“Those Americans... they think they own the world, eh?”
“Yeah... no one takes us seriously, eh? Heck, I was talking to this one American kid, and he thought Canada was the fifty-first state! How depressing is that? Pass me a beer, eh?”
“You know, our plan to destroy America by ruining its economy with Canadian coins doesn’t seem to be working, eh? Seems that those stupid American buttheads just don’t give a damn, and spend’em anyways. Here you go.”
“Thanks. Bacon?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“So what do you suggest, eh?”
“Well, ya know, I think it may just be time to do something other then sit on our butts drinkin’ beer, watching hockey, and only getting up to go to the bathroom or occasionally cross the border and unload tons of change, eh?”
“You don’t mean...”
“Yes, I do.”
“Eh?”
“Eh.”
“Yeah... no one takes us seriously, eh? Heck, I was talking to this one American kid, and he thought Canada was the fifty-first state! How depressing is that? Pass me a beer, eh?”
“You know, our plan to destroy America by ruining its economy with Canadian coins doesn’t seem to be working, eh? Seems that those stupid American buttheads just don’t give a damn, and spend’em anyways. Here you go.”
“Thanks. Bacon?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“So what do you suggest, eh?”
“Well, ya know, I think it may just be time to do something other then sit on our butts drinkin’ beer, watching hockey, and only getting up to go to the bathroom or occasionally cross the border and unload tons of change, eh?”
“You don’t mean...”
“Yes, I do.”
“Eh?”
“Eh.”
part 19:
Northern Exposure
by Matthew Atanian
based on a story idea by
Aaron Abdowmassy
©2000 by Matthew Atanian and Aaron Abdowmassy
Boy Scouts ½ created by Matthew Atanian
Northern Exposure
by Matthew Atanian
based on a story idea by
Aaron Abdowmassy
©2000 by Matthew Atanian and Aaron Abdowmassy
Boy Scouts ½ created by Matthew Atanian
The Scouts of 192 had just enjoyed their third week of peace and quiet. Justy and Proctor had disappeared, and in the mean time, as the highest-ranking Patrol Leader, Mike Quadrozzi had been in charge of the Troop.
It had been bliss.
Well run meetings. Fun activities. Good program.
Aside from most of the Adult Leaders, the Troop had never been happier.
The Troop was presently in formation as Mike addressed them prior to closing this week’s meeting.
“Well, guys, it’s been another fun week. This weekend is the Spring Camporee, hope you’re all ready for it! Now, for some words about this weekend, our...” Mike fought back boughts of laughter that threatened to overtake him at the absurdity of what he was about to say. “Our esteemed Scoutmaster, Mr. Shmuler.”
Mike then stepped down from his position before the Troop and joined Aaron and the rest of his patrol.
Shmuler, his usual image of efficiency and preparedness, took the place Mike had vacated. “Well, guys, we seem to be having a Camporee this weekend. Should be fun, huh?
Silence was his response.
“Yeah, well, they’re having some events or something, and we should all do our best to try and see about maybe winning something, because that’s what you should do at these things.”
Crickets.
“Also, it seems that this camporee we might be having some guests up at camp...”
Shmuler was interrupted when the double doors at the front of Walker Hall were thrown open and slammed to the walls with a loud bang. The members of the Troop turned away from Shmuler to see who it was who had entered.
“Doors all thrown open for you, Captain, just like you asked!” said a familiar voice.
Then a figure emerged from the darkness of the doorway.
His skin was red and showed evidence in some areas of recent blistering. He reeked of filth, and his clothing was a thread bare, patched together jumble that at one time, seemingly decades ago, might have been a Boy Scout uniform.
He was followed by a crouched creature that it took the Troop a moment to realize was even human. This second figure was much worse off, his skin still heavily blistered and covered with a not very thin layer of dirt and grime. This second figure, the one who had spoken, was also sparsely clothed. He wore little more then a loin cloth, his clothing seemingly sacrificed to patch up the tattered garment that the other wore.
The first figure, the Troop then realized with dread, was Justy Yung.
“You!” he spat. He fixed his gaze on the Garden Snake Patrol. “This was somehow your doing, wasn’t it? ABU DHABI!!??”
“Hey, hi, Justy.” Mike said.
“Don’t you, ‘Hi, Justy,’ me!” Justy frothed. He then hacked and coughed in a way that sounded vaguely reminiscent of maniacal laughter. “I’ll get you for this, Garden Snake Patrol. Oh yes, I will get you for this.”
Justy then collapsed upon the floor.
“Welcome back, Justy!” Shmuler brightly said. “Okay, as I was saying, the camporee this weekend will have special guests. Joining us will be...”
“Can you believe this?”
The rest of the Garden Snake Patrol nodded their agreement at Aaron’s disbelief. (Well, most of the rest of the patrol... Someone had “accidentally” forgotten to tell Will Shmuler that they were having an emergency patrol meeting to discuss his father’s announcement the previous evening, as well as general discussion on the camporee.) They sat around their regular table at Perfume’s Pizza – actually a few tables pushed together – accompanied by the patrol’s frequent guests Matt Atanian and Kirstin Porter.
“I mean, not that I’m complaining about it or anything,” Aaron continued, “but I just never thought that those uptight Council Execs would actually hold a joint spring camporee with the local Girl Scout council!”
“WHAT!?” Becker obligatorily shouted.
“Rare enough that we even have a Council-wide camporee, “Mike noted. “Usually the Council just lets the districts handle their own camporees.”
Matt suddenly went into one of those reveries that showed that despite all of his best efforts, he was getting old. “I remember back when I was a kid, Council Camporees were a more common occurrence... and back then, they could actually throw together fun and original programs and events at the Camporees.” He sighed. “Oh, those were the days... you youngsters don’t know what you’re missing...”
“Yo, guy,” Swett said sharply. “You’re like, only 20.”
Matt seemed to snap out of it. “Well... um... I’ll be 21 soon...”
“You know,” Gelinas said, “this does seem rather strange... Not only is the Council running a camporee... but it’s doing it together with the local Girl Scouts? Girl Scouts up at Moses? I find it hard to believe that things like that could happen in real life.”
