Working the fire near North Bass.

Our (school) year-end journey up north was not a pleasant one. After the better part of our party was attacked by blood thirsty boas, Daniel and I were forced to fend for ourselves. Without the luxury of reprocessed meat substitute hot dogs, we had to fish the open waters of Lake Erie for food. We also painstakingly raised lobsters for extremely special occaisons, like Cinco de Mayo and pokemon gatherings. We did well for a few weeks, but eventually tired of the rugged life style we were leading. Convinced that the boa could not have eaten them all in two days, we proceeded to search tirelessly through brush and field for the rest of our party. But, the search was fruitless. We accepted our fate as lobster farmers as the will of the gods and gave up. While we were scouting horseshoe lake for possible hatchery locations, we happened on the very snake that had terrorized us so badly before. It wasn’t a boa, after all. It was a water snake. So we concluded that the snake must be holding our family and friends in its underwater lair.

Me: “So… you gonna get in and save them?”
Daniel: “No way, man, there’s snakes in there.”
Me: “Hey! I found the van key in your hair.”
Daniel: “Sweet, let’s get the hell out of here.”

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