It's early, but you're in the process of becoming cool guy, so what could be better than an old-fashioned pantyraid? Adorned with fragrant panties like so many beaded necklaces on a Mardi Gras celebrant, you'll be king of the cabin! Besides, it'll really help you take your mind off the weird stuff that's been happening. Now... should you go in disguise, considering it's the middle of the day and people are sure to spot you over at the girls' half of the camp? It might be a good idea, and it's kind of an exciting idea anyway... you hesitate briefly between putting on a dress, or going back into the bathroom for a little while to think about that, or both, until you remember that there's still blood and eyeballs and God knows what else in there. Instead, you sneak out around the back of the cabin and circle along the outskirts of the camp. After a while, you feel your next step to be significant, and yes - you're there. The territory of the other half. Girl Country.

As you cautiously peer through the bushes, you are nearly blinded by clouds of fairydust and rainbow magic. Everything looks to be crawling with bowties and butterflies, ponies and unicorns tread noisily about, and you're fairly certain you spot a Carebear with an old beartrap scar on its ankle limping about outside the mess. You remember reading somewhere that surprise is the best attack, or something - maybe it was worded differently, or maybe it's just something you heard on a Saturday morning cartoon about a CGI Voltron, but it seems appropriate for the situation. Thus, you traipse on over to the nearest cabin, tear open the door and prepare for a welcoming chorus of girl shrieks.

Unfortunately, that's not what happens. Half a dozen extremely muscled girls with pre-teen mustaches stare at you with bulging, muscled arms crossed in front of their standard-He-man-action-figure-mold torsos, grunting in disapproval. Before you can say so much as "sorry, wrong cabin", you are pulled inside.

In your haste, you neglected to notice the huge banner outside that read "Camp Chopleton welcomes the junior American all-girl powerlifting team with hormonal disorders, whether they brought it on themselves or not, ha ha, am I right guys?" You spend the following days tied up in an old worn-down foam rubber suit of armor, which no longer softens anything apart from your cries of pain as the girls land blow after blow to your vital organs during their "self-defense" classes. Not that anyone could hear you, what with the girls underlining their every punch with a decisive "NO!"

And late at night, when the camp gets cold and lonely, the only one whose panties get raided are your own. You haven't had this much fun since your dad's last hunting trip. Yay.

UH OH! IT'S A MANTIE RAID! START OVER!