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The maniacal chuckling
coming from the woods, combined with the brutally murdered stoner girl
is simply too much for you to deal with. You tried to keep your cool,
you really did, but before you even know what's going on, the normal
girl is pointing at your crotch and shrieking "Ewwwwwww! Gross!" You
look down, momentarily having forgotten the insane laughter coming from
out in the woods and notice a wet spot growing in your trousers.
Oh, well that's just
great you think. What an ignoble end to your short, sad life. The
one girl you had a chance with is now mocking your patheticness. Soon
the other kids are all pointing and laughing at you, and you're suddenly
back on the school bus in second grade, only this time you've soiled the
front end instead of the back, and you're probably not going to have to
wear the special diapers again, because you're going to be dead anyway.
You can feel the single, lonely tear welling up in the corner of your
eye when once again you become aware of the insane laughter echoing all
around you in the woods, and you're reminded of the imminent death that
undoubtedly awaits you all.
"You idiots!" you cry out! "You're wasting time making fun of me when
there's some lunatic come to kill us! Run! On second thought, you stay
here! I'll run!"
No sooner do you begin to dart off into the trees than you bump into a
tall dark figure that steps out from behind one of said trees.
You look up in wide-eyed horror to see that it's none other than...
FATHER O'CUTLEYBITS,
THE CAMP CHAPLAIN! WHOM YOU'VE NEVER MET, NOR EVEN HEARD OF, YET SOMEHOW
ARE INTIMATELY FAMILIAR WITH! (No, not that kind of
intimately familiar. At least...not yet).
"Why hello, children!" Father O'Cutleybits beams warmly. "I didn't
expect to find you out here!"
At this point you can't help but notice that Father O'Cutleybits is
carrying a rather large black trash bag and a machete. "Rather odd
accoutrements for a man of the Lord, wouldn't you say, Father?" you ask,
indicating the items he's carrying.
"Yes, well son, those are awfully tough words from someone who just
pissed himself," Father O'Cutleybits answers sharply. His right eye
twitches slightly, just before he winks and bellows out a warm and
hearty laugh. "Naw, I'm just joshing ya! I used to wet myself as a child
too, I know how it goes. You know, they make these special diapers--"
"FATHER!" you interrupt him, "Perhaps you would care to explain what
you're doing out here in the middle of the woods with a large trash sack
and a machete? For our peace of mind, of course."
"Why certainly, my son. I am getting ready to make a heapin' helpin' of
my famous 'Bunny Rabbit Gumbo', and I don't like to prepare it in--well,
let's just say, have you ever heard a rabbit's death shriek, boy?
Believe me, you don't want to. It'll kill the hair dead off your
testicles. So I come out into the middle of the woods to 'prepare' the
rabbits. That's all."
You eye him suspiciously, chin cradled in your hand as you scrutinize
his alibi.
"Say, is that a dead
girl?" Father O'Cutleybits asks, pointing back into the small crowd of
children. "What a shame. I'll have to remember to say a prayer or
something when I get back to the chapel. Well, ta-ta, I must be off to
fix the stew!" and with that he smiles brightly and turns to leave.
You decide to:
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