"Come on kids, gather round.
Time to do some good old fashioned learnin'."
Some people thought I was the kind of guy who didn't deserve to be a camp counselor. Well, they were mostly the prudish type who wouldn't listen to Motown records and thought Frank was too intense. Being a very knowledgable and experienced man of the world, I had every right to be a camp counselor. In fact, I owed it to the kids of Seventh Street Lutheran Church to guide them into the world of adulthood with parables from my life. These kids looked up to me. I had a Jesus on the cross tattoo on my left arm and a bunch of bugs tattooed on my right. I was cool and they knew it.
"Uncle Bobby, have you ever gotten any booty?"
Yes, well, you know how kids are. They cut to the chase and they want to know all the good stuff right off the bat. Of course I've gotten "booty" before. I am a man of the world and I have three gold rings on each of my hands and one of the gold rings has a pit bull depicted on it. That gets the kids' attention, as well as the attention of the ladies. Have you ever been in the grocery store and NOT seen a multi-ringed man with ladies on either arm just dying to get horizontal with him? I didn't think so. Now, listen up.
"Uncle Bobby gets more tail than Henry Kissinger...
...and he's a head of state."
Gosh, those kids sure did like it when I talked about heads of state and threw their names around like I knew them. They looked up to me. I was kind of a hero to them and they wanted to be just like me. Part of it was the bandana I always wrapped around my bald head, but most of it was the way I carried myself. I had confidence and moral character that was incontrovertible. As usual, I had a story to back up my case. This story, perhaps not suitable for children, left my little campers in awe. I knew after I told them the tale they would scamper back to their cabins and write letters to their parents about the awe-inspiring tale I had told.
It all began one day in early May. My good friend Seymour and I had decided to catch the ball game on television and throw back a few brews. We sallied down to our favorite pub and headed straight for the bar. Tammy, our favorite bartender, was behind the bar. We thought she was the epitomy of sensuality. She walked like a goddess and shone brightly under the tap lights. We would have been willing to undergo torture in a Burmese prison camp in exchange for just one slice of her. She made you melt and you couldn't cool yourself down once she started.
Then Seymour and I started drinking a lot of beers and doing shots of Jack Daniels. We also enjoyed plates of delicious chicken wings and cheesy sticks. Oh, we had a grand time and one of the teams won the ball game. It was incredible.
Oh, and I forgot to mention, we were looking good. Seymour had on a tight fitting t-shirt with the logo of a local meat packing plant emblazoned on the front of it. He combined that with Wrangler jeans and Keds sneakers and a mink hat (fake fur of course, Seymour and I are sensitive guys). I was wearing a bright blue Members Only jacket I've owned since 1983 with nothing on underneath and the zipper zipped three quarters of the way down. I also wore parachute pants and hip waders. Of course, I accented my incredible babe hunting outfit with one of my famous multi-colored bandanas. There was not a pair of feminine eyes in the pub that had not taken notice of us. We were at the top of our game.
Something about Tammy made us feel a little bit shy around her. Let me tell you kids, that is not unusual. A really attractive babe can make you feel all kinds of silly, no matter how much of a complete stud package you might be. We both wanted to get busy with her, but we had a couple of hurdles to overcome. First, she was behind the bar and we couldn't make any of our patented moves on her, because they all involved some form of laying of the hands on the body and making the babe tremble with delight. We also couldn't ask her if she came here often, because, you see, she worked at the pub and that question would be seen as ridiculous. You see, most ladies like when you ask them about their frequency of visits to a locale. It shows you are interested in their life patterns. Tammy, however, would require much more of a complete studly operation.
So, after the game was over we cheered, paid our check with exact funds (promising to tip at another time, after all, a stud has to be tight with his fundage but not cold hearted). Then Seymour and I drew straws to decide who was going to get Tammy. Seymour won the straw draw and so I had to be his back-up.
We decided to wait until Tammy got off work. Seeing as it was an hour before the bar closed, we had time to really think through our plan. Being able to plan a studly operation is very important. Otherwise you might act rashly and do something regretable that will hinder your ability to get horizontal with the babes. Having had an hour to plan, we came up with a doozy. Seymour was going to hide in the bushes outside the pub while I sat in my car and listened to the radio. I figured since he was going to get to do all kinds of fun things with Tammy, I could at least spend some time chillin' out with my tunes. We had this one figured out and we knew we were right on the money.
First, however, the manager came out of the pub. He was a big Maurice looking guy named Bentley. He had one of those threatening faces that made you squirm if you didn't have enough beef in your diet. Seymour stayed down low as Bentley looked around, acting rather suspicious. When he finally went back inside, I got out of the car and went over to tell Seymour maybe we needed to give up on this quest. He threatened me, thinking that I was just jealous of him or something. So, I went back into the car, slipped a Joe Cocker cassette into the tape deck and kicked back to wait
Finally, Tammy came out of the pub. She looked so delicious with her purse slung over her shoulder and a box of take out food from the pub in her hand. As she passed Seymour, my friend bounded out from his hiding place and rushed up to her with a smile.
"I waited for you all night, baby."
I don't remember much else about that night. As I told you, I drew the wrong straw and lost my shot at Tammy. It didn't matter. Those little campers were spellbound. They knew this was a story of the triumph of masculinity and they knew it would help them learn how men become men. I felt proud of all the little guys. This was an education for them. It was something beyond all the history and math and assorted book stuff they were having crammed down their throats in school.
I cannot tell you how proud I am of myself for being such an intelligent and studly person. I hope that my sharing this with you has also made you more studly. I'm gonna head over to the dining cabin right now and see if there are any chick counselors over there grabbing a late night snack. I've got serious chest hair and I am wearing a red hooded sweatshirt that zips down in the front. I take this zipper down three quarters of the way to the bottom and not one of those sweet babes is going to want to sleep alone tonight.