Boy Scouts 4Eva

I've been wandering in a state of utter confusion this entire day and even now, as I sit at my desk and type these words, my mind is twisted in knots knotted by the best Boy Scout knotter who ever lived. The reason? My watch says it's April 31 but everyone else thinks it's May 1.

I used to be a Boy Scout but I quit because I enjoyed indoor plumbing far too much. Over the years I simply became less and less thrilled with how wonderful it was to have a breakfast of oatmeal mixed with hot chocolate in a cup that was the same cup I used to dig a hole in the ground to shit in as well as used to hold the creek water I brushed my teeth with. But honestly, I had some good times as a Boy Scout. I learned how to light my hand on fire without it hurting and I learned that the crazy kid whose dad made him join even though he didn't want to must always win at late-night poker because he's got the biggest knife and you and the baby fox from the previous day know he's not afraid to use it to kill baby foxes. But despite what I learned, I quit all the same. And the fox, well, if he knew what he was getting into, he would have done the same.

But it's funny to think about the things that boys do when their parents aren't around. I mean, there are a thousand million things to do when you're in the woods with civilization hundreds of miles away and all you have is a picnic table and a spider infested outdoor bathroom where the toilet is just a hole cut in some plywood. But even in this rich environment filled with possibilities, the activity of the day always comes back to lighting your body on fire.

This in turn makes me wonder why there are no more freak shows. I honestly believe that Boy Scouts and more specifically, Boy Scout camping trips/summer camps, are the breeding grounds for freaks. It's not as much that boys become freaks from attending these events (though little Sammy Willis would beg to differ, what with the fact that he's missing the middle finger on both of his hands) but that they discover their own personal freak-itudes as they're desperately trying to find things to do. For example, on one of my first camping trips I learned that I was really good at not being able to get my towel when somebody threw it into a tree. On a second trip I found out that I had the innate ability to smell feces on the bottom of a shoe anywhere from 0-67 feet away. I could go on, but I'm sure you get the picture.

I guess the whole point of this rambling ramble is that I want to go to a circus where they invite me out into the ring to hold a hula-hoop or something while a dog or elephant or clown or something jumps through it.