“Happened last year at Summer Camp,” Hughes reminded Bill.
“Yeah, it bugged me back then, too. These things wouldn’t happen!”
Everyone but Bill shared a look with everyone else but Bill, before they all, in unison, took a deep breath, paused, and at the top of their lungs shouted, “SHUT UP, BILL!!”
“Pizza ready,” Perry said, joining them as he placed the delectable pies upon the table. “How meeting go?”
“Well,” Mike said, “we just told Bill to shut up. What’s next on the agenda, Kenny?”
Kenny consulted the agenda. “Item 1: Express disbelief at Girl Scout involvement. Item 2: Tell Bill to shut up. Item 3: Continue discussing the camporee.”
“Right!” Mike said decisively. “So... um... any discussion?”
Becker took off his headphones, nearly giving everyone a heart attack. “Hey, guys,” he said, “what if instead of just assuming that we’re all around great guys and feeling we have no need to prove it to anyone else, how about we actually have a try at proving it and go win some events?”
Matt spit out his iced tea in shock.
“You mean... don’t just wander around the camporee slouching about under the pretext of going to the events, and actually try to win the events instead?” Aaron stammered.
“Camporees have events?” Swett asked.
Mike pondered this for a moment. “You know... that might be an interesting idea. We’ll form a subcommittee to look into event winning. Who would like to chair it?”
Kenny raised his hand.
“Right. Looks like the hero of the Klondike Derby will once again lead the Garden Snakes to victory,” Mike declared. “Next order of business, we’ll need a skit for the campfire Saturday night.”
“Perry throw you all in fire?” Perry suggested.
“Um... no. No, I don’t think that would go over well,” Mike said. “Any other ideas?”
“I’ve got an idea!” Swett declared.
“Not your ‘gray-area’ skit, is it?” Matt asked.
The “gray-area” skit was a skit Swett had come up with that was funny as hell, but was likely to if ever preformed get them all tossed out of Scouts, and probably arrested as well.
“No, this is an even better idea! Remember that skit that we were going to do at the Fall Camporee, but my stupid father wouldn’t let us?”
“You mean,” Mike asked, “Matt Gets Wet?”
“That’s the one!”
“Matt Gets Wet?” Kirstin asked. “What was that?”
Mike proceeded to tell her.
At the previous fall’s camporee Matt Swett had come up with the skit idea, Matt Gets Wet. It was a rather simple idea, but one that would have been destined to be a classic. Matt Swett would have gotten up in front of everyone, and then he would have had a bucket of water thrown at him. And that would have been the entirety of the skit. Simple, but destined to be a classic... except Swett’s father had intervened and told his son he couldn’t do it.
Unfortunately, by this time Mike had already told the people in charge of the campfire that their skit was going to be Matt Gets Wet. So what happened was this.
The MC had gotten up and announced the skit Matt Gets Wet. There were then massive cheers from the audience, and a very loud, “YES!!” from the distinctive voice of Mark Abert. (From this response, it quickly became clear that the audience had assumed that the Matt in question was not Swett, but the more widely known and somewhat good-naturedly infamous Atanian.)
Mike then walked out on stage, flanked by Swett and Aaron on one side and the Bills on the other.
“We were going to perform for you,” Mike had told them in his best Pythonesque voice, “Matt Gets Wet. However, on the way to the campfire tonight, we were contacted by Matt’s lawyers and were informed that under nooooooooo! circumstances would Matt be getting wet. We apologize for any inconvenience, and would now like to present to you the Troop 192 classic, The Clappy Song.”
The five of them had then proceeded to perform The Clappy Song.
Despite the lack of any getting Matt wet, Mark Abert had loved it.
“So what about it?” Aaron asked Swett.
“Well, my dad’s not going to this camporee,” Swett responded. “I can get wet all I want.”
“Yeah,” Becker, still uncharacteristically headphoneless, added, “but does anyone really care about you? They all thought it was going to be Matt getting wet.”
“Um... I’d rather not get wet,” Matt felt it prudent to add.
“Well,” Mike said, “we obviously can’t get Matt wet.”
“Why?” Becker and Swett both asked. They both thought it odd that Mike would agree with Matt so readily. Of course, they didn’t know about a certain curse.
“We just can’t!” Mike, Aaron, Hughes, Gelinas, Kirstin, and even Perry responded.
Kenny quietly added, “That would be bad.”
“Okay, okay...” Becker said as if that had been explanation enough.
Matt had a sudden thought. “You know... maybe there’s a way we can play off of people’s expectations, and still use Swett, instead...”
“Sis, have you seen my flashlight?” Nicole shouted from her bedroom.
“It’s in the drawer, Nicole!” Kirstin replied as she finished ironing her Girl Scout uniform.
“Hey, thanks.” Nicole said, immerging from the bedroom carrying her freshly packed pack. “This will be fun, huh?”
“Yes, I can’t wait!”
“Of course you can’t,” Nicole said with a smirk. “A whole weekend near Aaron?”
Kirstin blinked. “I don’t know what you mean,” she claimed.
“Of course not...”
“Well,” Sarah said as she came out from her room, carrying her own pack, “I don’t see what the big deal is. Why can’t we have our own camporee like usual? Have to get together with the stupid Boy Scouts up at their camp... I can just sense trouble coming from all of this.”
“It might be nice to get a change of scenery, Sarah,” Kirstin said. “We only saw a bit of it, but that Boy Scout camp seemed rather a pleasant place when we all visited it to go swimming last summer.”
Nicole grinned fiendishly. “Ah yes, last summer... That was when you first met Matt, wasn’t it?”
A low growl came from deep within Sarah’s soul. “Yes,” she said coldly, “one of my fondest memories of that summer. Mr. Testosterone.”
“Sarah, he’s really not all that bad. He’s really a very sweet man who seems to care for you a lot, even despite all the reasons you give him to feel otherwise,” Kirstin said.
“Besides,” Nicole added brightly, “it’s not often you find a man who knows and freely admits the superiority of the female gender. You know how hard it is to find a pre-whipped guy? Think of all the trouble it’d save!”
Sarah hoisted her pack upon her shoulders and headed towards the door. “What is it with you?” she asked as she headed out. “Always trying to put me and Atanian together? Maybe I don’t want to be with anyone right now!”
