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« A Letter to Ms. Janice Lynette McCarl, Barbecue Fist-Rapist | Main | SAUSAGE PARTY!!! »

February 02, 2009


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I understand that during the early 00's, the camp tried to expand its reach into other groups. One failed incarnation was a camp for anorexics called ID-RA-HA-CA...I'd rather have carbs.

The Tepees were painted brown and little white flags were put at the top and the happy campers were forced to sleep in giant Hershey Kisses. The kids are quizzed on the ingredients in the recipes from Paula Deens first cookbook. (Note to kids - butter and sugar are usually a lucky guess.)

Sadly, camp ID-RA-HA-CA had to close down when the kids from across the lake at Camp Jenny Craig attacked and ate the skinny kids.

Whup-Ass Master

what a heartwarming story...or is that angina?



Is Angina Jolie trying to adopt an anorexic kid now? I'm so confused.


At my summer camp we joined secret societies

candidates may participate in a call-out ceremony that may be performed at summer camp, a camporee, a call-out weekend or at a troop or team meeting. Candidates then participate in a weekend-long Ordeal induction ceremony. The Ordeal is intended to emphasize service and self-sacrifice

It was a shitload of fun.

Whup-Ass Master

winksi, we want the bloody sordid details.



I spent a week at a camp outside of San Diego. A bible-thumping, hip-swaying, affair in which several teen-agers got pregnant and I had butt sex with the Minister of Youth, who's wife left him for a woman. Those Baptists! They knew how to get away and party!

Jeffrey Ellis

Huh. I went to Mad Scientist camp, myself. We made paper mache doomsday machines and learned to program robots to do our evil bidding.

Whup-Ass Master

@ JWB cubed: We have always held that the Baptists are the freakiest.

@ JE: That sounds profoundly retarded.


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ID-RA-SU-TO-THI-BLO-FEE is Kickapoo for "I'd rather subscribe to this blog's feed."

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Decades later, when we saw that horrific image of a hooded Abu Ghraib prisoner standing on a box with his fingers attached to wires, our first thought was that he couldn't locate Ephesians 5:2.

Ask anyone who attended that charming Gitmo-of-the-Rockies in the early to mid 70s, and you'll find that the zap-stool was very real.

We did not make this up.

Hermes Birkin

We're sure that you're prepared for asswipes like us to make retarded jokes (mostly, predictably, having to do with "balls"). We bet the hatemail's already piling up (just as predictably written by self-proclaimed "Christians" to who

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to a catchy beat. A new version of the Bible, called "The Way" was all the rage. "The Way" featured on its cover a photo of a hippy couple, hand-in-hand, skipping blissfully through a field. "The Way" still instructed us to execute homos, adulterers and shrimp eaters, but we felt infinitely groovier about it.

We recall a surreal evening when our counselor (a long-haired art st

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ely tacky "Injun" motif; campers slept in enormous tepees, and were divided into tribes (we were, unsurprisingly, a Kickapoo). It was every bit as authentic as the late Ricardo Montalban's performance as Little Wolf in Cheyenne Autumn. But what truly set it apart was what ID-RA-HA-JE stood for. It meant, of course, "I'd Rather Have Jesus."

Even as an impressionable child of 8, we were troubled by two things: first, we strongly suspected that a genuine Kickapoo would rather have many things other than Jesus (their land, their dignity, a jug of fire water, to name a few). Second, we were never offered the alternative. I'd Rather Have Jesus than what? An evening at the

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