By Dr. Zhivago

Frumpy tents
Scattered upon a lumpy mess.
A frothy pool of earthiness deemed fit for makeshift beds.

Who claimed this dumpy plot?
Who stole my chamber pot?
Will you just tell me if we’re having smores or not?

Mom, I wish you hadn’t sent me here
It really kinda blows.
I’m itchy almost constantly,
And my tentmate’s kinda gross.

What’s the appeal of camping anyway?
I’d rather eat McDonald’s and play video games all day.

I don’t need nature,
it doesn’t do anything for me.
Everything I need I can find at Walmart or Walgreens.

What’s that you say, Mr. Worship-Dirt-and-Trees?
Everything we have depends on nature? Even SUVs?

I’d have to disagree, kind sir.
You surely are mistaken.
Cars are made in factories,
I mean really, are you joking?

People make steel and glass
And plastic and rubber and bronze.
Nature is just a hindrance to our most holy…

– I have to go now because my friends are going out, but you get the point… hopefully.

Back to Camp Oatmeal.

Back to Issue 3.