Chapter Two of the Winter Camp Chronicles
We had nestled in for the night at Counselor Jerome's cabin. He has a nice spread, with a top of the line space heater to boot. We were eating popcorn, drinking pop, and watching a DVD that Counselor Jerome had called Great Moments in Sports History. We were just getting to the part where Jackie Robinson makes his debut with the Brooklyn Dodgers when Counselor Jerome's radio, a top of the line model, started crackling.
"Come in, Deadbeat Dad, this is Corinthian Station."
Corinthian Station is code for the front gate.
"This is Deadbeat Dad. What's the poop, Corinthian Station."
There was this one time that this guy was hitting on me in a club, and I told him that I had sex with a dolphin at Busch Gardens in Tampa on a Tuesday to get him to leave me alone, but that only got him more interested. Fucking weirdo.
"Deadbeat Dad, we need reinforcements at Corinthian Station. There is a party approaching the gate on foot. It appears to be a group of social workers with two deputies from the sheriff's department."
"Understood. I'm here with a group of fun loving camp counselors. We'll rally to your support, Corinthian Station. See you in five."
We jumped into action. We were once again under attack by no good people. I grabbed my fully automatic weapon and my armor piercing bullets and followed the others to the front gate. Social workers are dangerous and unpredictable. I had to be ready for anything. On a TV show once, I saw a social worker literally rip a baby off a woman's tit as she was breastfeeding the infant. I was horrified. Half the woman's nipple came off in the baby's mouth. Not only that, she threw the baby in the back of a van where other babies were already piled up. That was how violent and sick this social worker was. And I'm sure that wasn't an isolated incident, so don't come at me with all that "a few bad apples" bullshit.
The social workers knew we would resist their iron hand. We'd expected the next attack to bring the police. It was anticipated. We had taken countermeasures. We had sniper-level camp counselors on the roof of a nearby house. We'd had to take over the house. So we tied up the owner and her family in the basement and completely turned off the heat. We told them we no longer needed their permission and took our time putting armor-piercing rounds into each of their skulls. We need a house, we take a house. We're camp counselors. We get more stuff done before you get in the pool than you do in the pool.
Counselor Jerome, who was now our undisputed leader after dispatching 15 challengers in the ring by putting armor-piercing bullets into each of their brains, had two counselors covering him as he confronted the attacking force.
"We need to get to those kids. Do you have heat in those cabins?"
"No. Fuck those kids. We have a right to full-time jobs that last twelve months per year, with six weeks paid vacation, procreation leave, and a handsome medical plan that includes an equally handsome doctor."
"Okay, get your hands behind your head--"
Sniper Forester took out both the cops with two quick shots. Counselor Jerome smiled his wicked smile. "Help you?"
"We just wanted to stop by and say hello."
"That's nice. We were just watching Great Moments in Sports History. We're at the part where Nadia Comaneci gets a perfect score in the Olympics."
"Can we watch with you?"