The door slammed shut leaving the twins to glance quietly at each other.
“Oh my,” Kirstin solemnly commented as she gathered up her uniform to go and change.
Then Nicole was alone as Kirstin closed the door to the room they shared. Nicole flopped down onto the couch and picked up her abacus, flicking the occasional bead randomly around. Neko-chan pounced onto her lap and made himself comfortable.
“Oh, Sarah... sometimes there’s a difference between what you want, and what you need.”
“Ah, Moses.”
Troop 192 had arrived. They had not been the first, but they were far from the last. This was fortunate, as it allowed them prime pickings on where to set up camp.
Usually for camporees such as this, the troops would all be given pre-designated camping areas on the parade field. However, for this camporee the parade field was saved for the visiting Girl Scout troops, and the Boy Scout troops were asked to find their own camping arrangements anywhere off in the semi-distant Woronoco section of camp. Obviously, someone wanted to keep the Boy Scouts’ and the Girl Scouts’ sleeping arrangements separated from each other... and in the process had failed to properly arrange the Boy Scouts’ arrangements.
Troop 192 was lucky they’d gotten there early while there was plenty of prime space. It would be a madhouse later.
Actually, they were fortunate enough to be able to get an area that had always been a particular favorite for the members of the Garden Snake Patrol. There was a brook that ran deep into the depths of camp, and near the Aquatics Lodge it split itself into two parts, forming an island, coming back together into one brook shortly before emptying into Russell Pond.
“Ah, Moses,” Mike repeated, taking in another deep breath as he surveyed the island.
“All right, peons!” Justy spat, shattering Mike’s peace, “Get those tents set up! NOW!”
The Garden Snakes sighed. They had already been setting up their tents. They didn’t need Justy to tell them that. They continued about their task.
“Think Justy’s still pissed about the Abu Dhabi thing?” Aaron asked.
“Could be,” Hughes responded. “Or it could be that he’s just an ass.”
“Very good point, my friend.”
“Almost done, Captain!” Proctor said, bumbling to set up his and Justy’s a-frame tent single handedly. It was a job that, to be done properly, really needed two people.
The only other person setting up a tent by himself was Matt Atanian. Of course, his was a dome. It was his own tent, not one of the troop’s, that he’d had since he was a Cub Scout and he could actually set it up faster by himself then he probably could if he had help getting in the way. Since the previous summer, having a tent to himself had definitely had some extra benefits.
Mike and Bill were setting up their tent, and next to them was Hughes and Aaron. Next up were Kenny and Becker, and then a tent of three...
“What the hell did I do to disserve this?” Swett asked.
He looked forlornly at the short straw that he held before going off to help Perry and Shmuler set up the tent that they would all share.
Mike looked around a bit and sighed.
“Ah, Moses.”
Some time later Troop 180 arrived.
“Dear God!” Mark Abert said. His son Matt could only agree.
“Any ideas where we’re going to set up camp?” Provost asked.
“How about the middle of the lake?” Brian Abert sarcastically commented.
All around was chaos. There were a few troops that seemed to have arrived early enough to become entrenched and secure their positions. Mark was pleased (in a slightly jealous sort of way) to note that Troop 192 was one of them.
Elsewhere, various battles took place.
In the middle of one prime location, two Scoutmasters were in the middle of a heated fencing match with their staves, neither one willing to give up ground. Alice Richards of Troop 41, an accomplished fencer, was quickly gaining the upper hand.
In another spot, two troops faced each other like two armies out of an era prior to World War I. The Senior Patrol Leaders for each troop stood at the head of each army, holding their staves in the air.
“Charge!” they both exclaimed, lowering their staves in simultaneous, swift motions. A brutal battle then ensued.
“You know, Brian,” Mark said, “I think your idea might not have been a bad one.”
Nicole poked her nose out of her sleeping bag. Something smelled good.
“Good morning, sleepy,” Sarah said.
Nicole emerged further from her sleeping bag. “Mforningh,” she mumbled. She shook her head a bit in an attempt to rid herself of any impulse to return to slumber land. “Where’s Kirstin?” she asked.
“She’s got breakfast duty.”
Nicole sniffed the air. “Ah, that’s what smells so good.” She then emerged fully from her sleeping bag and began to dress. “Looking forward to today?” she asked her sister.
“I suppose,” Sarah answered. “Is a nice camp... in it’s own way.”
“Maybe you’ll see Matty this weekend,” Nicole said.
Sarah smiled. “Yes, maybe.”
“Maybe you’ll see Matt, too.”
Metaphoric storm clouds filled the tent, and metaphoric lightning flashed, illuminating a hateful expression on Sarah’s face. Metaphoric thunder then sounded out, metaphorically deafening all within the tent.
“Um... never mind,” Nicole said. She decided to change the subject, and fast. “I wonder how Neko-chan’s doing home all by himself this weekend?”
Hughes poked his nose out of his sleeping bag. Something smelled good.
“Morning, Hughes,” Aaron said.
Hughes emerged further from his sleeping bag. “Mforningh,” he mumbled. He shook his head a bit in an attempt to rid himself of any impulse to return to slumber land. “Who’s got breakfast duty?”
“Perry.”
Hughes sniffed the air. “Ah, that’s what smells so good. I hope it will be safe to eat.”
“Perry doesn’t worry me so much. Look at all the times he’s tried to kill us so far.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
Hughes threw on his uniform and pulled on his red plaid flannel jacket. Aaron unzipped the tent and the two emerged into the sunlight.
It was a crisp, cool spring morning. It was still cold enough that their breath could be seen, but not cold to the point that they were uncomfortable. All
around was the peaceful sound of various troops readying for the day, quite a contrast to the previous evening’s chaos.
“Morning guys,” Matt said, walking over.
“Hey, Matt,” Aaron and Hughes said.
Perry was in their patrol’s kitchen, whipping up breakfast. He may have been a horrid excuse for an amazon warrior, but he sure could cook. Bill Gelinas was assisting him.
