A Little Boy Scout Humor . . . (fwd)
Michael F. Bowman (mfbowman@CAPACCESS.ORG)
Fri, 27 Oct 1995 21:11:58 -0400
Here is a bit of humor that I received from a Scoutmaster in our local
area. Thought some of you might get a chuckle and be relieved to know I
am not serious all the time.
Speaking only for myself in the Scouting Spirit, Michael F. Bowman
DDC-Training, GW Dist. Nat Capital Area Council mfbowman@CAPACCESS.ORG
. . from Dave Barry's Complete Guide to Guys. I haven't decided
whether or not I can share this with my troop. My son nearly
busted a gut.
Virtually all of my memories of Boy Scouts involve farting. I
spent several years in the Boy Scouts, ultimately attaining the
rank of Second Class, but I can't remember the Morse Code, or how
to hang your backpack from a rope so the raccoons can't get your
food, or how to start a fire by rubbing pine cones together, or
how to tie important tactical knots with names like the
"sheepskank." What I can remember is being out in the woods on
scout-troop camping trips, at 1:30 AM, lying in a sleeping bag in
a tent with three other guys, none of us even close to falling
asleep due to the fact that we were entertaining ourselves by
ritualistically telling jokes that we had all heard upwards of
four hundred times, such as:
"What'd you have for breakfast?"
"What'd you have for lunch?"
"What'd you have for supper?"
"What'd you do all night?"
(Laughter, followed by shouts of "BE QUIET!" and "GO TO SLEEP!"
from the scoutmaster's tent.)
So we'd be lying there, trying to giggle as quietly as possible,
and one of the guys - probably as a result of eating our usual
Boy-Scout-camping-trip food, which consisted of semi-warm baked
beans mixed with Hershey's chocolate and Tang - would have some
kind of gaseous nuclear chain reaction in his bowels, and there
would be a sound like
and flames would come shooting out of the victim's sleeping bag
ant the tent walls would bulge violently outward, and the other
three of us guys, in a desperate effort to escape before the tent
was filled with the Deadly Blue Cloud, would lunge for the tent
flap, still inside our sleeping bags, all trying to get out
simultaneously, so that, from the outside, the tent looked like
some bizarre alien space pod giving birth to giant crazed green
"GAS ATTACK!" we'd shout, causing the startled raccoons to drop
our Hershey bars.
"BE QUIET!" the scoutmaster's tent would shout, but by now we
were totally out of control, rolling around on the ground,
howling, setting of chain reactions of laughter and fart noises
in the other tents.
Boy Scouts: It made me the leader I am today.
Terry Howerton Sakima Group, Inc. SCOUTER Magazine Kansas City