Mr. Z got me in trouble at camp, today. He came home with this note:
1. When busted, Mr. Z will sell me out in a fucking heartbeat and lie about not knowing what a "peter" is to save his skinny ass.
B. Camp is a fuck of a lot wimpier nowadays than when I was a kid. Shit, in my day you'd be hard-pressed to find a camp song that DIDN'T mention a dick in it.
3. I guess I should postpone my plans to teach the "Diarrhea Song" to Miss O this weekend.