CAMPFIRES

When I think of campfires, I think of camping. That means sleeping in sleeping blanket out in the mountains somewhere. It means fighting mosquitoes, freezing your butt off and worrying that some stupid bear might be lurking who decides you would make a good snack.

As you can tell, I’m not a big fan of nature or what they call the great outdoors. Which I prefer to think of the great out-bores since I find it a boring subject.

That to me makes campfires about the only decent thing in that subject. Because a campfire means the joy of cooking. You can have hot dogs, hot chocolate and a whole lot of other cool stuff. Plus those yummy things called Smores. They are messy, but so darn good!

I think the idea of the campfire when you are camping is to sort of take your mind off out the rest of the process is so insane. I tell you if God intended us to live in the mountains and sleep on the ground surrounded by animals and insects he wouldn’t have invented houses. My interpretation you understand, but a good one as far as I’m concerned.

Now why any sane person would decide to give up a nice warm bed and all the advantages of a house to sleep with the raccoons, skunks, ants and god knows what I have no idea. Plus you ain’t got no refrigerator. You got to depend on those lame ice chests. I never figured out how come they call them ice chests when they don’t make ice. You got to do all the work and they get the name. It sounds like some people I know like one creep named Rat Boy Junior Hemoglobin.

In any event the only part I look forward is the campfire stuff. And frankly I’m not all that keen on that part.

After all if I am hungry and I can eat at home or a restaurant. I don’t need to use wood and start a fire or mess with putting a circle of stones around it like it is to keep the wood from escaping.

Plus whenever I get stuck on some campout it is when Otis volunteers us to be in charge of a bunch of cub scouts. That means in addition to messing with fires we’ve got to sing those dumb campfire songs. Will somebody please tell me how we can get that Michael dude to row his boat ashore finally so we can stop signing about it? What is his problem anyway? Does he need rowing lessons?

Anyway, when it is all said and done and I finally have managed to gobble down a couple of dozens hot dogs and stuff, I’m happy for a while. That is until those stupid insects start chirping. Then you can’t sleep. That is such a pain.

At least the only good part is that Otis does snore so loud it generally shuts them up eventually and for that I am grateful. Now all I have to do is figure a way to talk him into not trying to make all the hot dogs out of Spam.

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK: "There is hair cream, sour cream, whipped cream and ice cream. Does they call it hair cream to make your hair think it is getting something good to eat?"