Then again, I’m not sure why we did anything. I’m not quite sure why we ran from, you know, a phone call. And whenever a real person answered the phone, we would scream I’M A MOTHERFUCKER WITH A BUFFALO BUTT, hang up the phone, and then run away. So, at night, we snuck down to the phone and started dialing random 1-800 numbers, hoping to either get a live operator or a live girl at the other end of the line. I don’t remember playing any soccer whatsoever at that camp, but I very much DO remember the camp was at a boarding school, and that we got to stay in the dorms all week, and that the dorm had a pay phone that was the only phone in the whole joint. My most vivid memories of summer camp all feature me being a teenage shithead.
