TRAIL HUMOR AND OTHER IDIOCIES
THE CAMP BUTLER
The Butler clears his throat:
"Uh hum, breakfast is being served on the nylon veranda. This morning we are having creamed pummeled Irish leaf flakes(oatmeal)saturated in a fine West Indies yellow bamboo flowered cane extract(sugar)with a thick Pennsylvanian mare milk aged for 7 months in vats of pure Sicilian olive oil(cream cheese), all cooked in the finest naturally bubbling artesian spring water from Bhutan." (Creek water).
"The fine silverware comes from master craftsman Hojomoto, handmade in northern Japan using only the best matched set bars of raw Linear Extracted and Extruded Annodized Nylon(Lexan). Enjoy."
"When you are finished you may retire to the tastefully appointed alcove designed and built by the famous Roman architect Mountus Hardweartimus using only virgin petroleum hydrocarbons supported by Moroccan bauxite aluminum beams hand carved at a guild house in the Vatican by famed artisan Dac Easton. The bug screens surrounding the alcove were woven by fashion designer Ralph No See Ums Wong, probably the greatest living designer of bug netting."
"Lunch is served: Yucatan peninsula yellow roasted maize soaked in Amazon basin lime and coated with Mormon harvested Utah sodium(corn chips), with hunks of Scandinavian clotted goathead butterkase fermented for 6 years in Egyptian dairycloth made from Nubian picked cotton(cheese). Enjoy."
Good news: I managed to sever the head of the Butler from his body and stick it on a pole by the Naked Ground sign. Dinner for this evening will be corn dogs and grits.
THE FOREST SERVICE SCREED(A SATIRE)
My hiking day starts at 11 am and ends at 12 noon after a full hour of rigorous backpacking. If I've done only 20 minutes and feel like quitting, I'll dig deep inside myself and push to get that full hour. In over 2 full weeks of backpacking this 14 mile trail, I haven't yet reached the end, and I chalk that up to the discipline of knowing how and when to hold back. Some people I know have been known to do up to 3 hours of backpacking a day while on a trip, but I think it's excessive and downright dangerous.
My work with the National Park Service has resulted in a written paper jointly published entitled "Regulating Back Packaging Within a 24 Hour Cycle to Encourage By Law One Hour Load Bearing Locomotion as now Permitted and Allowed by the US Forest Service with any Individual Exceeding Said Limit Subject to Fines, Vehicle Seizure, Equipment Forfeiture and Mandatory Jail Time." It's a law and it works for everyone.
What journal would publish such a biased report? Well, the Forest Service Penal Magazine, that's what. Forest Rangers will now be running hourly helicopter flights over every wilderness area to spot excessive hiking or camping. The first infraction will be warning shots fired by onboard marksmen. An effective deterrent is now being developed for repeat violators and is called the PONDS or Pinpoint Napalm Delivery System. It shows great results with grizzly bears and American Bison and soon will be available in all FS helicopter rocket pods.
Without taxpayer's money, this and other gestapo tactics like clearcutting and road building could not continue. Remember the Forest Service motto: "We Kicked Out The Indians, We'll Kick Out You." Or the National Park Service motto: "Unless You Drive, You Don't Belong." And as the fine print says: "Our rules and regulations are here to dissuade. Everything is permitted(with permits obtainable at the Ranger Station." "Horse are permitted on all trails in the Smokies but remember the terrible damage they can do to the trails and the fecal matter they leave behind. Dogs are NOT ALLOWED as their clawed feet may cause slight damage and are not a native species to the Park. Uh, wolves were here once and uh . . . the white man isn't native either so oops, the Park is now open only to the Cherokee and the wolves. We white people have our own park. It's called Urban Sprawl."
END O' PARODY
STAY PUT OR GO--WHAT WOULD JOHNNY DO?
He would scream at dawn to get the hell up and out of my pissant tent and join him in a series of one handed pushups followed by a stark verbal reevaluation of my sorry life and a critique of our sorry predicament here upon this godforsaken ridge. Then he would steal a bag of my food and run whimpering back into his tent where he'll spend the rest of the day rocking back and forth on his heels with all the food we brought spread out around him as he cries out for his Momma.
Eventually I'll have to improvise a litter and slip a Percocet up his rectum and get him the heck out of here. This story in book form alone will make me famous and I won't have to get his permission to use it as by then he'll be in a vegetable state with infrequent visits by Big Don and friends. I will become rich and hire full blood white porters to carry Johnny out with me on a helicopter rescue backboard and we will all scream as he gets up and proceeds to kick the feces out of each and every one of us. His camping induced coma has passed and he is ready to go again after placing my head on a pole. What would Johhny B do? Do you really want to know?