Kenny was sitting quietly, looking over a notebook filled with various calculations concerning the day’s upcoming events. Swett was lounging around in a chair, looking relaxed, sipping a cup of hot chocolate and reading a Superman comic book. Becker was sitting against a tree, listening to some music. Shmuler was repeatedly climbing a tree and throwing himself out of it.
“Where’s Mike?” Matt asked. Aaron and Hughes looked around. Finely, the three of them approached the tent Mike was staying in. Aaron knelt down and put an ear against the side of the tent.
“Mmmrfh... (snore) ...Yes, Special Agent... mmmrmf... (snore, snore)...”
Aaron stood. “He’s still asleep.”
Matt grinned. “I hear by authorize you to use your patrol’s special method.”
Aaron and Hughes both walked to one side of the tent and gripped it. Aaron looked to Hughes. Hughes nodded.
“MIKE! WAKE UP!” they both shouted as they violently shook the tent.
Inside, Mike bolted upright into a sitting position. “I swear, officer, that cantaloupe was like that when I got here!” he said defensively. He then looked around a bit, realizing where he was. He noticed the Aaron shaped shadow on one side of his tent, and the Hughes shaped one on the other. “I’m up! I’m up! Geeze!” he shouted. The tent’s shaking subsided.
Fifteen minutes later, Mike emerged in his uniform.
“Morning, Mike,” Aaron, Hughes, and Matt said.
“Ha ha, guys,” Mike dryly responded. He looked past them as something caught his eye. “What’s that?” he asked.
The others turned to follow his gaze. A bit of Russell Pond was visible through the trees on one side of their island. Something odd was floating out on the lake. The four of them walked out to the edge of the island to get a better look.
A bit of the way out on the lake was a floating campsite. Somehow, a troop had managed to get the docks used for the waterfront during Summer Camp out of storage and lash them together to form a large floating platform. Makeshift anchors kept it floating in place, and a small fleet of rowboats was tied up on the platform’s edges.
“Let it never be said that Troop 180 is not resourceful,” Matt said.
“Breakfast ready! You come get!” Perry shouted out.
Troop 180 was running a bit late... after all, they had woken up a bit late... after all, they had gone to sleep a bit late... after all, they had been up a bit late constructing their artificial island.
Mark went up to the troop’s Scoutmaster, a chap by the name of Lenny Nadeau. “Hey, Gitchisaka,” Mark said, “mind if I make a suggestion?”
“What is it?” Nadeau asked.
“I’d hate to see the entire troop be late for the opening ceremony. What if Matt and I stay behind and finish cleaning up after breakfast?”
“You sure? Don’t want you two to miss anything.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“I’ll help, Dad,” Brian said, having overheard.
“Me, too, Mr. A,” Provost added. “Then it’ll go faster, and you won’t miss as much.”
Mark smiled. “Thanks, guys.”
Nadeau got the troop into their rowboats, leaving one for Provost and the Aberts. “Troop 180... prepare to launch,” he commanded.
They untied their rowboats.
“Troop 180... LAUNCH!”
The troop rowed away, making for shore.
“Well, guys,” Mark said with his usual good cheer. “Let’s get this over with.”
The various Boy Scout troops and Girl Scout troops slowly gathered into formation before the flagpoles on the Parade Field.
Kirstin looked over at one of the approaching Boy Scout troops. “Oh, there’s 192!” she said brightly.
“So it is,” Sarah noted.
“Funny, I don’t see the Garden Snake Patrol,” Kristen then added.
“Justy probably made them stay behind and clean up after everything,” Nicole hypothesized.
“This stinks,” Gelinas commented. “I can see cleaning up after our patrol, but why do we have to clean up after everyone else, too?”
“Maybe Justy’s still pissed about Abu Dhabi,” Mike suggested.
“Or maybe he’s just an ass,” Swett suggested.
“Think maybe both,” Perry fumed. “Perry definitely kill him, too.”
Matt shrugged as he dried off a dish. “One thing’s for sure, Justy definitely has it out for you guys.” He pointed to the messiest dish, one that could only have been the result of special effort. It had been Justy’s.
“Why’d you stay, Matt?” Hughes asked. “You could have gone to the opening.”
“Hey, I stick with the Garden Snakes,” Matt responded.
“Thank you, Mr. Atanian,” Kenny said.
“Well,” Mike said, “let’s get this over with. We were going to actually try and win some events, after all.”
“Only one more patrol to go,” Aaron said. “Two, if you count Justy’s dish.”
Swett looked over at the mess that Justy had left. “Dude, Justy’s dish is worth two patrols by itself.”
Opening had gone smoothly. The Garden Snakes and the group from 180 hadn’t missed much, it was a rather typical opening. Some high mucky-mucks had stood up and said some pseudo-inspirational words, and then some flags had been raised. The flags that had been raised were a bit different then usual, however. On one side of the American flag was the flag of the Pioneer Valley Boy Scout council, but on the other was the flag for the Girl Scout council.
“That concludes the opening ceremony,” a high mucky-muck said. “Now go and have an enjoyable...”
The high mucky-muck was interrupted when a large force of gun-wielding people ran out from the woods onto the parade field. They all wore green and black camouflaged clothing with a red maple leaf pattern scattered randomly about the ensemble. They quickly took up positions surrounding the Boy Scouts and the Girl Scouts, and trained their guns on them.
One of them, seemingly a leader of some sort, walked up to the flagpoles and took aim at the American flag with his pistol. He shot twice, cutting the flag down with his bullets. Two of his compatriots then came forward and rose a Canadian flag in its place.
The man turned to address the Scout troops. “We here are the Canadian People’s Army, eh?” he said. “And you are our prisoners.”
“Oh my,” Kirstin said.
It had been bliss.
Well run meetings. Fun activities. Good program.
Aside from most of the Adult Leaders, the Troop had never been happier.
The Troop was presently in formation as Mike addressed them prior to closing this week’s meeting.
“Well, guys, it’s been another fun week. This weekend is the Spring Camporee, hope you’re all ready for it! Now, for some words about this weekend, our...” Mike fought back boughts of laughter that threatened to overtake him at the absurdity of what he was about to say. “Our esteemed Scoutmaster, Mr. Shmuler.”
Mike then stepped down from his position before the Troop and joined Aaron and the rest of his patrol.
