| Roseidous' Camp Journal |
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Day One Dear Dead Bunny…err, Diary: Today we introduced the new campers to their surroundings. They seemed mildly pleased. As for me, I cannot wait for my swimming lessons. I was able to convince Roses to switch my beloved supermodel clones to that position. Luckily, I had been practicing my fake-drowning all year, so I feel I’ll get plenty of action this summer. Unlike last…don’t ask. I burned that particular journal. That reminds me, these three campers seem very similar to the last three. I must stop Roses and Ann before they corrupt the young girls’ minds. If only I knew how… Day 2 Dear Dia—Journal: What’s the difference between a journal and a diary? Are you any less of a man if you happen to have a diary? Just in case, I keep all my little “What ifs?” inside a lockbox, under my bed. I hope nobody finds it…I keep everything in my lockbox. As a matter of fact, I think everyone should have a lockbox. So they can put their most embarrassing possessions into the lockbox… Ahh, lockboxes… It has begun. Last night, the girls told me ghost stories. Unfortunately, halfway through the five hours of fireside stories, I had to pee. But the girls wouldn’t let me leave! By the time they had finished, I was so crippled with pain I couldn’t move until dawn. After Roses and I gave them a thorough talking-to, I ran off to relieve myself. I knew I shouldn’t have drank all those Root Beers before the stories… Day 3 Dear Manly-type Journal: I suspect Roses has been rewarding the girls for evil behavior towards me. For example, while at my swimming lessons, my towel “mysteriously” disappeared. Now, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but beforehand, I had allowed myself to “accidentally” loss my speedo while swimming. Then my clones had to be suddenly called to another matter, and I was left butt-naked in the lake. Using a makeshift bush, I managed to cover myself as I made a dash to the councilor’s cabin. When dressed, I returned to the lake, only to find Roses with the girls, eating ice cream sandwiches. And what do you know? My towel is lying perfectly on a rock by the shore, where it wasn’t before. Then Roses tells me there aren’t any more ice cream sandwiches. But I tell her those were my ice cream sandwiches! That they were my personal property! Roses said she had no idea—even though every wrapper had my name written on them. I tell you, I’ll get these conspirators, even if it kills me! Which it probably will… Day 4 Dear, umm, Girlfriend-No-One-Knew-I-Had: Today I found out that the makeshift bush I had used was actually a species of poison oak. I cannot express the joy I felt when finding the blinding red rash. If only there was some way to thank those girls. Unfortunately, they found a way to thank me. In the counselor’s cabin, on the bulletin board, was a Polaroid of my naked rear-end as I was running to the cabin. Ann and Roses both deny having taken the picture, or putting it up. But they couldn’t help from laughing… You know, I cannot help but wonder if Tyrael was also in on the scheme. He was decidingly absent that day for the swimming lessons—a fact I had thought was to my advantage at the time. So far, it would seem everyone had a part to play in yesterday’s events. With that in mind, I now know there is no one I can trust at this camp. I must figure something out…something to repay them for this dern rash! Argh! Why won’t it stop itching?! Day 5 Dear *sigh* Blow-Up Girl: Today the camp has begun preparation for a dance. A dance? There are only three frickin campers here! Apparently, though, there is a camp next door with three other male campers. I hope the counselors over there are hot chicks. Wait, what am I thinking? The other counselors here are female, and look what it’s gotten me? Hmm, I must band with my brothers in order to deliver justice. Tomorrow, I think I’ll pay a visit to the other camp. The male campers may share my concerns. Day 6 Dear…aww, who cares? Dear Myself: While the campers and counselors were distracted with dance lessons from Vinnie, I slipped out and drove over to the other camp. It took me about three hours to navigate through the twisting forest roads. And no, I refuse to admit I ever got lost. Slipping in and out of another state’s border does not count as getting lost! That dern bunny just doesn’t know how to read a map correctly! Well, when I finally arrived, I found out the camp’s name was the Pork-chops and Applesauce Camp. All these names made me hungry, so I invited myself to the camp’s dinner. There I found all of the people to be male. Thank goodness! But I knew it would take some convincing—they had started months before us, and it was obvious that they were all starved for female affection. I told them of my rambling tale of female treachery, but I could see the hormone-induced teenaged campers were not interested. They only perked up when I mentioned a woman. However, the more experienced male counselors nodded in understanding. Disregarding the young campers, the counselors and I met in their cabin, and plotted. The dead bunny and I would have retribution… |