, an acolyte, a flag bearer, a youth group president, a choir member and, last but not least, a camp counselor. Camp Allen was my home for one month out of the year, where I was a teenager in charge of a cabin full of ten-year-olds.
My fellow counselors were an assortment of preachers' kids and goody two shoes. As you can imagine, the preachers' kids were the naughty ones. Luckily for me, there were three preachers' daughters in our retinue. I was the only preachers' son. After our cabins of kids had gone to sleep, the four of us would sneak out and meet in the woods. The first night we played spin the bottle and truth or dare. By the second night we had cut out the formalities and got straight to the drinking, smoking, and fondling. I was in heaven, so to speak. Of course, the temptations of Sodom and Gomorrah kept me up pretty late. I would stumble back to my cabin at two in the morning and then wake up at the crack of dawn. There is no way that I could pull that off now, but back then it was no big deal. My hangover would be gone by the end of breakfast. Admittedly, though, I was a bit groggy for the hour prior to flapjacks, bacon, and eggs. On one such morning I awoke to the sound of the cock crowing, the creaking of bunk beds, and the ten-year-olds giggling at farts. I announced my awakening with a rumbling fart of my own. There was a rule that no one should speak until the counselor was awake, so the boys would communicate through flatulence. Each would try to top the last fart with a louder one of their own. My diet of Nacho Cheese Bugles and beer, combined with my teenager's bowel size, made me the king of the cabin, fartwise. At least, that was usually the case. On this morning I was cast from my throne. A chubby little kid named Arthur followed my butt trumpeting with a fart so long and loud that I was put to shame. I mean, it sounded like rolling thunder. I could not believe that such a sound could escape from a human, much less a ten-year-old. After the cabin and I were done congratulating him, I rallied the boys for our morning jog to the showers. Standing outside the cabin, I started counting heads. I only had nine little farters. "Where is Arthur?" I asked. His brother told me that he was still in the cabin. I told him to fetch him quickly -- I did not want us to be the last in line for breakfast. After a minute or so, Arthur's brother came to the cabin door and waved me over. "What's the holdup?" I said. "Arthur had an accident," replied his brother. We walked in to the cabin and were met by a telltale smell. Arthur had shit himself. The poor kid was still in his bunk with his sheet pulled up to his chin -- I guess he was trying to hold the smell under there. It was not working. He was sweating like a pig and looked like he was about to cry. This was a problem. The logistics of cleaning him and the bunk were not my only worry. I knew that if the other boys learned of this, Arthur would be a laughingstock for the rest of his time at camp, as well as back home. Shaking off my hangover, I acted quickly. Speaking to Arthur's brother, I said, "We are going to make up a story, and it is important that you stick with it. Do you understand?" He nodded in agreement. I told Arthur that we were going to get him out of this and that no one would know. He was visibly relieved to hear this. I laid out my plan to the two brothers: the two of them would strip the bunk and Arthur's pajamas while I went out to talk to the rest of the cabin. Walking outside, I found my motley crew playing grabass and armpunch. "Listen up, campers!" I said. "We have a problem. A raccoon snuck in to the cabin last night and pooped on Arthur's bunk." This pronouncement was met with gales of laughter, but they seemed to be buying it. I plowed ahead with my story. "As you know, raccoon poop is very, very dirty, and it can make you sick. I don't want any of you to be exposed to it. Arthur and Andrew have already been exposed, so they are going to clean it up for us. You guys should be very thankful that they are so brave. After they toss out the poop, they will need to be decontaminated, so we are going to be late getting to the showers and breakfast. Now run along. We will catch up in a little while." The gullible little farters took off and I turned my attention back to the task at hand. Entering the cabin, I found that the brothers had stripped the bed handily. The soiled linens were in a trash bag. It was now time to deal with the soiled ten-year-old. We had to wait for every one to finish showering. Once they were all at breakfast, we could "decontaminate" Arthur. I spent the time going over our story and swearing the brothers to secrecy. Eventually we disposed of the poopy linens and clothing, and hit the showers. Joining the rest of the cabin at breakfast, Arthur and Andrew were greeted as heroes and peppered with questions. Those guys did me proud. They lied their little asses off and reveled in their newfound hero status. As for me, I was comforted by the knowledge that all my sinful debauchery would be made up for in God's eyes. I had saved a good kid from having the worst camp experience of his life. Post new comment
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