Shmuler, his usual image of efficiency and preparedness, took the place Mike had vacated. “Well, guys, we seem to be having a Camporee this weekend. Should be fun, huh?
Silence was his response.
“Yeah, well, they’re having some events or something, and we should all do our best to try and see about maybe winning something, because that’s what you should do at these things.”
Crickets.
“Also, it seems that this camporee we might be having some guests up at camp...”
Shmuler was interrupted when the double doors at the front of Walker Hall were thrown open and slammed to the walls with a loud bang. The members of the Troop turned away from Shmuler to see who it was who had entered.
“Doors all thrown open for you, Captain, just like you asked!” said a familiar voice.
Then a figure emerged from the darkness of the doorway.
His skin was red and showed evidence in some areas of recent blistering. He reeked of filth, and his clothing was a thread bare, patched together jumble that at one time, seemingly decades ago, might have been a Boy Scout uniform.
He was followed by a crouched creature that it took the Troop a moment to realize was even human. This second figure was much worse off, his skin still heavily blistered and covered with a not very thin layer of dirt and grime. This second figure, the one who had spoken, was also sparsely clothed. He wore little more then a loin cloth, his clothing seemingly sacrificed to patch up the tattered garment that the other wore.
The first figure, the Troop then realized with dread, was Justy Yung.
“You!” he spat. He fixed his gaze on the Garden Snake Patrol. “This was somehow your doing, wasn’t it? ABU DHABI!!??”
“Hey, hi, Justy.” Mike said.
“Don’t you, ‘Hi, Justy,’ me!” Justy frothed. He then hacked and coughed in a way that sounded vaguely reminiscent of maniacal laughter. “I’ll get you for this, Garden Snake Patrol. Oh yes, I will get you for this.”
Justy then collapsed upon the floor.
“Welcome back, Justy!” Shmuler brightly said. “Okay, as I was saying, the camporee this weekend will have special guests. Joining us will be...”
“Can you believe this?”
The rest of the Garden Snake Patrol nodded their agreement at Aaron’s disbelief. (Well, most of the rest of the patrol... Someone had “accidentally” forgotten to tell Will Shmuler that they were having an emergency patrol meeting to discuss his father’s announcement the previous evening, as well as general discussion on the camporee.) They sat around their regular table at Perfume’s Pizza – actually a few tables pushed together – accompanied by the patrol’s frequent guests Matt Atanian and Kirstin Porter.
“I mean, not that I’m complaining about it or anything,” Aaron continued, “but I just never thought that those uptight Council Execs would actually hold a joint spring camporee with the local Girl Scout council!”
“WHAT!?” Becker obligatorily shouted.
“Rare enough that we even have a Council-wide camporee, “Mike noted. “Usually the Council just lets the districts handle their own camporees.”
Matt suddenly went into one of those reveries that showed that despite all of his best efforts, he was getting old. “I remember back when I was a kid, Council Camporees were a more common occurrence... and back then, they could actually throw together fun and original programs and events at the Camporees.” He sighed. “Oh, those were the days... you youngsters don’t know what you’re missing...”
“Yo, guy,” Swett said sharply. “You’re like, only 20.”
Matt seemed to snap out of it. “Well... um... I’ll be 21 soon...”
“You know,” Gelinas said, “this does seem rather strange... Not only is the Council running a camporee... but it’s doing it together with the local Girl Scouts? Girl Scouts up at Moses? I find it hard to believe that things like that could happen in real life.”
“Happened last year at Summer Camp,” Hughes reminded Bill.
“Yeah, it bugged me back then, too. These things wouldn’t happen!”
Everyone but Bill shared a look with everyone else but Bill, before they all, in unison, took a deep breath, paused, and at the top of their lungs shouted, “SHUT UP, BILL!!”
“Pizza ready,” Perry said, joining them as he placed the delectable pies upon the table. “How meeting go?”
“Well,” Mike said, “we just told Bill to shut up. What’s next on the agenda, Kenny?”
Kenny consulted the agenda. “Item 1: Express disbelief at Girl Scout involvement. Item 2: Tell Bill to shut up. Item 3: Continue discussing the camporee.”
“Right!” Mike said decisively. “So... um... any discussion?”
Becker took off his headphones, nearly giving everyone a heart attack. “Hey, guys,” he said, “what if instead of just assuming that we’re all around great guys and feeling we have no need to prove it to anyone else, how about we actually have a try at proving it and go win some events?”
Matt spit out his iced tea in shock.
“You mean... don’t just wander around the camporee slouching about under the pretext of going to the events, and actually try to win the events instead?” Aaron stammered.
“Camporees have events?” Swett asked.
Mike pondered this for a moment. “You know... that might be an interesting idea. We’ll form a subcommittee to look into event winning. Who would like to chair it?”
Kenny raised his hand.
“Right. Looks like the hero of the Klondike Derby will once again lead the Garden Snakes to victory,” Mike declared. “Next order of business, we’ll need a skit for the campfire Saturday night.”
“Perry throw you all in fire?” Perry suggested.
“Um... no. No, I don’t think that would go over well,” Mike said. “Any other ideas?”
“I’ve got an idea!” Swett declared.
“Not your ‘gray-area’ skit, is it?” Matt asked.
The “gray-area” skit was a skit Swett had come up with that was funny as hell, but was likely to if ever preformed get them all tossed out of Scouts, and probably arrested as well.
“No, this is an even better idea! Remember that skit that we were going to do at the Fall Camporee, but my stupid father wouldn’t let us?”
“You mean,” Mike asked, “Matt Gets Wet?”
“That’s the one!”
“Matt Gets Wet?” Kirstin asked. “What was that?”
Mike proceeded to tell her.
At the previous fall’s camporee Matt Swett had come up with the skit idea, Matt Gets Wet. It was a rather simple idea, but one that would have been destined to be a classic. Matt Swett would have gotten up in front of everyone, and then he would have had a bucket of water thrown at him. And that would have been the entirety of the skit. Simple, but destined to be a classic... except Swett’s father had intervened and told his son he couldn’t do it.
