Friday, August 5, 2011

My Name is Buzz Killigan and I'm Not Particularly Fond of Camping

I just got back from a week-long family camping trip.  It wasn't so bad, considering that it was only my nuclear family, and my dad's a pretty good sport about letting me sit in the camper and read my books all the time.

Anyway, I thought that I'd treat you all to a brand-spanking-new post, but don't get used to it, because I'm going away to band camp next week, so I shall fall silent once more, but then I'll come back and probably have hilarious stories to tell you about marching incidents and canoe trips.

What was I saying?

Oh, right.  Camping.  Yeah, camping isn't exactly my thing, but do you know what is my thing?  Staying up late at night reading.  This did not work out so well for one reason, and one reason alone.  Do you want to know what that reason is?  Well, I'll tell you.


I didn't think that it was possible for me to fear more things than I already fear, but, when confronted with the knowledge that a possibly rabid beast was foraging through my food fewer than ten feet away from my sleepy little head, I was forced to admit that raccoons are scary as frick.

Here are some things that I wrote down on those scary nights when I heard the raccoons.

There is a raccoon outside right freaking now, y'all.  Fo reals.

If raccoons get into the camper, I will be the first to die.  The door isn't latching properly.  I'm going to be attacked by a raccoon and die of rabies.

The raccoons are effing fighting each other, y'all.  This is starting to freak me out.

For the record, the sound of raccoons fighting each other is fricking scary and I wouldn't want anyone to have to live through that.

I spent most of that night wrapped up in a blanket, even though I wasn't cold, because I was convinced that raccoons would be too stupid to recognize me as a human if I was wrapped in fabric.

I fricking hate raccoons.

Oh.  I should probably explain some more things about my camping trip, or else you all might get a little confused about it.

The title of this post says that my name is Buzz Killigan, because it is, apparently.  You see, the whole week I was, I am told, being a "buzz kill."  However, I would like to point out that if educating the ignorant when they make an erroneous statement makes me a buzz kill, then I will gladly be called a buzz kill.

Another thing that went on during the week of camping was the excessive wandering of my mind.  I think it might have had something to do with the fact that I was staying up as late as I normally do, but waking up much earlier.  Anyway, here are some non-raccoon-related things I wrote down over the week:

"Ain't be havin' none of this"--no need to conjugate (look, ma! No conjugation!)

It's true.  I ain't be havin' none of this, you ain't be havin' none of this, he, she, we ain't be havin' none of this...

There are not nearly enough situation is life in which an impression of a T-Rex is called for.

This, tragically, is only too true.  I keep having to invent situations in which a T-Rex impersonation is appropriate.

Pet monkey stories=blogging gold.  Also, more effing raccoons.  They are surrounding this biz-nitch.  It is freaking me out.

Okay, first of all.  About the pet monkey:  My dad, when he was very little, for some reason or another, had a pet monkey.  I don't remember how he got it, and I don't really want to ask him right now, but maybe, someday, if I still like you all, I will tell you about my dad's pet monkey and some of its shenanigans.

Second of all, effing raccoons. I.  Hate.  Raccoons.  That is all.

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