Pastoral Genocide


I Apologize to Offended Parties.
June 2, 2008, 4:27 am
Filed under: Writing | Tags: , ,

The problem with travel by horseback is that horses are god-damned stupid beasts.

I’m almost 16 years old and I’m at a summer camp for young leaders. It’s somewhere in Pennsylvania and my mom made go. I’m pissed about it; this is one of the shittiest things I’ve ever had to do. A week of this shit. Unbelievable.

My horse whines and slows before unleashing a massive piss onto the earth, snapping me back to the dysfunctional unfairness of my present reality. I’m sitting perched on a giant, moronic creature that’s half-starved and emptying its bladder with diligent purpose. Behind me, there are about fifteen nerds mounted on similarly decrepit animals.

One kid yells, “hurry up,” like he’s somehow got somewhere to be. I kick the horse in the ribs and it starts to plod forward, undoubtedly still leaking urine onto the dirt path below. This place is where horses come to die while young leaders from suburban cul-de-sacs sit on their backs, impatient under the July sun.

By the sixth day of camp, I’m ready to snap like Sonny Bono’s neck. I share my tent with an overweight Asian kid named Sam and I’m contemplating shanking him with my pocket knife. Not too hard, you know? Just to send a message: enough of your superkid Asian bullshit. Sam’s got a resume of ridiculously pathetic accomplishments: winner of some poetry contest for pussies, 4.o GPA, first chair oboe, an important sounding national honor society award. He told me all of this the first night, as we were lying in our cots. I called him a fag and he stopped talking.

It’s absolutely humiliating to be sent to a young leaders camp when you’re almost 16 years old. I’m three months from getting my diver’s license and, against my will, I’m consigned to a prison camp like environment that’s stocked to the gills with lifelong virgins. It’s demeaning, belittling. My mom’s an asshole sometimes.

It’s the last day and we’re watching some video about SAT preparation programs in the camp’s cafeteria. It’s hotter than hell and there’s no air conditioning. My butt hole is angrily inflamed from a week of sweating and rustic showers and its irritating me beyond the normal tolerances of the human condition. The heat, the camp’s prescribed diet of mass produced stroganoff dishes, the hard steel pit toilets have combined into a sticky bouquet of cruelty. This is awful. I’m daydreaming of packets of Wet Ones and the medicated sting of gold bond. Witch hazel, even. I just want to be clean, free of the haunting phantom of chafe and woe.

My mom picks me up and we drive back to the city silently. It rains lightly on the way home. She’s asking me questions but I’ve clammed up. I won’t give her the satisfaction of delineation. My asshole is complaining beneath me and I’m yearning for a shower, a bar of soap, internet porn.

When we get home, I jerk off in the shower and then take an enormous dump. I examine the floating mass of partially digested camp food. Roughly the size and shape of a contemporary meatloaf, it’s a disgusting but consuming sight. It takes me three flushes before the excrement is banished, in its totality, to its watery grave. And, even then, the toilet bowl is spirally marked with wispy moose tracks.

Afterwards, I walk back into my room and sit down. My rectum throbs anonymously; this is what I imagine getting buttfucked would be like. The thought of getting buttfucked makes me wonder if I’m gay. I don’t think I am, but how do you really know? I’m not sure and I wish I was.

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1 Comment so far
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This is the best blog I’ve read in a LONG time.
Your stories are well written, and fun to read.
I’m absolutely linking you up to my blog right now.
Stop by some time, and keep up the great posts 😉

Jason / L-R V

Comment by Lo-Res Viscera




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