Unfortunately, by this time Mike had already told the people in charge of the campfire that their skit was going to be Matt Gets Wet. So what happened was this.
The MC had gotten up and announced the skit Matt Gets Wet. There were then massive cheers from the audience, and a very loud, “YES!!” from the distinctive voice of Mark Abert. (From this response, it quickly became clear that the audience had assumed that the Matt in question was not Swett, but the more widely known and somewhat good-naturedly infamous Atanian.)
Mike then walked out on stage, flanked by Swett and Aaron on one side and the Bills on the other.
“We were going to perform for you,” Mike had told them in his best Pythonesque voice, “Matt Gets Wet. However, on the way to the campfire tonight, we were contacted by Matt’s lawyers and were informed that under nooooooooo! circumstances would Matt be getting wet. We apologize for any inconvenience, and would now like to present to you the Troop 192 classic, The Clappy Song.”
The five of them had then proceeded to perform The Clappy Song.
Despite the lack of any getting Matt wet, Mark Abert had loved it.
“So what about it?” Aaron asked Swett.
“Well, my dad’s not going to this camporee,” Swett responded. “I can get wet all I want.”
“Yeah,” Becker, still uncharacteristically headphoneless, added, “but does anyone really care about you? They all thought it was going to be Matt getting wet.”
“Um... I’d rather not get wet,” Matt felt it prudent to add.
“Well,” Mike said, “we obviously can’t get Matt wet.”
“Why?” Becker and Swett both asked. They both thought it odd that Mike would agree with Matt so readily. Of course, they didn’t know about a certain curse.
“We just can’t!” Mike, Aaron, Hughes, Gelinas, Kirstin, and even Perry responded.
Kenny quietly added, “That would be bad.”
“Okay, okay...” Becker said as if that had been explanation enough.
Matt had a sudden thought. “You know... maybe there’s a way we can play off of people’s expectations, and still use Swett, instead...”
“Sis, have you seen my flashlight?” Nicole shouted from her bedroom.
“It’s in the drawer, Nicole!” Kirstin replied as she finished ironing her Girl Scout uniform.
“Hey, thanks.” Nicole said, immerging from the bedroom carrying her freshly packed pack. “This will be fun, huh?”
“Yes, I can’t wait!”
“Of course you can’t,” Nicole said with a smirk. “A whole weekend near Aaron?”
Kirstin blinked. “I don’t know what you mean,” she claimed.
“Of course not...”
“Well,” Sarah said as she came out from her room, carrying her own pack, “I don’t see what the big deal is. Why can’t we have our own camporee like usual? Have to get together with the stupid Boy Scouts up at their camp... I can just sense trouble coming from all of this.”
“It might be nice to get a change of scenery, Sarah,” Kirstin said. “We only saw a bit of it, but that Boy Scout camp seemed rather a pleasant place when we all visited it to go swimming last summer.”
Nicole grinned fiendishly. “Ah yes, last summer... That was when you first met Matt, wasn’t it?”
A low growl came from deep within Sarah’s soul. “Yes,” she said coldly, “one of my fondest memories of that summer. Mr. Testosterone.”
“Sarah, he’s really not all that bad. He’s really a very sweet man who seems to care for you a lot, even despite all the reasons you give him to feel otherwise,” Kirstin said.
“Besides,” Nicole added brightly, “it’s not often you find a man who knows and freely admits the superiority of the female gender. You know how hard it is to find a pre-whipped guy? Think of all the trouble it’d save!”
Sarah hoisted her pack upon her shoulders and headed towards the door. “What is it with you?” she asked as she headed out. “Always trying to put me and Atanian together? Maybe I don’t want to be with anyone right now!”
The door slammed shut leaving the twins to glance quietly at each other.
“Oh my,” Kirstin solemnly commented as she gathered up her uniform to go and change.
Then Nicole was alone as Kirstin closed the door to the room they shared. Nicole flopped down onto the couch and picked up her abacus, flicking the occasional bead randomly around. Neko-chan pounced onto her lap and made himself comfortable.
“Oh, Sarah... sometimes there’s a difference between what you want, and what you need.”
“Ah, Moses.”
Troop 192 had arrived. They had not been the first, but they were far from the last. This was fortunate, as it allowed them prime pickings on where to set up camp.
Usually for camporees such as this, the troops would all be given pre-designated camping areas on the parade field. However, for this camporee the parade field was saved for the visiting Girl Scout troops, and the Boy Scout troops were asked to find their own camping arrangements anywhere off in the semi-distant Woronoco section of camp. Obviously, someone wanted to keep the Boy Scouts’ and the Girl Scouts’ sleeping arrangements separated from each other... and in the process had failed to properly arrange the Boy Scouts’ arrangements.
Troop 192 was lucky they’d gotten there early while there was plenty of prime space. It would be a madhouse later.
Actually, they were fortunate enough to be able to get an area that had always been a particular favorite for the members of the Garden Snake Patrol. There was a brook that ran deep into the depths of camp, and near the Aquatics Lodge it split itself into two parts, forming an island, coming back together into one brook shortly before emptying into Russell Pond.
“Ah, Moses,” Mike repeated, taking in another deep breath as he surveyed the island.
“All right, peons!” Justy spat, shattering Mike’s peace, “Get those tents set up! NOW!”
The Garden Snakes sighed. They had already been setting up their tents. They didn’t need Justy to tell them that. They continued about their task.
“Think Justy’s still pissed about the Abu Dhabi thing?” Aaron asked.
“Could be,” Hughes responded. “Or it could be that he’s just an ass.”
“Very good point, my friend.”
“Almost done, Captain!” Proctor said, bumbling to set up his and Justy’s a-frame tent single handedly. It was a job that, to be done properly, really needed two people.
The only other person setting up a tent by himself was Matt Atanian. Of course, his was a dome. It was his own tent, not one of the troop’s, that he’d had since he was a Cub Scout and he could actually set it up faster by himself then he probably could if he had help getting in the way. Since the previous summer, having a tent to himself had definitely had some extra benefits.
Mike and Bill were setting up their tent, and next to them was Hughes and Aaron. Next up were Kenny and Becker, and then a tent of three...
“What the hell did I do to disserve this?” Swett asked.
