Tuesday, September 12, 2006

hungry mod troop

It was a project to get inner city kids out into the country so they could taste what real air really tasted like and smell what real food smelled like.

Because inner city kids were considered by the demographics people to be very style conscious they were outfitted in crisp black uniforms with silver flashes at the collars. Focus groups of inner city kids 'dug' the new 'threads' and gave the uniforms a 'max' on the 'awesome' scale (the older rating systems had been deemed out of fashion by yet another focus group that surveyed surveys) and before anyone could say quadrophenia the first troop was piled onto a battered yellow schoolbus with solid axles and leaf spring suspension and packed up into the mountains.

They called themselves, rather disingeniously one could add, the mod troop. Terribly fashionable for the mountains.

On their first night camping in the woods. Everything went off according to plan, they sat around the campfire (only it wasn't a campfire but a coleman gas stove on account of the mountains being on high risk fire alert) and sang traditonal campfire songs (only whose tradition is anybodys guess, something about killing your baby today and it not mattering very much but they all knew the words so the counselors cautiously allowed them to 'express themselves' even up to the point of joining in on a little ditty they once again all knew the words to about hating everyone and being worthless and the future being insane but ah well, kids today!) and the only glitch in the program was little Alice Shoemaker somehow getting ahold of the medicine kit and downing all the codeine but nobody's perfect!

On their second night everyone was shot and partially eaten by a mad old grandpa who lived up in the woods with his two dogs and his twenty automatic rifles.

Police took his report. Sent him to the hospital.

He'd been certain WWIII had started. He'd heard their songs, He'd seen their uniforms and hatched a plan, no stormtroopers were going to take HIS mountain. The last man he'd seen with a black uniform with silver collar flashes he'd spiked his head with his bayonet at Dieppe.

Who'd a thunk it?

1 comment:

Lexa Rosean said...

I never would 'a thunk that boy! Great and original writing. Have a wonderful time in Turkey too. I sure as hell did!