In case you don’t already know, The Wife and I love to camp — and we love to camp hard.
A few weeks ago, we went camping at Timothy Lake near Mt. Hood, where our friend Dinghy McBrokenboat picked us up at the ramp in his ancient fishing vessel. Keeping with tradition, it took 20 minutes for the motor to start up for the return trip, so we drifted around on the water with enough time for him to inform us there was a “surprise” waiting for us at camp. Dinghy is a sarcastic wretch, so I assumed this surprise was both unwelcome and uncalled-for.
The boat managed to deliver us to our camp on the other side of the lake running on nothing but unleaded miracles. It was then our surprise revealed itself — a large group of strangers setting up their own camp right next to ours. These campwads were practically on top of us. They were practically whispering ghost stories into our ears. They were practically making love to us with s’more covered genitals.
But why? I asked myself. Timothy Lake is lousy with camp sites! Oh how I hated these campers, and worst of all, they had teenagers with them… teenagers. *shudder*
Our other friend, The Dying Gaul, went over and gave them fair warning: “We are a large group of adults and we aim to drink; you may want to consider the impression we leave upon your impressionables.”*
No dice — the Children of the Corn were staying.
*No exaggeration. This is a direct quote.
Click here to read The Camping Chronicles: Timothy Lake, Part II
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Oh God, My Wife Is German. 
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