He looked forlornly at the short straw that he held before going off to help Perry and Shmuler set up the tent that they would all share.
Mike looked around a bit and sighed.
“Ah, Moses.”
Some time later Troop 180 arrived.
“Dear God!” Mark Abert said. His son Matt could only agree.
“Any ideas where we’re going to set up camp?” Provost asked.
“How about the middle of the lake?” Brian Abert sarcastically commented.
All around was chaos. There were a few troops that seemed to have arrived early enough to become entrenched and secure their positions. Mark was pleased (in a slightly jealous sort of way) to note that Troop 192 was one of them.
Elsewhere, various battles took place.
In the middle of one prime location, two Scoutmasters were in the middle of a heated fencing match with their staves, neither one willing to give up ground. Alice Richards of Troop 41, an accomplished fencer, was quickly gaining the upper hand.
In another spot, two troops faced each other like two armies out of an era prior to World War I. The Senior Patrol Leaders for each troop stood at the head of each army, holding their staves in the air.
“Charge!” they both exclaimed, lowering their staves in simultaneous, swift motions. A brutal battle then ensued.
“You know, Brian,” Mark said, “I think your idea might not have been a bad one.”
Nicole poked her nose out of her sleeping bag. Something smelled good.
“Good morning, sleepy,” Sarah said.
Nicole emerged further from her sleeping bag. “Mforningh,” she mumbled. She shook her head a bit in an attempt to rid herself of any impulse to return to slumber land. “Where’s Kirstin?” she asked.
“She’s got breakfast duty.”
Nicole sniffed the air. “Ah, that’s what smells so good.” She then emerged fully from her sleeping bag and began to dress. “Looking forward to today?” she asked her sister.
“I suppose,” Sarah answered. “Is a nice camp... in it’s own way.”
“Maybe you’ll see Matty this weekend,” Nicole said.
Sarah smiled. “Yes, maybe.”
“Maybe you’ll see Matt, too.”
Metaphoric storm clouds filled the tent, and metaphoric lightning flashed, illuminating a hateful expression on Sarah’s face. Metaphoric thunder then sounded out, metaphorically deafening all within the tent.
“Um... never mind,” Nicole said. She decided to change the subject, and fast. “I wonder how Neko-chan’s doing home all by himself this weekend?”
Hughes poked his nose out of his sleeping bag. Something smelled good.
“Morning, Hughes,” Aaron said.
Hughes emerged further from his sleeping bag. “Mforningh,” he mumbled. He shook his head a bit in an attempt to rid himself of any impulse to return to slumber land. “Who’s got breakfast duty?”
“Perry.”
Hughes sniffed the air. “Ah, that’s what smells so good. I hope it will be safe to eat.”
“Perry doesn’t worry me so much. Look at all the times he’s tried to kill us so far.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
Hughes threw on his uniform and pulled on his red plaid flannel jacket. Aaron unzipped the tent and the two emerged into the sunlight.
It was a crisp, cool spring morning. It was still cold enough that their breath could be seen, but not cold to the point that they were uncomfortable. All
around was the peaceful sound of various troops readying for the day, quite a contrast to the previous evening’s chaos.
“Morning guys,” Matt said, walking over.
“Hey, Matt,” Aaron and Hughes said.
Perry was in their patrol’s kitchen, whipping up breakfast. He may have been a horrid excuse for an amazon warrior, but he sure could cook. Bill Gelinas was assisting him.
Kenny was sitting quietly, looking over a notebook filled with various calculations concerning the day’s upcoming events. Swett was lounging around in a chair, looking relaxed, sipping a cup of hot chocolate and reading a Superman comic book. Becker was sitting against a tree, listening to some music. Shmuler was repeatedly climbing a tree and throwing himself out of it.
“Where’s Mike?” Matt asked. Aaron and Hughes looked around. Finely, the three of them approached the tent Mike was staying in. Aaron knelt down and put an ear against the side of the tent.
“Mmmrfh... (snore) ...Yes, Special Agent... mmmrmf... (snore, snore)...”
Aaron stood. “He’s still asleep.”
Matt grinned. “I hear by authorize you to use your patrol’s special method.”
Aaron and Hughes both walked to one side of the tent and gripped it. Aaron looked to Hughes. Hughes nodded.
“MIKE! WAKE UP!” they both shouted as they violently shook the tent.
Inside, Mike bolted upright into a sitting position. “I swear, officer, that cantaloupe was like that when I got here!” he said defensively. He then looked around a bit, realizing where he was. He noticed the Aaron shaped shadow on one side of his tent, and the Hughes shaped one on the other. “I’m up! I’m up! Geeze!” he shouted. The tent’s shaking subsided.
Fifteen minutes later, Mike emerged in his uniform.
“Morning, Mike,” Aaron, Hughes, and Matt said.
“Ha ha, guys,” Mike dryly responded. He looked past them as something caught his eye. “What’s that?” he asked.
The others turned to follow his gaze. A bit of Russell Pond was visible through the trees on one side of their island. Something odd was floating out on the lake. The four of them walked out to the edge of the island to get a better look.
A bit of the way out on the lake was a floating campsite. Somehow, a troop had managed to get the docks used for the waterfront during Summer Camp out of storage and lash them together to form a large floating platform. Makeshift anchors kept it floating in place, and a small fleet of rowboats was tied up on the platform’s edges.
“Let it never be said that Troop 180 is not resourceful,” Matt said.
“Breakfast ready! You come get!” Perry shouted out.
Troop 180 was running a bit late... after all, they had woken up a bit late... after all, they had gone to sleep a bit late... after all, they had been up a bit late constructing their artificial island.
Mark went up to the troop’s Scoutmaster, a chap by the name of Lenny Nadeau. “Hey, Gitchisaka,” Mark said, “mind if I make a suggestion?”
“What is it?” Nadeau asked.
“I’d hate to see the entire troop be late for the opening ceremony. What if Matt and I stay behind and finish cleaning up after breakfast?”
“You sure? Don’t want you two to miss anything.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“I’ll help, Dad,” Brian said, having overheard.
“Me, too, Mr. A,” Provost added. “Then it’ll go faster, and you won’t miss as much.”
