Every year ‘
bout this time, the camp counselors start coming ’round. While most may be fine upstanding individuals, I hate them all equally and I’ll tell you why. They’re destructive fucking fuck fucks that fuck with my shit. If a herd of them comes into the bar, nine times out of ten, one pack member will end up costing me more in damages and aggravation than the entire group made me profits.
They have no excuse. I’m calling bullshit on the argument that they’re “surrounded by obnoxious kids all day and need to blow off a little steam.” One, you’re in spring training….there aren’t even kids around yet. Two, this is what adults call accountability. You chose the gig. Now grow a set and shut the fuck up. You’re old enough to drink…you’re old enough to not act like a screaming retard every time an opportunity presents itself. If you’re so friggin twitchy, do me a favor and stay back at CampFuckyFuckFuck and get your drink-on behind the lodge.
That is all.