Mark smiled. “Thanks, guys.”
Nadeau got the troop into their rowboats, leaving one for Provost and the Aberts. “Troop 180... prepare to launch,” he commanded.
They untied their rowboats.
“Troop 180... LAUNCH!”
The troop rowed away, making for shore.
“Well, guys,” Mark said with his usual good cheer. “Let’s get this over with.”
The various Boy Scout troops and Girl Scout troops slowly gathered into formation before the flagpoles on the Parade Field.
Kirstin looked over at one of the approaching Boy Scout troops. “Oh, there’s 192!” she said brightly.
“So it is,” Sarah noted.
“Funny, I don’t see the Garden Snake Patrol,” Kristen then added.
“Justy probably made them stay behind and clean up after everything,” Nicole hypothesized.
“This stinks,” Gelinas commented. “I can see cleaning up after our patrol, but why do we have to clean up after everyone else, too?”
“Maybe Justy’s still pissed about Abu Dhabi,” Mike suggested.
“Or maybe he’s just an ass,” Swett suggested.
“Think maybe both,” Perry fumed. “Perry definitely kill him, too.”
Matt shrugged as he dried off a dish. “One thing’s for sure, Justy definitely has it out for you guys.” He pointed to the messiest dish, one that could only have been the result of special effort. It had been Justy’s.
“Why’d you stay, Matt?” Hughes asked. “You could have gone to the opening.”
“Hey, I stick with the Garden Snakes,” Matt responded.
“Thank you, Mr. Atanian,” Kenny said.
“Well,” Mike said, “let’s get this over with. We were going to actually try and win some events, after all.”
“Only one more patrol to go,” Aaron said. “Two, if you count Justy’s dish.”
Swett looked over at the mess that Justy had left. “Dude, Justy’s dish is worth two patrols by itself.”
Opening had gone smoothly. The Garden Snakes and the group from 180 hadn’t missed much, it was a rather typical opening. Some high mucky-mucks had stood up and said some pseudo-inspirational words, and then some flags had been raised. The flags that had been raised were a bit different then usual, however. On one side of the American flag was the flag of the Pioneer Valley Boy Scout council, but on the other was the flag for the Girl Scout council.
“That concludes the opening ceremony,” a high mucky-muck said. “Now go and have an enjoyable...”
The high mucky-muck was interrupted when a large force of gun-wielding people ran out from the woods onto the parade field. They all wore green and black camouflaged clothing with a red maple leaf pattern scattered randomly about the ensemble. They quickly took up positions surrounding the Boy Scouts and the Girl Scouts, and trained their guns on them.
One of them, seemingly a leader of some sort, walked up to the flagpoles and took aim at the American flag with his pistol. He shot twice, cutting the flag down with his bullets. Two of his compatriots then came forward and rose a Canadian flag in its place.
The man turned to address the Scout troops. “We here are the Canadian People’s Army, eh?” he said. “And you are our prisoners.”
“Oh my,” Kirstin said.
...to be continued
Matt’s Various End-Of-Story Ramblings
Hi, everybody!
Well, first off you may be surprised to see a story by me. After all, it had been previously announced that Mike would write the next one. Well, I had hoped very much for that to be the case, but various circumstances led to my writing the next one, instead. (With Mike’s blessing, of course.) He is still hard at work writing, but his stories will now be 21 and 22, rather then 19 and 20.
I’d like to thank Mike for input with various bits here and there, especially the scene involving Justy’s return. He and I had discussed the idea as something to include in his story, but obviously when my story became 19 rather then his, it had to be included here.
I’d also like to thank Aaron. He had pitched the idea of a terrorist take-over back when he was still a member of the BS½ writing staff. In fact, he and I had talked about the possibility of him briefly returning to the team to write it himself. However, due to the fact that he has become unfamiliar with the happenings of the BS½ Universe since his departure and would need quite the refresher, along with the fact that I had quite a few ideas for this story myself, along with the fact that (aside from an occasional time here and then when he seems to reappear) I always seem to have a difficult time keeping in touch with Aaron, I decided to go ahead and write it myself. I hope he doesn’t mind terribly, and I hope if he ever reads this, he enjoys the results.
Alice Richards is a real Scoutmaster. She’s the leader of the small yet formidable Troop 41. She’s a rather nice lady who actually does fence.
Well, onto the legal crapola. Boy Scouts ½ is inspired by Rumiko Takahashi’s Ranma ½, and this is done without permission. Also, this story is not endorsed in any way by either the Boy Scouts of America or the Girl Scouts of America.
Well, that’s all for now, I suppose. See you in the next instalment of Boy Scouts ½!
Well, first off you may be surprised to see a story by me. After all, it had been previously announced that Mike would write the next one. Well, I had hoped very much for that to be the case, but various circumstances led to my writing the next one, instead. (With Mike’s blessing, of course.) He is still hard at work writing, but his stories will now be 21 and 22, rather then 19 and 20.
I’d like to thank Mike for input with various bits here and there, especially the scene involving Justy’s return. He and I had discussed the idea as something to include in his story, but obviously when my story became 19 rather then his, it had to be included here.
I’d also like to thank Aaron. He had pitched the idea of a terrorist take-over back when he was still a member of the BS½ writing staff. In fact, he and I had talked about the possibility of him briefly returning to the team to write it himself. However, due to the fact that he has become unfamiliar with the happenings of the BS½ Universe since his departure and would need quite the refresher, along with the fact that I had quite a few ideas for this story myself, along with the fact that (aside from an occasional time here and then when he seems to reappear) I always seem to have a difficult time keeping in touch with Aaron, I decided to go ahead and write it myself. I hope he doesn’t mind terribly, and I hope if he ever reads this, he enjoys the results.
Alice Richards is a real Scoutmaster. She’s the leader of the small yet formidable Troop 41. She’s a rather nice lady who actually does fence.
Well, onto the legal crapola. Boy Scouts ½ is inspired by Rumiko Takahashi’s Ranma ½, and this is done without permission. Also, this story is not endorsed in any way by either the Boy Scouts of America or the Girl Scouts of America.
Well, that’s all for now, I suppose. See you in the next instalment of Boy Scouts ½!